Occupational Hazard
One shot
“Confound it, Gant, you’ve gone too far this time!”
Damon Gant’s brow lifted in
amusement as he glanced up from the recent batch of case reports he had to give
his approval to. It was certainly not
the first time Manfred von Karma had stormed into his office so brazenly, and
he hoped it would not be the last. For
many years they had held a shaky alliance in their control of the city’s law
enforcement—they were a formidable team, and had granted each other a leniency
they allowed no other in order to keep that careful balance.
Of course, Gant had crossed
that line by some distance this time, without regret. He had even anticipated this little
outburst. Karma was nothing if not
predictable and he always played it to his advantage.
“Manfred.” He set his
papers aside, leaning back in his desk chair as he adjusted his glasses. “Always a pleasure.”
“Don’t patronize me,” von
Karma snapped, his left hand pounding the desk.
It rattled the pens and sent one rolling onto the floor with a soft
clatter. “You set up that little bitch
of yours as Chief Prosecutor! That was
not part of our arrangement!”
Gant
smiled, thin and smug. “I assure you, Lana
Skye has all the proper training and is perfectly qualified. You know as well as I the position is more
clerical than prosecutorial anyway.
You’ll be well taken care of.”
“That is not the issue, and
you know it!” Karma growled. He really
was something of a feared sight when angered, the way the veins stood out on
his pale skin, making his brow look swollen.
“You’ve ruined him! Ruined everything!”
That caught his
interest. He had expected his
endorsement of Chief Prosecutor, his own ex-partner Lana Skye, to get Karma’s
attention; but whenever Karma threw out unspecified male pronouns, there was
only ever one person he had in mind.
Curious.
Gant placed his hands on the
desk and pushed slowly out of his chair.
As he straightened Karma leaned back, his posture
becoming stiff and his eyes attentive.
Difficult though it may be to think someone like Karma possessed
imagination, Gant knew him well enough by now to realize what that expression
meant, and what he was thinking.
“It wasn’t ultimately my
decision,” Gant reasoned, slowly circling the desk. “That sort of thing gets handled by the
governor’s office.”
Karma’s eyes narrowed as he
watched the other’s every move. “I
suppose you’ll be telling me next your promotion to Chief wasn’t your idea,
either.”
Gant chuckled good-naturedly;
by now they were face to face, Karma tense and wary and his company
amused. “No, I’ll admit, that was my idea.”
“You miserable
rat. You should know I—”
“—have killed men for less?”
Gant interrupted, laughing. He loved to
see Karma’s shoulders stiffen, the sudden tense of muscles along his neck and
jaw. “Come, Manfred, we’re old
friends. You can’t blame me for taking
every opportunity afforded me.”
“Of course,” Karma
hissed. He was bracing himself now—he
knew Gant just as well as Gant knew him.
“I don’t blame you at all.”
Gant reached up, slowly,
testing his company by drawing his fingertips across the intricate lapel of his
suit coat. This time Karma didn’t flinch;
his eyes darted down, briefly, and he kept very still. He may as well have written Gant an
invitation. “I really threw you off,
didn’t I?” Karma was rarely in
so…careful a mood.
Karma drew his gaze back up
to Gant’s face. “You know I wanted Payne
for that position.”
The irony was in that both
men had been fighting for some time to implant their puppets into that
particular spot. Gant might have even
granted him that much, if not for Lana being so perfect
a convenience. “Yes, I know. But what a waste that would be.” He lowered his hand. “If only you knew what I’ve put into
motion. I imagine you yourself could not
have planned more perfectly.”
“You have no idea the degree
of ‘planning’ I am capable of,” Karma challenged.
“That’s right. I haven’t quite figured out yet what you mean
to do about the boy.”
Karma’s fists tightened, the
lines around his mouth deepening in displeasure. He was rallying himself for a response when
Gant finally made his move—maybe it was childish of him, after all these years,
but he still thrilled in catching the famous von Karma off his guard. With his greater stature he had no trouble
shoving Karma hard in the chest, backing him quickly up against the wall. Karma fought back, and would have planted his
knee firmly in the Chief’s groin—he always fought dirty—if Gant hadn’t struck a
low blow of his own. He twisted his
body, digging his thick fingers into Karma’s right shoulder.
Karma’s jaw snapped tight,
biting back what Gant imagined could have been an impressive sound of
pain. Gant had yet to fully determine
the origin of his secret weakness but that never prevented him from exploiting
it. It distracted Karma long enough for
Gant to pin him soundly against the wall behind him.
“Of course,” Gant murmured
thoughtfully, “you could have had the job yourself a long time ago. Your reputation far outweighs my own. It was only your vanity that prevented you from
taking it; it’s no fun to pull the strings when the audience never sees you, is
it?”
“I belong in court,” Karma
growled, though there was a note of strain in his voice there hadn’t been
before. His arm was trembling. “And you belong on the street—it’s how we always agreed!”
“Plans change. Ah, but not yours.” Gant tilted his head slightly, watching him
closely around his bangs. “I thought you
would have appreciated my role for our little Worthy.”
Karma snorted. His body shifted slightly, not enough to be
of any use against Gant’s greater weight.
“You’ve ruined him,” he repeated.
“The rumors have made him defensive.
The more he has to deny forging evidence, the more he despises the very
idea! He sees it as an attack on his…his
honor!”
He spat the word like rotten meat, with such vehemence that Gant imagined it had even
made his breath taste sour. It only
heightened Gant’s curiosity. “You’re a
fascinating man, Manfred von Karma,” he said darkly. “You hate him so much, and yet even when I
defame him for you, you have no gratitude.
If he suffers by any hand it will be by yours alone, hm?”
Karma glared back at him, but
Gant continued before he could reply.
“I’m sorry to take your little play toy from you,” he drawled, “but the
boy is mine. He bends to my will now. And so do you.”
Gant pressed forward,
crushing their chests together as his mouth claimed Karma’s in a demanding
kiss. Karma snarled and bit at his lips,
beastlike, shoving at Gant with his fists and knees. They grappled against the wall in a tangle of
thick limbs and teeth against tongue.
And when Gant tasted blood it took him a moment to realize it was his
upper lip that had been split.
He grunted, giving Karma a
shove that separated their mouths a moment.
“Bastard.”
He touched a hand—not the one still poised at Karma’s shoulder—to the
injury. He chuckled. “Now I have to think of an explanation for
this.”
“You’ve never complained
before,” Karma grumbled. Though flushed
his face was still a sickly color.
“Of course
not.” Gant’s eyes gleamed behind his spectacles;
his pride would not admit it, but there was something in Karma’s cold, hard
glare that heated his blood. Maybe it
was the knowledge that he alone could reduce Manfred von Karma to this state,
could know him so well. “I’ve always
enjoyed our little…affairs.”
“A few minutes in the
evidence room,” Karma retorted, “do not constitute an ‘affair’.”
Karma shifted again, and
mysteriously he was free enough to lift his hands to Gant’s face. They knocked his glasses off before sliding
back to tighten into fists in his pale hair.
With a sharp jerk they were nose to nose once more, fighting for control
of another ferocious kiss. They were
veterans, after all, and they knew how to excite each other’s lust as well as
anger. There were even times the Chief
was grateful von Karma didn’t employ his share of the advantage as often, or as
well, as he could.
Karma always saved his trump
until the end.
“We can debate semantics
another time,” Gant chuckled, shifting his weight to his left. He left Karma’s shoulder alone for now as his
hand slid down the man’s body. He didn’t
bother to remove his glove as he undid Karma’s belt. “But if you really believe I’ve wronged
you…and our precious friendship…I’m willing to make it up to you.”
Karma leaned his head back
against the wall. He was still glowering
but his earlier resistance remained only for show. It was another of his more challenging
personality quirks: Karma would fight up to a point, and change his mind when
it suited him. Gant had yet to determine
any action of his that caused the sudden reverse of spirit and that alone irked
him in their liaisons.
“You’re not that good,” Karma muttered irritably.
“You’ve never complained
before,” Gant quoted, amused. He dug his
knee into Karma’s thighs, parting them further as he slipped his hand down the
front of his pants. Karma tensed and
held himself back at first, as if he could deny that he was already hard and
anxious beneath the gloved fingers. But
Gant knew him too well; he stroked the man with quick, stiff movements of his
hand.
“Do you like them?” Gant
drawled, giving him a squeeze that made Karma hiss sharply with pleasure. “They’re new--Italian leather.”
Karma scowled, but he
couldn’t hold that expression for long.
His hands curled tightly against thick biceps as he turned his face into
Gant’s throat. He didn’t kiss so much as gnaw at the tanned, sensitive skin below Gant’s
ear. Whether he was determined to leave
bruises or was simply enjoying the treatment too much there was no telling, but
the scrape of teeth made Gant shift anxiously on his feet. He wasn’t so heartless that he could remain
unaffected with a man’s hot breath against his face, sturdy hips thrusting
selfishly into his palm.
Someday, Gant told himself,
they would finish this in a proper bed.
As exciting as it was letting the high prosecutor corner him in the courthouse storage room, there was something to
be said for clean sheets and a stiff mattress.
The thought made Gant’s own pulse rise, which in turn motivated him into
a stronger, almost cruel caress of his partner’s engorged flesh. When Karma shuddered and bit him he groaned
softly in satisfaction.
Karma stiffened, his nails
digging harsh, half-moon rivets into Gant’s arms as he came with a loud
hiss. Gant licked his lips and continued
to fondle him until he was spent, just because it would annoy him. But this time Karma didn’t try to shove him
off immediately—he actually seemed to be taking his time, allowing his
breathing to come back under control. It
was probably not a good sign.
“Alas, my new glove,” Gant
murmured as he finally slipped his hand free.
He plucked it off, folding it carefully to be tucked into a pocket. He would clean it as soon as Karma left. “But it had to be broken in sometime.”
“It’ll come out,” Karma
snorted. He smoothed his hair away from
his face. “Always does.”
“Of course. But now…” Gant’s lips twisted in a smug grin as he
removed the other glove as well. All of
Karma’s charming protests and bitter kisses had tightened his own body into
arousal, and he had no intention of letting the other leave just yet. “If you’d be so kind…”
He set a hand heavily on
Karma’s shoulder—his weak shoulder—and pushed.
On anyone else the indication of what he wanted would be more than
clear, but Karma clenched his teeth and didn’t budge. He reached up, taking Gant’s wrist.
“You were supposed to be
paying me back,” he reminded icily.
Gant chuckled. “Was I?”
Karma glared back at him, but
after a moment he lowered his hand to begin undoing Gant’s belt. He jerked the waist of Gant’s pants
unceremoniously down just far enough so that he could slide his hand into the
man’s briefs.
“That’s more like it,” Gant
murmured, his eyes thinning at the feeling of Karma’s course fingers.
Distracted by his own desire,
Gant didn’t realize how low he’d let his guard fall until Karma twisted his
wrist. Cold fingers clamped vise-like
around his scrotum, far greater than the malice he was used to, and his sight
flared white with the intense and unexpected pain. “Ma—”
Karma grunted as Gant’s hand
clenched reflexively against his shoulder, and with a muttered curse let him
go. Gant didn’t have time right himself;
displaying previously unknown flexibility Karma bent his knee close to his
chest, bracing his heel against Gant’s hip to throw him violently off.
Gant managed on a thin gasp
as was slammed against his desk, its sharp edge digging into his lower
back. It wasn’t often that he was caught
unprepared and the sensation was nearly overwhelming. Pressing a hand over his bruised and
throbbing groin he glared up at Karma vehemently. “Manfred…!”
Karma, meanwhile, was
tightening his belt. “If you step out of
line again, I won’t be so easily placated,” he warned,
the threat in his voice real. “I’ll find
out what you’re hiding, and have you and
your little whore thrown out of the district.”
He gave his suit coat a tug to straighten it. “You know I can.”
Gant’s hands shook as he
tried to push himself upright, pain twisting his face into a look of anger he
normally would have been able to suppress.
“You bastard,” he spat. But when
he tried to step away from the desk he found his legs weak and unable to
support him. It was all he could do to
keep from grimacing openly. “You—”
“You’re not the only one here
with friends, Damon Gant,” Karma continued as he turned towards the door. He paused with his hand on the knob to glance
back. “But thanks.” He grinned darkly. “For the quickie.”
“Karma--!” Gant tried
again to properly stand without much success, and had to bite back a curse when
Karma slipped out without closing the door.
With a growl he quickly fastened his pants one more and managed to slide
around to his desk chair.
In pain and
humiliated. Gant swore under his breath, but he had to
admit…it wasn’t the worst way to have ended an encounter with Manfred von
Karma.
He would just repay the favor next time.