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It was definitely one of the odder situations they’d found themselves in.
All four of them had been captured so there was no immediate hope of rescue on the horizon. There was no cavalry coming. The room they were locked in was more of a secure storeroom than a cell – large, relatively clean, fairly bright.
An exhaustive search (not that it took more than moments) provided nothing that might be a means of escape. The walls, floor and most of the ceiling were smooth painted concrete, the door was metal and set flush into the frame with no inside lock, and the only window was a long clerestory strip of glass set high on the back wall that was far too narrow for even Ginger to attempt to wriggle through.
No furniture of any sort. There was a pile of blankets and a small supply of food and water. And a bucket.
All in all, not the worst situation they’d ever been in; no sign of immediate danger but also no signs of any immediate opportunities to affect an escape either.
Not the worst situation, except…
They each retreated to opposite corners of the room, uncomfortably aware that the drug forced into their veins was beginning to have a very obvious effect.
A silence fell.
Algy eventually raised his head from where he’d had it resting on crossed arms, propped on his knees. He’d taken quite a few hits and given more than a few back before they were subdued and the needles were shoved in their arms.
“I have a suggestion,” he said, looking directly across the room at Biggles. “You won’t like it.”
Biggles shifted awkwardly, trying to rearrange himself without being too conspicuous about it.
“Which is?”
“We do what they want. We…” he gave a complicated twirl with his fingers. “It might take the edge off, and… Did you get a good look at the guards? Some of them… they weren’t right. I think they’ve taken the same stuff we were given. It could be a distraction if they open the door at any point.”
Biggles narrowed his eyes. “You’re right. I don’t like it. You and I…”
“I know, but…”
“I can’t order anyone. I can’t. I won’t. It’s not an order I’m willing to give.” His face flushing, he turned to the others. “Ginger? Bertie? Do you understand what Algy’s suggesting?”
“Yes,” said Ginger. “I haven’t, but I don’t think… I don’t think I’d dislike it.” He was looking at Algy as he spoke.
Bertie took longer to answer. “I have, but not since school. I didn’t… I didn’t. I wasn’t keen on it. Not keen at all.”
“Then we don’t,” said Biggles flatly.
“No. No, dear thing, it’s a sensible suggestion. It’s getting worse, isn’t it? I can cope. I can cope. All for one and all that.”
Biggles closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Alright then, if you’re sure. You are sure?” Bertie was correct, it was getting worse.
They took time to pile all the blankets into a loose pallet in the middle of the floor. Another awkward silence fell.
“What are you thinking?” Algy asked Biggles.
“One on one. Nothing too complicated. We can all switch spots if needed.”
Bertie sank down onto the nest of blankets rather abruptly. “You should know. Don’t think I’ll be all that good at this, chaps.”
Biggles went down next to him, opened his mouth, but Bertie was still speaking. “School… it was a ‘thing’ but it wasn’t always a mutual decision, if you know what I mean? It wasn’t always important that all parties… enjoyed it.”
Bertie’s hands were shaking. And cold. It was not a cold room. More than ‘not keen’ Biggles realised with slowly dawning horror as the implications of what Bertie was saying – and not saying – became clear.
The white-hot burst of fury that followed that thought cleared his head a little.
“Change of plan,” he said after another moment’s thought. “Algy, can you come down here? I need your help. Ginger… laddie, I’m sorry, but can you hang on for a while longer?”
Ginger’s face had gone pale with understanding, but he had been standing next to Algy where Bertie couldn’t see his expression. He kept his voice steady and light. “It’s fine, I’ll watch. Might pick up some tips.”
“We need your steady hand on the controls,” Biggles murmured in an aside to Algy, not without a hint of humour despite the ugly circumstances. They hadn’t for some time, but back in the day – when they did – he would have been the first to admit that Algy outstripped him in both skill and experience.
Algy nodded, thin lipped.
Biggles let go of Bertie’s hand, moved to the side and let Algy take over.
“Bertie, can you look at me?” Bertie could, raising his gaze from where it was fixed on the blanket inches from Algy’s knees.
“You’re safe,” Algy said. “It’s alright. I have you. We have you. You’re safe, I promise. You’re with friends, we’ll look after you.”
“Here’s how it is. Nothing will happen if you don’t want it to. Nothing. No matter what.”
“If you need more time, you tell me – us – to wait or slow down, and we will. If you need to stop, you say so. Say stop, or no, and we do. No questions, no arguments. We do what you say. We ask first.”
He shot a quick glance at Biggles and got a nod of approval.
Algy would… he would be having a chat with that idiot Gimlet King when they made it back to England and ask if he could remember names from his and Bertie’s schooldays. And then… then… if he could track them down he’d be having a chat with them.
A short, sharp, nasty chat that might involve fists. At the very least.
But meanwhile, more important things.
“May I kiss you?” he asked, as gently as he could.
Bertie shook himself, somewhat in the manner of a terrier coming in out of the rain and managed to resume some of his usual cheerful demeanour.
“Be my guest, old thing.”
Algy started softly, barely a brush of lips that gradually firmed as Bertie’s mouth opened beneath his. The bristle of moustache was unusual, but not unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all.
He could feel Bertie starting to relax, just a little. Biggles had moved to sit behind him, barely touching, just at his back for support while Algy went to work.
Slowly, slowly, while his own head was buzzing with want and need.
Bertie began to slump back against Biggles’ chest, and Algy followed him. “I’d like to suck you,” Algy said, hot, hungry, still trying to keep on top of his own desire. “May I? Would that be okay?”
Bertie nodded.
“Trousers off,” said Biggles, ridiculously practical. “No laundry service and we’ll need them later.”
Algy huffed a laugh. “Should probably have thought of that first.” He waited until Bertie focused on him again. “Yes?” And then went for shoes, socks and belt.
He was out of practice; it took a few moments before muscle memory kicked in and he could take Bertie as deep as he wanted. The hoarse cry of pleasure it elicited was more than enough reward for the initial discomfort.
Ginger, never one to hold back when he could rush in, was on his knees at their sides, as close as he could without getting in the way and watching as if hypnotised. “What can I do?” he asked Biggles.
“You’re asking the wrong man,” Biggles told him, briefly moving his mouth from where he was dropping kisses on Bertie’s neck and shoulder.
“Bertie, please? Can I? Please?”
“Yes! Dear lad!”
Even with trembling hands Ginger took no time at all to undo the rest of the buttons on Bertie’s shirtfront and put his mouth to work on his chest.
Algy had to take a quick breather before settling into a rhythm again. He wasn’t quite as used to this as he once had been. Ginger, the devil, had somehow managed to completely wriggle out of all his clothes without Algy noticing and now knelt naked at Bertie’s side, sucking a nipple.
Biggles had coaxed Bertie’s shoulders round slightly so their mouths could meet and was suckling on Bertie’s tongue.
Moustache, thought Algy vaguely and went back down. Rubbed a spit-wet finger on Bertie’s entrance. Not penetrating, just reminding him it was there. Bertie moaned into Biggles’ mouth and spread his legs a little wider.
Bertie, with three hot mouths on him, did not last much longer. He climaxed into Algy’s with a short almost shocked shout and slumped back into Biggles’ arms.
Ginger was looking at him again.
Biggles glanced over Bertie’s shoulder, gave Algy a warm look and went back to kissing Bertie’s neck.
Algy wiped his mouth and turned his attention to Ginger. “Right, laddie, your turn?”
“Won’t – won’t take long, I think.” Ginger was wide eyed, a sheen of sweat on his shoulders and forehead. “What can I do for you?”
“Let’s see. Come here.”
And then he had Ginger’s mouth for the first time. Not soft, as it had been with Bertie. No, Ginger dove straight in. Algy went over backwards with a gasp of laughter. “Trousers,” he managed to say.
He was stripped, quite efficiently.
“And the taste,” he warned, “the taste might not be…”
“S’fine. Not as if I haven’t tasted my own.”
“Oh, Christ!”
Well, it wasn’t as if it was their blankets.
Algy took a breath. Took a moment. Checked the others.
Biggles had Bertie comfortably in hand. No, Bertie had Biggles. OH… OH… Bertie definitely had, was having Biggles, and not by the hand. That was a good sign, surely?
Ginger was close to the edge again, with barely a hand on him. Algy’s own arousal flared back up. “When we get home, we’re going to do this properly. I’m going to take you to bed and not let you back out until we’ve done everything. And then we’re going to do it all again.”
The growled promises in Ginger’s ear were enough to send him over and Algy followed shortly afterwards, rubbing himself to completion in the slickness on Ginger’s stomach.
And then rolled over, lying flat for a moment, reaching a blind hand out to grope for and grab Ginger’s while they both got their breath back. He thought the worst of it might be over, the same urgency didn’t seem to be riding him as badly as earlier, hopefully the others were close to the same.
Apparently not.
Ginger shifted sideways and rubbed his backside against Algy’s front. “Please. You could – you could?”
Algy pulled him over, kissed him hard. “No, not now. Not here. Not for your first time. Not on a cell floor, not without something to ease the way. Later, if you still want.”
“I want,” said Ginger, between kisses. “I do want. I have wanted. I will want.”
“Later,” said Algy, trying to keep a relatively clear head despite the temptation. “When we’re home. Fuck my throat. Sit over me and fuck my throat.” Ginger didn’t need telling twice. Algy’d barely be able to speak after this, but that was fine.
“Sit up a little,” Biggles said. “I’ll hold you up. Better angle.”
It was.
When Ginger was done, Biggles shuffled round and took his mouth, licking Ginger’s taste out of it, then pulling back enough to give a short laugh, eyes gleaming. “Why did we stop doing this?” Algy couldn’t remember, there had never been a hard stop, it had just worn away over the years. It wasn’t worn now.
“Probably just being idiots,” he said, closed his eyes and gave himself up to it again.
The next was a reshuffle of the way they’d started out. Bertie was at his back, holding him, sucking kisses and soft bites on his shoulders and neck. Soft words, much the same way he’d talk to a horse. That moustache. Biggles’ mouth on his cock.
And Ginger – god, Ginger – sharp as ever, even now, had obviously been picking up tips earlier as promised. He slid a finger to Algy’s entrance and carefully, carefully worked it in. “Forward a bit,” Algy managed to instruct, to gasp, “and down, down, yes there. Aaah!”
Bertie swallowed his shout and Biggles swallowed his spend.
An unknown amount of time later, when the four of them were finally – finally – lying in a sated, sweaty tangle of limbs, the cell door slid open and one of the guards slipped tentatively into the room. He was followed by another. They didn’t appear to be armed, or even on shift judging from the casualness of their attire.
Biggles, faster on the uptake than the others, rolled himself back up to his knees, gazed up with hot eyes and reached out an eager, shaking hand to the leading guard. When his hand was grasped, he dropped his gaze to groin level and slid his other to the man’s belt as if to loosen it. And then used both as leverage to twist him round and slam him head-first into the nearest wall. The man slumped to the floor, clearly stunned if not fully unconscious.
Algy had pounced on the other.
“Ginger, grab the door,” Biggles ordered curtly. “Check if there’s any others outside.”
Ginger was back in a few moments, carefully setting the bolts to keep the cell door propped open. “No-one,” he reported. “In fact, the place looks half deserted.”
Biggles and Algy were in the process of binding and gagging the two dazed guards using their own belts and shirts, and Bertie was moving round the cell picking up and sorting out random piles of clothing. They slipped on slacks, shirts and shoes as quickly as possible. Underwear and socks were crammed into any available pockets.
“Marcel did mention the gang switched bases quite often. Could this have been a holding cell? To keep us out of the way while they mop up?”
“Storage cell,” said Algy. “We were stored.”
“I don’t care,” said Biggles. “We’re leaving. We are not going to engage with anyone, if possible. We’re not armed, and frankly – he gave one of his rare, brilliant smiles – not in the best condition.”
Algy thought they might need to agree to disagree on that one. Kiss-bitten lips, purpling mouth marks on necks, sweaty, dishevelled; he’d definitely seen lots of much less attractive things in his life. A few aches and wobbly knees were probably the worst of it.
“Back to the plane with no trouble, if we can,” Biggles went on. “Radio in a report, and then… regroup. Wait to see what’s wanted.”
“I vote for a hotel”, said Bertie. “Decent hotel, with good plumbing.”
Biggles nodded in agreement. “Good shout, Bertie. All I want is a bath.”
“All I want is to get home,” muttered Algy. “I’ve got things I need to do.”
“I am not a ‘thing’,” Ginger muttered back.
Algy grinned at him.
Biggles was not impressed. “We’ll see if we’re needed or if the gang has moved on. Something will need to be done with those two as well.” He nodded towards the two trussed guards. “Hopefully – hopefully! Marcel will manage to keep some of the more lurid details out of the official reports.”
“Oh lord,” said Algy. “Fair point.” He was still grinning slightly; he couldn’t seem to stop. “You must admit, though, I was right.”