An Undercover Fling Page 2

  The ambient lighting, not sensing any movement, dimmed, leaving Trell lying there with his thoughts. Garst had returned, and for all intents and purposes had picked things up where they'd left off. He hadn't given any clues, anything concrete about his reasons for being on this backwater station. And that left Trell thinking he should savor the moment while he had it, because who knew what morning would bring?

  Except Trell knew what it would bring. Another shift at Port Intelligence, another day of aliens coming for some summer religious conference, and probably more trouble than he wanted to contemplate right now.

  Chapter Two

  For a moment, the unfamiliar weight in the bed beside him, and his lack of clothing, disoriented Garst. Memories flooded back, making his morning erection even harder. Better get out of bed while he still could. He had work to do, even if he couldn't disclose it to Trell. Damn, when this was all said and done, he hoped he'd be able to come back and explain. This time had to be when he got to explain how his life worked; too many times before he'd been whisked off to another fucking assignment in another back post station. Except guys in his division never got any say in where they went, what they did, or how much time they had before they left.

  Garst rolled from beneath the sheet without disturbing. A glance at the clock showed the time to be early in the morning, too early for rounds and reports to be given yet. Good. Maybe he could get out before things got even more complicated.

  Garst found his clothing and dressed. Thankful Trell's later shift kept the ambient lighting turned off until a more reasonable hour, he slipped through the door.

  Soon, he silently promised the man in the bed. Soon.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, after grabbing a cup of some bitter herbal blend the locals drank for coffee, Garst leaned against the wall in an empty storeroom. The access panel beeped a series of tones that only he and one other man knew. When the doors slid open, a lanky man, looking a good five years older than Garst, his black hair streaked with gray, entered. He glanced behind him, small eyes narrowed. A vivid scar ran along his jaw line, almost as if someone had tried to cleave his head from his body.

  Garst stood his ground. He slowly, obviously reached into his pocket and tossed a padded package at the man. "You wanted this."

  The man nodded. He picked up the parcel, his focus never leaving Garst. He flipped open the padding, careful not to drop any of the pieces, and slipped the chip into a handheld device. Apparently he liked what he saw on the screen, for he nodded once more. "You will know the appointed time."

  Turning on his heel, the man left.

  Garst waited until the door slid closed, then sagged against the wall. He knew the young courier who would be visiting him. The sandy-haired, freckle-nosed kid looked too young to have been drawn into a syndicate like this. From his intelligence gathering, Garst knew the kid worked to pay off his mother's debt. Some gem of parenthood, she was. Apparently she liked the high from Tryp so much she'd sold her own son to get some. Too bad she died of an overdose less than a month later. The guy he was after had taken her stash and her son for payment owed.

  Garst shook his head and waited several heartbeats before leaving the storage room. From past encounters, he knew he could wait two, maybe three hours, then the courier would come with the documents. That night, the drop, and the bust, would go down. Taking a deep breath to steel himself against what was to come, and to promise himself that he would come clean with Trell just as soon as he could, Garst exited the storage room.

  * * *

  Trell leaned against the wall and listened to his captain drone on about how they were supposed to be professional. No horsing around in the cargo bays. The two agents caught playing catch with a confiscated gem were on probation. Other violations would not be tolerated, nor treated so lightly. Trell fought against the urge to smirk. He knew the agents, and this hadn't been the first time they'd been in trouble.

  "There may be an event this evening," the square-jawed commander said. "We have intelligence that a Tryp deal might go down later on tonight. I expect all agents to be ready."

  Trell frowned. Anytime Garst came back to Trell's station there'd been an "event." Whether it was the mind-blowing sex they'd had last night, or the deal that had gone wrong back then, Garst created such "events," and Trell had no doubt his lover was involved in this one, too. He sighed and pushed away from the wall when the commander announced the meeting adjourned. He had a post to man and cargo to inspect. Thinking about anything else would lead to ulcers.

  * * *

  The guy three back from the priest made Trell uneasy. He scanned the robed man's satchel, filled with ancient holy books, and nodded him through. Apparently his order had to oversee the alien gathering. Trell shrugged. Took all kinds, like the young couple coming through now. The man had a job in the docks, and the woman had a job working for one of the fabric importers. He wished the young couple well.

  The skin between Trell's shoulder blades itched even before the ice-blue-haired punk stepped into his bay. No detectors beeped. Trell wished he could pull the man aside, get a better look at his gear, because something wasn't right. The young man stepped out of the bay, and out of the corner of his eye, Trell watched Garst slip into one of the receiving rooms.

  Shit! This was going down right in front of him. He pressed the button on his console, turning off the "available" light above his bay, and ducked out through the turnstiles. He pressed the intercom at his collar. "Blue light," he said. Sounds of a mad scramble, and more agents leaving their posts followed him to the wall.

  His stomach dropped. Garst was in there. He flattened his back against the wall, weapon drawn, waiting for the moment when the drop would happen. A flip of the switch at his wrist had his ambient mic on, the device sensitive enough to pick up the conversation around the corner and relay it to Trell's earpiece.

  "I'll have fifty thousand transferred to your account right away," the blue-haired man said. A zipper opened. "Nice. Good quality."

  "Glad you like it," Garst replied. A few clicks as he checked on his account balance, then a satisfied, "Nice doing business with you."

  "Now," his commander's voice rang in his ears.

  No thoughts, no time for hesitation. Trell pivoted around the corner and pointed his weapon at the two men. "Back away from the bag and get your hands against the wall." Blue-hair glanced toward the door, but a quick gesture from Trell's gun sent him scuttling to the wall. He pressed his face against it, palms flat. One of the other officers came in and cuffed him.

  Garst gave a sad, sorry smile, then turned and flattened his palms against the wall. He said nothing, not even when Trell walked up behind him and wrapped the cuffs around his wrists. I don't want to be the agent to do this. Trell bit back the words, his questions too intimate for a room filled with agents and more Tryp than Trell had ever seen in one place. His commander took the drugs, the recorder from Trell's wrist, the damning evidence, all of it, with a gruff, "Good job."

  The officer in charge took Garst, and Trell forced himself to watch his lover being led away. Yeah, he should have seen that one coming. He should have known.

  * * *

  Trell stood with his back to the cells, not wanting to see Garst sitting on the metal bench behind the bars. He filled out the paperwork from the raid yesterday. Betrayal churned in his gut. Sure, Garst might not have been honest with him, but he could have said something. If word had gotten out of their dinner together and then what happened later, Trell knew his ass would be in the cell next to him.

  "Commander on deck!" one of the officers called.

  Trell immediately stiffened and went to attention. The announcement was only made for someone several ranks above his boss. The only one he'd ever heard the announcement made for was the head of Port Intelligence. Trell watched an older man with a thick head of gray hair walk in. Medals hung off his suit, badges and stars marking him as one of the highest ranking officers of Port Intelligence.

>   "Release the prisoner," he said.

  Trell turned and stared at the prisoner. Garst. His ex-lover. His stomach fell. No, not another one of these, another mission where Garst says he has to explain and then gets sprung before he gets a chance. Trell opened his mouth, then closed it again. Couldn't say anything in front of his boss' boss many times over.

  One of the agents opened the cell and motioned for Garst to leave. He did, not even looking at Trell. So that was that. One dinner, one bout of hot sex, and he was done. Well then, at least Trell knew. Now he wouldn't wonder, not like last time.

  As the chief led Garst through the door Garst turned. His gaze locked with Trell's. A heated, pleading look -- please understand -- passed between them. Understand what, Trell wondered, but then the chief walked out the door, and Garst couldn't do anything except follow.

  Trell waited until Garst left, then went over to the guard. "What the hell was that all about?"

  The guard shrugged. "Damned if I know." He grunted, then fished a small data crystal out of his pocket. "Asked me to keep this for you. You're a good guy, and he's port." He passed it to Trell, then turned and walked away.

  Trell slipped the data crystal into his pocket. He didn't dare read it, not on company time. As soon as he got home though, to hell with protocols, for Garst he'd find out the contents. And if it implicated Garst, tomorrow he'd turn the "found" evidence over to his boss.

  * * *

  Trell stared at Garst's holographic image on the display. His lover's lips moved, but Trell couldn't hear him. The only word he'd registered had been "undercover." A muscle tensed in Trell's jaw. Fucking damn it, Garst had done it again! At least this time he'd left the crystal. Almost savagely, he pressed the replay button.

  The message blurred as Trell's system decrypted several layers of protection, most of which Trell and Garst had keyed together all those years ago. Finally, Garst's figure sharpened.

  "If you're hearing this, then you've seen me arrested and maybe even done it yourself. I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I've been on the trail of a mega Tryp dealer.

  We've brought him down, but my cover had to be solid. I've been sprung. If I'm able to meet you, I'll be at the Rusted Wrench at twenty hundred hours. If I don't show by the quarter hour, then I can't make it. And Trell, you'll never know just how sorry I'll be if that's the case." The big man looked like he might want to say more, but then a noise sounded in the room and the transmission ceased.

  "Well, shit," Trell growled. The same restaurant they'd had dinner at last night.

  The message encryption, as well as Garst's words, placed the message as less than a day old. He glanced at the clock. If he hurried into the shower and changed, he'd just make it. And maybe, he'd find out the truth.

  * * *

  Garst slid into the other side of Trell's table in a dark corner of the Rusted Wrench. Nerves fluttered in his stomach. Even on the trickiest of missions, he never worried. Sitting here, explaining how he could dupe Trell twice, all in the name of work, that scared the shit out of him. He took a deep breath, ordered a beer from the kiosk, and nodded to Trell. "You got my message."

  "I did. You're damn lucky the guard gave it to me."

  "Fifty credits helped ease the passage." Garst sighed. "You know I never intended to have you be the arresting officer. If I could have kept you out of it..." He let his voice drift off when the server bot brought the drink. He swallowed half of it in a single chug. "I've been doing some pretty hellish work lately. Have been since that fiasco a few years ago. I'm done now. Got an appointment here on station. No more undercover work. No more assignments where you might arrest me."

  He paused, not quite sure how much more to say in such an open area. Before he spilled the beans, he might as well know if Trell accepted his explanation. Garst wouldn't blame him for standing up and walking away.

  Trell flattened his palms on the table. For a moment Garst feared Trell would do just that, then he shook his head. "You were sprung by someone pretty high up in command. I think if you were on the wrong side of this, that wouldn't have happened. Port tends to hang its corrupt officers out to dry as an example to the rest of us."

  Garst nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

  "So you're here? Stationed for good."

  "You can verify with your boss if you want. They even know about us, because I wanted to disclose all conflicts of interest before I stepped foot on this station." Garst shrugged. "What happens next is up to you, but I'd like to go back to your place for round two. And since I haven't booked quarters yet, maybe a round every night on out?" Garst grinned.

  The moments before Trell answered were the longest in Garst's life. He reached over to the kiosk and punched in some commands. "I've paid for the meal and changed the order to go. That work for you?"

  Relief flooded through him. "Yeah, that works just fine."

  "Then you're buying tomorrow night."

  Trell's laughter wrapped around Garst's cock and squeezed. Yeah, he'd buy.

  Their food arrived, and both men reached for it at the same time. Trell's fingers stroked the back of Garst's hand. The other man fought back a shudder at the unexpected caress. He grabbed the container, and together they hurried back to Trell's quarters.

  No kisses or gropes in the lift tubes, and the walk down the hall to Trell's rooms was one of the more sedate they'd shared. Once inside, however, with the food safely placed on a table, Trell turned to him. "We'll eat later."

  "It'll get cold." In spite of his words, Garst strode toward the bed, dropping his shirt along the way. He sat down and kicked off his boots. "No one wants a cold dinner."

  "I paid extra for heat packs." Trell shrugged, and his shirt landed on the floor not far from Garst's. Boots followed, then pants, until he stood completely naked in front of his lover.

  "Well then, if you put it that way." Reaching out, Garst stroked the length of Trell's cock. Tiny, fluttering strokes that gave way to fingers circling the hard rod and cupping Trell's balls. Garst smiled as Trell locked his knees, then leaned forward to rest his hands on Garst's shoulders.

  "Suck me," Trell ordered.

  "Maybe." Garst pulled back, palming his own hard shaft. A wicked grin covered his face, and for a moment, he thought about all the ways to torment Trell. Oh, hell, he had time to do that. Lots of time considering his orders, and he leaned forward to lick a salty bead of precum from the tip of Trell's cock.

  The masculine groan rumbling above him told Garst how much Trell enjoyed the attention. Garst wrapped lips around the plum head and sucked, drawing more of Trell's cock into his mouth until the head nudged against the opening to Garst's throat.

  Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked harder until Trell thrust against his lips.

  Garst pulled back with the intention of drawing out Trell's pleasure. Leaning back on the bed, he propped himself up on his elbows. His cock stood away from his body, jutting out at an angle.

  Trell stared at it. "You want something?" He nudged Garst's knees with his own.

  "Maybe." Garst let his head fall back and his eyes close, offering himself to Trell.

  Let the other man do what he wanted -- simply being here, in Trell's bed, was more than enough for him. When the bed dipped, Garst didn't look up. Trell's cock nudged his forehead, then his nose, prompting a chuckle from him. "You always did have bad aim." He reached around Trell's hip and patted him on the ass, urging him down just a bit more.

  There -- the head of Trell's cock dangled directly in front of Garst's mouth.

  Unable to resist the temptation, he lifted his head and captured it once more.

  The wet heat of Trell's mouth surrounding his own shaft had Garst moaning around the rod in his mouth. Oh, so good! Only Trell could do this so well. He'd always sucked cock like a champ, and holy fuck had Garst missed this. Smiling, he reached between Trell's legs to fondle his balls and the sensitive places behind.

  The wet sounds of blowjobs filled the small room. The musky odor of Trell's body filled his sense
s. Squeaking springs provided a counterpoint to the slurps and moans.

  Trell's fingers replaced his lips and tongue. "Fuck. I'm going to come!" A moment later his entire body stiffened.

  Taking him deeper, Garst held the head of Trell's cock trapped against the roof of his mouth. Balls tightened in Garst's hand, and then the hot rush of seed cascaded down his throat. He swallowed hard, taking it all, then released Trell's cock to lick him clean.

  "Fuck me." Trell moved before Garst even had a chance to say anything, lying face down on the bed behind him. He fumbled for lube and tossed it at him. The bottle hit Garst's hip.

  "Hey, quit throwing shit at me." He grinned as he picked up the bottle and added the slick liquid to Trell's saliva.

  Trell glanced over his shoulder. "I will once you do as you're told." He blew a kiss that made Garst slap him on the ass.

  "Do as I'm told," he muttered, using first one finger, then a second to test him out. Satisfied Trell was ready for him, Garst moved between his legs. Bracing his weight on his hands, he eased his hips down. The head of his cock brushed the crease of Trell's buttocks. He reached down and positioned it against the pucker of Trell's ass. A short thrust had him inside, and then with the long slide into heaven he seated himself fully within his lover.