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Criminal Endeavours by alyse [Reviews - 12]
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Category: CI5: The New Professionals > Slash
Characters: Chris Keel
Rating: NC-17
Genres: None
Warnings: None

Summary: Sam and Chris indulge in a little 'criminal activity'.





Notes: I'd just like to start by saying that this is all Munchie's fault . There I was on AIM, minding my own business when she pops up and points me to this website Dumblaws.com. I mean, what's a girl to do when she discovers that oral sex is illegal in Maryland? So thanks soooo much, Munchie, for yet another rabid bunny.

I'm sending them to North Carolina next I reckon they ought to be able to break at least six laws without even trying.

Thank you to Lou for the beta.

~*~

Bad Boys, Bad Boys, whatchya gonna do
Whatchya gonna do when they come for you?


I'm bored. Incredibly bored in fact. I'd like to think that this is a punishment dished out by Malone but the truth of the matter is that it's self-inflicted. Well, not exactly self-inflicted, not for me anyway. My partner inflicted it on us. I suppose that that's the way partnerships are supposed to be; what happens to one happens to the other. Only the 'other' isn't supposed to welcome it with open arms, never mind actually fucking suggest it!

I glare at him again, but it sails completely over his head. Again. I swear, there are times when I could quite cheerfully pound my partner's head repeatedly against the wall and probably would if I didn't think that Sam would give as good as he gets.

I'm bored, not suicidal.

Sam is engrossed in a book, his feet casually resting on another chair while he pores over it, apparently fascinated. I look down at the book on the table in front of me, opened to the same page as it was half an hour before, and sigh heavily. Constitutional law. What a drag. Why the hell did Sam have to suggest that we re-familiarise ourselves with the various laws of the countries CI5 operates in? I know it's a slow day, and I also know that it could have been worse. We could have been assigned the task of clearing out the evidence locker like Richards and Rebecca were. Or be sent on a course in the middle of Birmingham on the latest developments in fingerprinting techniques, like Jacobs and Monahan. So I shouldn't bitch, not when we have the small library to ourselves, with comfortable chairs and with the coffee machine just down the hall.

But it's so fucking boring!

Sam chuckles under his breath and I glare at him again. Trust him to actually enjoy this torture. For a second I toy with the idea that he's actually got a copy of Playboy secreted in that tome he's devouring, but I know better. He shoots me a sly look out of the corner of his eye and I know that my foul mood has not gone unnoticed. It does nothing to alleviate either my boredom or my generally pissy state of mind. Neither does the fact that he chuckles again.

"Are you going to share?"

I make no attempt to hide my ill temper but Sam doesn't seem to care, looking at me with an expression that encapsulates pure innocence and murmuring, "Hmm?"

"Are you going to share?" I repeat, clearly enunciating every word so that there's absolutely no missing the question, or the fact that if he, or the day, pisses me off further I will not be responsible for my actions.

"Oh," he answers, that look of innocence never slipping, "just this." He holds up his book so that I can read the title. It's a book on American State law which, as far as I'm concerned, is only slightly more interesting than the constitutional law I'm attempting to plough through.

"You can't tell me you're actually enjoying that?" I don't even attempt to hide the disbelief.

"Look at it this way," he smirks. "You learn something new every day."

I eye him suspiciously. No matter what aura of innocence he's projecting there's something brewing in that complicated mind of his. I can just tell. Almost two years of being this man's partner has given me this sixth sense that tells me when he's up to something, and right now my Sammy-sense is tingling like nobody's business. Not that it's going to do me any good of course, not until he decides to share. And I may not be a patient man but those two years with my partner have taught me that if I manage to keep my mouth shut and not actually show any interest sooner or later Sam will share. He's smart and sometimes he seems to need to show me just how smart. I used to get pissed at that too, feeling that he was showing off, until I realised he was just trying to prove that he was contributing something to our partnership. A snippy little comment about how he may not have had my jungle survival skills but at least he knew better than to sit in a booby trapped car tipped me off about that one.

He's not the only one who's smart.

So I put up with it, like he puts up with me rushing in all 'guns and glory' as he puts it, and we both put up with the little sideways glances we sneak when we don't think the other one's looking, although we both know that neither of us is fooled. I guess it's just that neither of us has decided what to do about it yet.

It doesn't take long for me to find out what's on Sam's mind, although Sam being Sam he doesn't actually come straight out and say it.

"You went to Annapolis, didn't you?"

I grunt an affirmative, my head buried in my own text although I have no idea what it says. No point in showing too much interest too soon.

"That's in Maryland, isn't it?" he persists.

I grunt again, watching him now out of the corner of my eye. He catches me looking and his face assumes this look of false sympathy. "Must have been a tough four years," he commiserates.

Eh? I get the feeling that he's not talking about the gruelling courses the Naval Academy inflicts on its cadets.

He's not. "I must admit I admire your self control."

Oh for fuck's sake. "What are you talking about, Curtis?" I demand impatiently.

His face reassumes that expression of fake innocence. "Well, with you being a law abiding citizen and all, I can only presume that you forewent one of the major pleasures of being a young man between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. One of the... ah... defining moments of entering adulthood."

He smirks and I glare at him, repeating slowly through gritted teeth, "What are you talking about?"

He can barely maintain his mirth. "Well, Christopher..." I scowl at him, to no avail. "I was referring to the fact that... how can I put this?"

He's enjoying this far too much, and I drop my voice to a low growl. "Fast."

His eyes dancing, he complies. "According to this," he waves the book in my general direction, "oral sex is illegal in Maryland."

My jaw drops and I stare speechlessly at him. I want to come up with a snappy comeback, I really do, but my mind is blank.

He beats me to it.

"No wonder," he murmurs softly as he returns his attention to his book, "all the nice girls love a sailor. There's no question of them having to 'shut up and put out'."

When words fail, violence is the only answer. My polystyrene coffee cup bounces off the side of his head. Unfortunately it's empty, and the act seems to amuse him more than anything else. He continues to snigger as I fold my arms and glower at him.

"I suppose," I mutter, "that you've never done anything illegal."

"Well," he chuckles, "I've never had oral sex in Maryland."

"What about breaking and entering?" I demand, somehow feeling the need to defend my honour, although I've no idea why.

"CI5 don't need search warrants," he replies succinctly. "Therefore not illegal."

"And you never did that in MI6?" He gives me a sly smile, but doesn't answer. I'm getting desperate. "Speeding? No way you can deny that, Curtis."

"Hardly a felony." And then he smiles at me again, the son of a bitch. "Does this mean you're admitting that you've... performed illegal activities?" he asks ingenuously. The smirk hovering around his lips, however, gives him away.

I scowl at him. What can I say? I can hardly claim that my whole time at the Academy I didn't have a girl go down on me. In fact, I could hardly claim that I didn't have a guy do the same but there's no need for Sam to be aware of that little titbit, not yet. Although, there's something about the way he says 'performed' combined with the glint in his eyes that makes me wonder if he's already guessed. So I don't answer, just scowl harder.

"I'll take that as a yes then," he murmurs. Self satisfied son of a bitch. He returns to his book and I return to glaring at him. He knows it too, because every now and then his mouth twitches in a little amused smile.

"Oh," he says eventually. "It's also illegal to give or receive oral sex in San Francisco." He grins evilly at me. "Bet SFPD is really snowed under."

I roll my eyes but don't comment. He treats me to another patented Curtis Innocent Look. "I've never made it to San Francisco," he says, all sweetness and light. "Have you, Chris?"

Bastard. Glowering doesn't seem to have any effect on him.

"In Florida, you can only have sex in the missionary position." He grins at me again. "In North Carolina, you have to have the blinds shut too."

Against my better judgement, the corner of my mouth twitches. He spots it and his grin widens. "Can't have sex in a graveyard either."

"I've never been to North Carolina," I say, trying for dignified and failing. "And as for graveyards..."

"You mean you've got that cemetery behind your flat and you've never...?"

"You're sick, do you know that, Curtis?"

He's still grinning. "So I've been reliably informed, yes."

"I don't suppose," I grumble, "you've ever committed an illegal sexual act."

"Hmm..." He ponders this for a moment, frowning and flicking through his tome. "A ha! This one." He spares me another grin. "In Massachusetts it's illegal for a woman to get on top during sex." His smile turns slightly nostalgic. "There was this air hostess once..."

"I don't want to know," I mutter, trying to stamp down on the small twinge of jealousy I feel. "What about in this country?"

His look turns slightly shifty. "Oral sex isn't illegal here, Chris," he hedges.

Okay, now I'm intrigued. I lean forward over the table, resting my elbows on it and propping my chin on my clasped hands and treat him to my best beaming smile. "Any illegal sexual act," I expand.

He shuffles in his seat and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'age of consent'.

"Sorry?" I say, aiming for innocent. "I didn't catch that."

It's his turn to glare but he repeats it a little louder, still quietly but distinct enough to catch. I was right and I should have known. Trust Sam not to wait until he's sixteen.

And then it finally dawns on me. There is no age of consent in this country for boys, at least not for heterosexual sex. I've been following the 'gay rights' legal action in Strasbourg with some interest, mainly because it ties into a similar action by some gays who were in the military over here and that's been a bit close to home. And I definitely remember that little fact, because they ended up lowering the gay age of consent too, from twenty-one to eighteen, not that long ago. So either he's had sex with a girl who was under sixteen, or...

"How old was she?" I ask, deciding that it's the only way to find out. He looks at me blankly and that's when I know, but he's not the only one who's a son of a bitch. "How old were you?" I purr.

He flushes, and glances back down at his book. I don't think he's going to answer first and then he mutters, "Nineteen."

Bingo! I rule! Now all I have to do is decide what I'm going to do about this little titbit.

When I catch Sam watching me out of the corner of his eye, his expression a combination of a little trepidation and a lot of interest, it suddenly occurs to me that maybe Sam has decided to do something too, something about us continually dancing around each other and maybe that's why he answered the question. Hell, maybe he even engineered this entire conversation - because of that decision. I wouldn't put it past him.

I make my own decision. "So," I say slowly, aiming for casual. "Apart from age of consent, what else is illegal here, sexually speaking?" There. If I'm wrong, it's still subtle enough for Sam to let it slide. If I'm right, then maybe it's enough to encourage him.

He watches me for a long moment, and then he says, his eyes never leaving my face, "You're not supposed to snog in public."

That's 'make out', if I've got my colloquialisms right. "Uh huh?" I say encouragingly.

Sam's still watching me closely, gauging my reaction so either he's about to come out to me or he's about to come on to me. "And until 1997 anal sex was illegal."

"But not any more?" I prompt.

"No."

"And?"

He licks his lips nervously. "There are the standard laws about public indecency and exposure."

"No sex in public places. Got it." I'm tempted to ask about graveyards, but I don't want to derail this conversation. It's getting too goddamned interesting, and I get the feeling that he's working up to something. "Anything else?"

Again that pink tongue darts out and wets his lips, and oh God for some reason it goes straight to my groin. Please, let him be working up to something, preferably something that involves one or both of us getting naked.

"It's illegal," he says quietly, "for two men to have sex when there's another person in the house."

Screw patience. I let the full heat of my desire for him show in my eyes. "How many people do you think are in this building?"

His breath catches in his throat for a moment and then he glances at the door, his look turning considering. "Does it count as a house?" he asks.

"Do you care?" I ask bluntly.

He glances at the door again, and then turns to me and grins again, this one wide and wicked. "Not really, except I'm wondering whether it also counts as a public place."

Oh man. They ought to make a smile like that illegal too, because there's no doubt in my mind that it's sexual.

No lock on the door. I notice that immediately, and I notice the chair near to it almost as quickly. The door, thankfully, opens inwards.

Seems I'm not the only one with the same idea and while it's not clear which of us moves first, I make it to the chair first and wedge it firmly under the door handle. And then I turn around and Sam's only inches away from me, panting lightly, his pupils dilated and his lips parted and glistening.

I pounce.

Oh Christ, he tastes so good as I slide my tongue savagely into his mouth, my hands coming up to sink into his dark hair. I've wanted to do that for so long, slide my fingers into those dark locks. I'm naturally tactile and let's face it - there are parts of Sam that are just begging to be touched. Most of Sam, in fact, and I intend to do just that.

His fingers are tearing at my sweater, and I loosen my grip on his head, one hand sliding down to rip at the buttons on his shirt while the other holds his head steady and I continue to plunder his mouth. Our tongues duel for long moments and then he pulls back with an impatient sound, his hands pulling my sweater over my head and then throwing it to one side of the room. I let him, because to be perfectly honest if I don't get this goddamned shirt off him in less than thirty seconds I'm going to go stark, staring mad. 'All good things come to those who wait' is a load of baloney in my opinion.

Jesus Christ! Will someone please explain to me why the English insist on wearing vests? I'd ask Sam but at the moment his mouth is full. If I'm tactile then Sam is definitely orally fixated if the way that his tongue is moving in my mouth is any indication, not to mention the way he's sucking my tongue into his. I discard Sam's shirt with a low growl and start tearing at his vest - tearing being the operative word. It gives under my onslaught, coming apart with a dull ripping sound.

Oops. Still, it means I don't have to stop kissing him as I peel it from his body, swallowing the soft, surprised sound he makes. Judging by the way his fingers tighten their grip on my arms I think he likes it.

That thought is confirmed when he finally releases my mouth and stares at me, his eyes almost black with lust, surrounded by the merest sliver of green, his lips swollen from the near brutal kisses we've shared, just begging to be claimed again, begging for his tongue to be wrapped around mine.

Begging for his tongue to be wrapped about something else of mine.

He must have the same idea because all of a sudden he closes in on me and that wonderful, hot mouth is moving over my chest, arrowing downwards while his fingers start to fumble with my belt. He sucks first one, then the other of my nipples into his mouth, rolling them around on his tongue before nipping the second one, hard. It goes straight to my cock, and I stagger backwards, my ass hitting the edge of the table. My hands flail out sideways and I catch hold of it, supporting myself as he finally frees my aching cock and runs his fingers over it, and my legs turn to rubber.

Oh God. I know this isn't illegal in this country but something that feels this good should be. His mouth is wet and hot and fucking fantastic as it moves over my length, nibbling and sucking. His tongue swirls around the head before pressing into the slit, tasting me and driving a harsh whimper out of my narrowing throat and the sensation sends shivers through me, my balls tightening and tingling.

Through half closed eyelids I spot a dark shape moving past the frosted glass that forms the top half of the door and pause there. I freeze and then fall to my knees, grabbing Sam roughly and dragging him underneath the table with me.

The only sound I can hear through straining ears is our combined harsh panting as we both watch the doorway. The muscles in Sam's arm tighten beneath my grip as a second shadow joins the first and for one brief, horrifying, exhilarating moment I think they're going to try the door handle but then they move past and the moment is gone.

I turn to look at Sam just as he turns to look at me, his eyes wide, shocked, excited.

Oh Christ.

We fall on each other like starving men at a banquet, which in a way I suppose we are. His hands claw into my back as he pulls me as close to him as humanly possible and the pain from that does nothing to diminish the hunger I feel, only feeding it. His tongue is back in my mouth and my hands are battling with his in the incredibly narrow space between us, trying to undo his pants while he's simultaneously trying to get me out of mine.

I win, batting his out of the way. He moves them around to my rear instead, sliding them into the top of my jeans and gripping my bare ass. I finally get my hand inside his pants, and my fingers close around the object I seek. It's hot and hard in my hand, the pulse in the vein running along the underside beating frantically against my fingertips, echoing the rhythm I can feel where his bare chest is pressed against mine. He lets out a low groan and releases my lips, his head dropping so that his face is pressed against my neck, his breathing ragged against my heated skin as I continue to stroke him demandingly.

And then his mouth is back, begging this time, frantic with need and it fires my own desire. I release my grip on him and tear at his remaining clothes, pulling them down over his narrow hips, his cock springing free to rub against mine. He gets the general idea, and the hands still firmly attached to my ass finally let go and drag my own jeans down over my hips. And then they move back to my ass, pulling us hard together as his groin grinds against mine.

Oh man.

I slide my own hands to caress that perfect ass, the one I've admired for so long from afar on those rare occasions when he does wear jeans so tight they make my mouth water. It feels at least as good as it looks, the skin smooth and taut underneath my exploring fingertips. I slide one searching finger along the crevasse between his buttocks and he moans into my mouth, his body shivering beneath me.

Oh Christ, I want to be buried within him, gripped by that hot and tight flesh, but right now that seems an impossibility.

I stop plundering the depths of his mouth long enough to gasp out, "I don't suppose you brought any lube with you?"

His breath huffs against my skin as he chuckles. "Strangely enough, Chris," he replies, "when I left the house this morning it wasn't with the intention of seducing you." He pauses for a second to treat me to another glimpse of that wicked, highly sexual grin. "Well, no more than usual."

I grin back, high on a combination of lust and the heady scent of his arousal. We'll cope. Sometimes the most basic of things can be the most satisfying. With that in mind I lower my mouth to his again, sliding my tongue in to drink in more of the wonderful taste of him and then I roll him over to lie fully underneath me. Then it's just a question of sliding our sweaty and precome-slicked bodies together, and oh God the feel of him against me is indescribable.

One of his legs wraps around mine and his hand slides into my hair while the other tightens on my butt, increasing the friction between us. I groan into his questing mouth, rocking hard against him, our bellies slapping together. My balls feel rock hard now, and the muscles in my stomach are tightening, the onset of my climax hastened by the newness of this, the danger of the situation. It's having the same effect on him. He's close too; I can feel it, his body tensing against mine as he whimpers into my mouth.

I pull back, panting heavily. His eyes are clenched shut, the muscle in his jaw is twitching and his breathing is almost as harsh as my own. Christ, he's beautiful in abandon.

I slide my hand between our bodies, grabbing both of our erections and rubbing them together, watching fascinated as his face contorts with pleasure. I could come just from watching him. I could come from just the feel of his skin next to mine, from the scent of him filling my nostrils.

I come from the feel of him coming, bucking up against me, his fingers scrabbling frantically at my back and wetness splashing over both of our stomachs, coating my hand first with his warm semen and then with mine.

I collapse against him, burying my face in his damp neck while his shaking fingers card through my dishevelled hair. I'm depleted, satiated and delightfully satisfied. And, judging by the soft chuckle that reverberates throughout the body pinned down under mine, so is he.

I raise my head and peer down at him, meeting amused green eyes, and grin back before rolling off him, eyeing him lecherously. I didn't have time to appreciate his form while caught up in a frenzy of lust, and I make up for it now. He's tousled, his hair mussed and his pants and underwear still tangled around his knees, covered in our mingled essences and looking very sexily debauched.

It's a sight I could get used to.

His torn vest is lying on the floor beside the table we're still hiding beneath, and I reach out and grab it, using it to wipe first me and then him clean. He gives me a mock glare at the lack of respect I'm showing his clothing but I shrug my shoulders at him and smile, uncaring. It's already ruined, after all. No harm, no foul.

And then I sink back down onto my back, one arm curled underneath my head, and stare contentedly at the underside of the table, too drained at the moment to actually bother getting dressed, my own pants still somewhere around my calves. I don't think he's any better off, because he doesn't move either, just lies there with his shoulder pressing companionably against mine.

There's only one thing you can say after mind-blowing, first time sex like that.

"Fancy a trip to Maryland?"

The End






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