Fic - "A Business Transaction" (1/2)
Jul. 29th, 2011 05:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stormkeeper_lovedorisTitle: A Business Transaction
Word count: 3,400
Rating: R
Pairing: Azazel/Riptide
Summary: Shaw sends Riptide on an unusual mission, which could cause problems between him and Azazel.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
I would like to thank my beta testers,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
des_pudels_kern and mattiecanadaeh.
.
A Business Transaction
Azazel and Riptide both sat posted at their stations in the submarine’s control room, keeping an eye on radar, when Sebastian Shaw entered. As soon as they observed the door opening, both men looked up wondering if Shaw was simply passing through or had orders for them.
“Carlos Calderon is back in power,” Shaw said, without preamble and with a hint of greed in his eyes.
Azazel noted recognition flash across Riptide’s face, but the younger man masked it too quickly for Azazel to attempt to read more into it. “Who is he?” Azazel asked, wondering if this was a name he should know.
Shaw briefly looked surprised as he answered, unused to having to explain himself. “We worked with him before your time. He was – and now is, again – a higher-up in Franco’s government. He helped us get our hands on weapons. Now he has leads on chemical weapons, which I need to explore.”
Shaw paused and turned to look at Riptide, who Azazel noted looked as if he were struggling to keep his face composed and neutral. But by the way he grasped the edge of his chair with his fist told another story.
“He’s going to be at his beachside vacation spot for three days and, Riptide, he’s requested your company,” Shaw said nonchalantly. “We need to curry favor with him – I want those weapons. Here are the coordinates, Azazel.”
“He has ‘requested’ Riptide for three days?” Azazel asked. He used great effort to keep his tone steady, and forced himself to look at Shaw. Between Riptide’s body language and the phrase ‘requested your company’, Azazel’s instincts indicated that something unpleasant was afoot.
“I see that Riptide didn’t mention him to you,” Shaw said, impatiently. “The first time we worked with Senor Calderon, he took a liking to Riptide right away. Somehow you queers all know how to spot each other. We made use of that; we needed to grease his palm. Especially now that he’s back in power.” Shaw paused and then took a step closer to Azazel. He spoke more slowly now, “I expect that you will behave and will support this like any other mission. Remember, this is just a business transaction.”
Riptide spoke, his posture now relaxed in his chair and his voice firm. “Mr. Shaw, with all due respect. Would it not be more convenient to instead have Emma get inside his mind and simulate something – after all, the submarine operates better when at least three people are aboard.”
“Emma’s in Moscow!” Shaw replied, his voice like a whip. “She’s busy. And even if that were not the case, I call the shots here. You don’t doubt my word when I say that this is the most effective course of action.” He paused, and then looked at Azazel. “Right, Azazel?”
Azazel took a precious second or two before replying. “Right. Mr. Shaw.”
“Be ready to go in an hour,” Shaw said, turning to leave.
Riptide and Azazel remained sitting in their seats, meeting each other’s gaze while Azazel’s tail began to snake around in a pattern.
“Are you upset?” Riptide asked, pointedly glancing at the tail.
“Do you want him?” Azazel countered with a question of his own, using words sparingly. His stomach felt uneasy though he understood that they needed to have some sort of discussion before Riptide left. Azazel’s face remained carefully blank and his body relaxed, with the exception of the slow movement his tail had begun.
Riptide snorted in disgust and crossed his arms over his chest. “No! I never did. He cannot compare to you.”
Azazel unconsciously mirrored Riptide’s new posture, crossing his arms over his own chest. “Did Shaw – how do you say – ‘pimp you out’ often?”
“No,” he said, his tone sounding casual but forced. “Just to this man. Fortunately there aren’t very many…men like us in positions of power.”
“I will be thankful for that,” Azazel allowed.
Riptide got up and placed a hand on his lover’s shoulder, bridging the space between them. “Don’t be angry,” he said softly. “Trust me; this is the last thing I want.”
Azazel noted Riptide’s expression. The younger man did not seem worried. In fact, there was almost a hint of happiness behind those dark eyes. For a split second, Azazel pondered the notion that Riptide could have been lying and that he wanted to go – but he tossed that aside; Riptide’s expression of disgust a moment ago had been genuine. So what could have brought on that flash of happiness? Did he perceive Azazel as being jealous or possessive, and did he like that? Or was it that Riptide simply needed a few days off of this submarine and at a resort? Did he need a few days away from Azazel?
Azazel opened his mouth to attempt to ask some of those questions, but failed. They were too difficult to ask, too much of a risk of sounding weak and needy.
So Azazel simply nodded, and lifted his tail to squeeze Riptide’s free hand. “Tell me when you are ready to go.”
***
The three days passed at an agonizingly slowly pace for Azazel. He sat on the bridge, sharpened his knives and swords, or, on the rare occasion that he was relieved of duty, retired to his room and played his Russian records or read an old book, the pages yellowed and musty. He opened a drawer and held one of the few pictures he had of Riptide and then scoffed at himself for the sentimental gesture. At night Azazel teleported around, visiting some of his favorite cemeteries, a pastime of his. Obeying his leader’s command, he stayed away from the Mediterranean island where his lover was currently doing business.
Life without Riptide was turning out to be even more dull and boring than Azazel had anticipated.
Azazel missed the way that Riptide would keep him company during his shift on the bridge. They would play cards, sometimes saying almost nothing. Other times the two usually quiet men spoke to each other quite a bit; whispered conversations about a battle one or the other had fought, the sea, a place one or the other had been to, their unique powers, a fragment of memory, a hope for the future, or something as mundane as a movie Riptide had seen, gossip about Emma, or whatever new piece of clothing Riptide had recently purchased. In recent times, they occasionally kissed or had what might quaintly be called “a cuddle” but that happened rarely on the bridge, given that Shaw and Emma were sure to have a negative reaction to a display of affection anywhere outside of one of the two men’s bunks, given what kisses and cuddles usually led to.
Azazel missed cooking borsht in the sub’s mess hall, with Riptide sitting in the cramped room with him. (Azazel tried to hide from Shaw and Emma the fact that he liked to cook, as he didn’t want them to see him enjoying such a typically feminine activity). He missed watching Riptide eat what he made and thought back to the first time he served it to him, and his smile of triumph when Riptide admitted that the strange dish was “not so bad”. Azazel remembered the look in Riptide’s eyes when he made that comment; Azazel had seen right away that Riptide had been trying to be casual but had not been able to suppress a smile. Azazel had then asked Riptide if he would cook a Mexican dish for them someday, and Riptide had replied drolly, “You’re better off teleporting us to the kitchen of a Mexican restaurant, if you want something that is edible.”
Azazel had gotten used to falling asleep with someone else on the bed beside him and now found it hard to drift off without that comfort. Sharing a bed did mean that sometimes a stray elbow would be at his side awkwardly and sometimes the other man’s body heat had rendered the bed too warm for his liking – Azazel reminded himself of this as he availed himself of all the space in the cold, empty bed. At least he had his nocturnal teleporting to cemeteries to distract him; he experienced a thrill frightening the wits out of a teenage couple on the first night.
Still he missed Riptide. Azazel told himself he was being foolish and weak -- this was business, temporary separations happened, and it was for only three days!
The two had rarely ever spoken of their previous lovers, except to say that no previous one compared to what they had now. Riptide had once mentioned a man who was not good to him and Azazel hoped that Calderon was not that man.
Whatever he had with Riptide now, it had clearly started out as just something carnal in nature. With time, Azazel himself hadn’t been opposed to the idea of it going beyond sex, and he had surmised that Riptide felt the same way. The kisses and touches they shared certainly suggested more, but it was never discussed. Now Azazel found himself constantly wondering about what Riptide was going through. Could his liaison with Calderon change into something beyond a three-day job that Shaw required? Riptide looked normal and could pass as non-mutant. Could Calderon lure him away? Was Calderon suave and romantic? Did he know how to speak of relationships and love? Did he buy Riptide flowers and wine, and take him out to dinner and the theatre? Azazel’s finances were in a good state but he certainly couldn’t purchase a large slab of a Mediterranean island. Azazel couldn’t sip colorful drinks on the beach while he and Riptide reclined on lounge chairs. Azazel couldn’t really ever leave the various hideouts of the Hellfire Club.
***
Azazel kept checking the sub’s clock. When exactly 72 hours had passed since he had teleported Riptide to the languid beach with the gentle breeze, Azazel considered how much longer he should give it before inquiring with Shaw. As a rule, he avoided approaching his leader. Azazel tried to occupy himself with something else but he had gone through all of his diversions during the past three days, fervently wishing Shaw would send him on a mission to kill someone – but had no such luck.
He looked at the clock again. Only twelve minutes had passed since he last checked it. Azazel slumped in his chair; this was going to be a difficult day.
Five hours and thirty-seven minutes - and several interminable games of Solitaire - later, Azazel nearly jumped when he finally heard footsteps. Shaw entered the control room and, simply and straightforwardly, gave Azazel the order to pick up Riptide.
Azazel teleported to the same back porch where he had deposited Riptide. Riptide stood there impassively, clad in his white shirt and shorts, his hands in his pockets. His skin was a shade or two darker now. For a moment, Azazel’s breath was nearly taken away at the other man’s beauty and at the emotions that rapidly threatened to engulf him, but he struggled to compose himself and succeeded. Azazel quickly scanned the porch for any sign of Calderon, curious as to what this man looked like. But it was only the two of them.
Their eyes met and both men continued with expressions like masks. Azazel extended his hand, Riptide took it, and they wordlessly teleported back to the submarine. Azazel was glad not to linger.
Upon seeing his henchmen appear on the bridge, Shaw looked up from the stack of papers - reports on chemical weapons - he had been reviewing. “I trust everything went well?” the leader asked.
“Yes, Mr. Shaw,” Riptide said, his voice professional and distant. “There is nothing out of the ordinary to report on.”
“Was Calderon pleased?” he asked eagerly.
Riptide looked at the ground and then met Shaw’s gaze impassively. “I believe very much so.”
Shaw cracked a smile, thanked Riptide, and added that he would be meeting with Calderon the next day. Soon he rose from his chair and then left the two men alone in the control room.
Riptide then turned to look at Azazel. “So. I’m back.” His expression remained a blank mask.
“I see,” Azazel said. The two syllables betrayed a hint of warmth, and Azazel’s arms were at his sides rather than crossed, an openness designed to draw the other man nearer.
Riptide took a step closer to him, his posture erect and head held high. “It was a job,” he said, with a small shrug. “I hope you are not mad.”
“I am not mad. Well, not at you.” He paused and took a breath, slightly widened eyes giving away contentment at the sight of his lover despite his weary words. “Maybe mad at Shaw and at how low we sold ourselves.”
Riptide shook his head. “It will work out in the long run. We’ve made a lot of money under Shaw. Someday you and I can have our own beach resort – somewhere nice and remote and fenced off so the outside world can’t get in.” He didn’t need to add, ‘So no one can see you’, but his eyes slightly moved to one side.
“Yes. “ Azazel smiled. “When Children of the Atom take over we will be free. We will have power. We won’t have to…do things like this anymore.”
After a pause, Azazel stepped closer to Riptide and asked, “So…how was it?” Any hint of anger was now gone from Azazel’s voice.
***
As he registered Azazel’s question, Riptide noted that Azazel’s relaxed posture appeared calm; his tail was not roving in a threatened position. Riptide wondered if Azazel’s question – “How was it?” - was perhaps motivated by curiosity, and he struggled to answer it. He wished he spoke better English.
That was one thing - at least he and Calderon had had no language barrier between them. With Calderon, the sex had been like the last time that Shaw had (as Azazel had called it) ‘pimped him out’ to the high-ranking man. It had been rough and dirty, with Calderon muttering a lot of obscenities about what he was going to do to Riptide and what Riptide was. It hadn’t meant anything to Riptide, other than providing him with a vague sense of power given the fact that it was his attractiveness that led Calderon to this frenzied state. Riptide was not opposed to having the occasional sexual encounter that was frenetic, dirty, and animalistic. He and Azazel had had many encounters that could be described with those adjectives, many encounters that focused just on raw needs and body parts.
But. He and Azazel had also grown to have a lot of sex that involved kissing and caressing, a lot of sex that could be described as tender, gentle, and affectionate. That was worlds apart from the past three days with Calderon, and from his encounters with anyone previously. Riptide thought now that maybe he preferred it that way: gentle and affectionate. He would still like a rough lay every now and then but mostly now preferred a sweet one. He was both surprised and unsurprised to note this change in his preferences, and he couldn’t say what had driven the switch. Only that he sensed – maybe due to the look on Azazel’s face, maybe due to the way that Azazel leaned towards him – that Azazel perhaps had experienced the same subtle shift.
Would it be possible, though, to know for sure without discussing it?
***
Azazel waited for his lover’s answer, unaware of how expectantly he was leaning towards Riptide.
“It was nothing like what we have,” Riptide said at last. “I had to pretend it was you, but he does not have your…special touch. Or your tail.”
At the mention of Azazel’s tail and Riptide’s enjoyment of it, both men spontaneously chuckled. Riptide stepped closer, and the appreciated appendage reached around and grasped Riptide’s right hand. He squeezed it. Azazel felt as if a barrier had been crossed.
“I am glad,” Azazel admitted, sounding relaxed at their shared laughter and smiling. “Glad that you are back here, too.”
“No one is happier than me – about the fact that I’m back here,” Riptide said, still smiling. His thumb stroked Azazel’s tail leisurely.
“I know we have to stay on the bridge,” Riptide continued, stepping even closer to his lover. He could feel the heat of Azazel’s body, and he reached his other hand out to gently touch the side of the other man’s face. “But…do you want to?”
“How many times did that bastard have you during last three days?” Azazel asked, his voice sounding concerned, almost tender.
“Far too many,” Riptide said bluntly. He then added, with a twinkle in his eye, “Of course he does not have your stamina. Thank goodness.”
“You must be sore,” Azazel said. His tone was steady and matter-of-fact, but he surmised that the look on his face was giving away the concern he truly felt.
Riptide’s response was a deadpan, almost amused, “Indeed.”
“Then let us wait until you are rested,” again Azazel’s voice was matter-of-fact, almost clinical – but he sensed his eyes were telling the true story.
Riptide placed his hands on the sides of Azazel’s waist. “You still want me,” he said, and it came out sounding like something between a question and a statement.
“You even have to ask?” Azazel hissed. Ever since Shaw had sent Riptide on this mission, Azazel had sensed that a challenging conversation would subsequently be forced to occur, and now he surmised that Riptide wanted this conversation too. What were they to each other now, Azazel and Riptide? How much needed to be said? Azazel felt his forehead grow damp. He certainly had never had a conversation of this type and would bet his stack of rare records that Riptide never had either. They were steering the ship in uncharted waters without even a compass. His happiness at Riptide’s return gave way to the uncomfortable sensation of fear.
“Maybe it is not just that,” Riptide said, and he swallowed. “I would like for you to know that you are…”, his voice trailed off before he took a breath and tried again. “I need you to know what you are to me.”
Azazel had to both admire his lover’s bravery and to feel pleasure that they were on the same page. Having observed Riptide swallow, Azazel surmised that he, too, was feeling discomfort over the discussion.
But Azazel didn’t want to be the first to show the vulnerability. “You can just tell me,” he said, meeting Riptide’s eyes. “What I am to you.”
Riptide grasped the top button on Azazel’s uniform. “I’d rather show you instead.”
Azazel took the hand that had reached for his button and squeezed it. His grip was iron, but his voice conveyed a contrasting softness, “We always show and never tell. So tell me now. Tell me what I am to you.”
“You know already,” Riptide said, and Azazel thought that Riptide might succeed in dodging it. However Riptide’s voice then came out resolute as he declared, “But I will say it anyway.”
Riptide’s face had a look of defiance, almost, as he continued. In the split second before he spoke, Azazel sensed what Riptide was going to say and considered whether he should feel triumphant that he had succeeded in getting Riptide to speak it first. But instead he, more than anything, respected the other man’s confidence.
“You are – everything. To me. That’s what you are,” Riptide spoke the words straightforwardly and he met Azazel’s eyes. The look he gave Azazel spoke both of the sincerity of his words and the passion behind them.
“You too, my love,” Azazel said, smiling and stroking Riptide’s hair. He let out a breath.
Azazel saw Riptide’s eyes widen; neither had ever used the word “love” before.
Riptide reached for his chin, his thumb brushing the rough bristles of the goatee, and began to kiss Azazel. It began with a chaste press of lips against lips, but Riptide soon pressed harder and slid his tongue inside Azazel’s mouth.
Azazel eagerly returned the kiss, but moved Riptide’s hands away when they made as if to unbutton his uniform.
“Tomorrow,” Azazel whispered. “Please get some rest now.” He gently ruffled Riptide’s hair and angled him towards the door.
“Tomorrow, then,” Riptide agreed. “My love.”
Riptide placed one last kiss on Azazel’s mouth, turned, and left the bridge.
TO BE CONTINUED
A few more author’s notes:
Click here for This Business of Love, Chapter Two of “A Business Transaction”
Feedback is always appreciated.
The movie doesn’t specify Riptide’s ethnicity. In this fic, I decided to make him Mexican, though I realize that is subject to discussion.
Word count: 3,400
Rating: R
Pairing: Azazel/Riptide
Summary: Shaw sends Riptide on an unusual mission, which could cause problems between him and Azazel.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
I would like to thank my beta testers,
des_pudels_kern and mattiecanadaeh. .
A Business Transaction
Azazel and Riptide both sat posted at their stations in the submarine’s control room, keeping an eye on radar, when Sebastian Shaw entered. As soon as they observed the door opening, both men looked up wondering if Shaw was simply passing through or had orders for them.
“Carlos Calderon is back in power,” Shaw said, without preamble and with a hint of greed in his eyes.
Azazel noted recognition flash across Riptide’s face, but the younger man masked it too quickly for Azazel to attempt to read more into it. “Who is he?” Azazel asked, wondering if this was a name he should know.
Shaw briefly looked surprised as he answered, unused to having to explain himself. “We worked with him before your time. He was – and now is, again – a higher-up in Franco’s government. He helped us get our hands on weapons. Now he has leads on chemical weapons, which I need to explore.”
Shaw paused and turned to look at Riptide, who Azazel noted looked as if he were struggling to keep his face composed and neutral. But by the way he grasped the edge of his chair with his fist told another story.
“He’s going to be at his beachside vacation spot for three days and, Riptide, he’s requested your company,” Shaw said nonchalantly. “We need to curry favor with him – I want those weapons. Here are the coordinates, Azazel.”
“He has ‘requested’ Riptide for three days?” Azazel asked. He used great effort to keep his tone steady, and forced himself to look at Shaw. Between Riptide’s body language and the phrase ‘requested your company’, Azazel’s instincts indicated that something unpleasant was afoot.
“I see that Riptide didn’t mention him to you,” Shaw said, impatiently. “The first time we worked with Senor Calderon, he took a liking to Riptide right away. Somehow you queers all know how to spot each other. We made use of that; we needed to grease his palm. Especially now that he’s back in power.” Shaw paused and then took a step closer to Azazel. He spoke more slowly now, “I expect that you will behave and will support this like any other mission. Remember, this is just a business transaction.”
Riptide spoke, his posture now relaxed in his chair and his voice firm. “Mr. Shaw, with all due respect. Would it not be more convenient to instead have Emma get inside his mind and simulate something – after all, the submarine operates better when at least three people are aboard.”
“Emma’s in Moscow!” Shaw replied, his voice like a whip. “She’s busy. And even if that were not the case, I call the shots here. You don’t doubt my word when I say that this is the most effective course of action.” He paused, and then looked at Azazel. “Right, Azazel?”
Azazel took a precious second or two before replying. “Right. Mr. Shaw.”
“Be ready to go in an hour,” Shaw said, turning to leave.
Riptide and Azazel remained sitting in their seats, meeting each other’s gaze while Azazel’s tail began to snake around in a pattern.
“Are you upset?” Riptide asked, pointedly glancing at the tail.
“Do you want him?” Azazel countered with a question of his own, using words sparingly. His stomach felt uneasy though he understood that they needed to have some sort of discussion before Riptide left. Azazel’s face remained carefully blank and his body relaxed, with the exception of the slow movement his tail had begun.
Riptide snorted in disgust and crossed his arms over his chest. “No! I never did. He cannot compare to you.”
Azazel unconsciously mirrored Riptide’s new posture, crossing his arms over his own chest. “Did Shaw – how do you say – ‘pimp you out’ often?”
“No,” he said, his tone sounding casual but forced. “Just to this man. Fortunately there aren’t very many…men like us in positions of power.”
“I will be thankful for that,” Azazel allowed.
Riptide got up and placed a hand on his lover’s shoulder, bridging the space between them. “Don’t be angry,” he said softly. “Trust me; this is the last thing I want.”
Azazel noted Riptide’s expression. The younger man did not seem worried. In fact, there was almost a hint of happiness behind those dark eyes. For a split second, Azazel pondered the notion that Riptide could have been lying and that he wanted to go – but he tossed that aside; Riptide’s expression of disgust a moment ago had been genuine. So what could have brought on that flash of happiness? Did he perceive Azazel as being jealous or possessive, and did he like that? Or was it that Riptide simply needed a few days off of this submarine and at a resort? Did he need a few days away from Azazel?
Azazel opened his mouth to attempt to ask some of those questions, but failed. They were too difficult to ask, too much of a risk of sounding weak and needy.
So Azazel simply nodded, and lifted his tail to squeeze Riptide’s free hand. “Tell me when you are ready to go.”
***
The three days passed at an agonizingly slowly pace for Azazel. He sat on the bridge, sharpened his knives and swords, or, on the rare occasion that he was relieved of duty, retired to his room and played his Russian records or read an old book, the pages yellowed and musty. He opened a drawer and held one of the few pictures he had of Riptide and then scoffed at himself for the sentimental gesture. At night Azazel teleported around, visiting some of his favorite cemeteries, a pastime of his. Obeying his leader’s command, he stayed away from the Mediterranean island where his lover was currently doing business.
Life without Riptide was turning out to be even more dull and boring than Azazel had anticipated.
Azazel missed the way that Riptide would keep him company during his shift on the bridge. They would play cards, sometimes saying almost nothing. Other times the two usually quiet men spoke to each other quite a bit; whispered conversations about a battle one or the other had fought, the sea, a place one or the other had been to, their unique powers, a fragment of memory, a hope for the future, or something as mundane as a movie Riptide had seen, gossip about Emma, or whatever new piece of clothing Riptide had recently purchased. In recent times, they occasionally kissed or had what might quaintly be called “a cuddle” but that happened rarely on the bridge, given that Shaw and Emma were sure to have a negative reaction to a display of affection anywhere outside of one of the two men’s bunks, given what kisses and cuddles usually led to.
Azazel missed cooking borsht in the sub’s mess hall, with Riptide sitting in the cramped room with him. (Azazel tried to hide from Shaw and Emma the fact that he liked to cook, as he didn’t want them to see him enjoying such a typically feminine activity). He missed watching Riptide eat what he made and thought back to the first time he served it to him, and his smile of triumph when Riptide admitted that the strange dish was “not so bad”. Azazel remembered the look in Riptide’s eyes when he made that comment; Azazel had seen right away that Riptide had been trying to be casual but had not been able to suppress a smile. Azazel had then asked Riptide if he would cook a Mexican dish for them someday, and Riptide had replied drolly, “You’re better off teleporting us to the kitchen of a Mexican restaurant, if you want something that is edible.”
Azazel had gotten used to falling asleep with someone else on the bed beside him and now found it hard to drift off without that comfort. Sharing a bed did mean that sometimes a stray elbow would be at his side awkwardly and sometimes the other man’s body heat had rendered the bed too warm for his liking – Azazel reminded himself of this as he availed himself of all the space in the cold, empty bed. At least he had his nocturnal teleporting to cemeteries to distract him; he experienced a thrill frightening the wits out of a teenage couple on the first night.
Still he missed Riptide. Azazel told himself he was being foolish and weak -- this was business, temporary separations happened, and it was for only three days!
The two had rarely ever spoken of their previous lovers, except to say that no previous one compared to what they had now. Riptide had once mentioned a man who was not good to him and Azazel hoped that Calderon was not that man.
Whatever he had with Riptide now, it had clearly started out as just something carnal in nature. With time, Azazel himself hadn’t been opposed to the idea of it going beyond sex, and he had surmised that Riptide felt the same way. The kisses and touches they shared certainly suggested more, but it was never discussed. Now Azazel found himself constantly wondering about what Riptide was going through. Could his liaison with Calderon change into something beyond a three-day job that Shaw required? Riptide looked normal and could pass as non-mutant. Could Calderon lure him away? Was Calderon suave and romantic? Did he know how to speak of relationships and love? Did he buy Riptide flowers and wine, and take him out to dinner and the theatre? Azazel’s finances were in a good state but he certainly couldn’t purchase a large slab of a Mediterranean island. Azazel couldn’t sip colorful drinks on the beach while he and Riptide reclined on lounge chairs. Azazel couldn’t really ever leave the various hideouts of the Hellfire Club.
***
Azazel kept checking the sub’s clock. When exactly 72 hours had passed since he had teleported Riptide to the languid beach with the gentle breeze, Azazel considered how much longer he should give it before inquiring with Shaw. As a rule, he avoided approaching his leader. Azazel tried to occupy himself with something else but he had gone through all of his diversions during the past three days, fervently wishing Shaw would send him on a mission to kill someone – but had no such luck.
He looked at the clock again. Only twelve minutes had passed since he last checked it. Azazel slumped in his chair; this was going to be a difficult day.
Five hours and thirty-seven minutes - and several interminable games of Solitaire - later, Azazel nearly jumped when he finally heard footsteps. Shaw entered the control room and, simply and straightforwardly, gave Azazel the order to pick up Riptide.
Azazel teleported to the same back porch where he had deposited Riptide. Riptide stood there impassively, clad in his white shirt and shorts, his hands in his pockets. His skin was a shade or two darker now. For a moment, Azazel’s breath was nearly taken away at the other man’s beauty and at the emotions that rapidly threatened to engulf him, but he struggled to compose himself and succeeded. Azazel quickly scanned the porch for any sign of Calderon, curious as to what this man looked like. But it was only the two of them.
Their eyes met and both men continued with expressions like masks. Azazel extended his hand, Riptide took it, and they wordlessly teleported back to the submarine. Azazel was glad not to linger.
Upon seeing his henchmen appear on the bridge, Shaw looked up from the stack of papers - reports on chemical weapons - he had been reviewing. “I trust everything went well?” the leader asked.
“Yes, Mr. Shaw,” Riptide said, his voice professional and distant. “There is nothing out of the ordinary to report on.”
“Was Calderon pleased?” he asked eagerly.
Riptide looked at the ground and then met Shaw’s gaze impassively. “I believe very much so.”
Shaw cracked a smile, thanked Riptide, and added that he would be meeting with Calderon the next day. Soon he rose from his chair and then left the two men alone in the control room.
Riptide then turned to look at Azazel. “So. I’m back.” His expression remained a blank mask.
“I see,” Azazel said. The two syllables betrayed a hint of warmth, and Azazel’s arms were at his sides rather than crossed, an openness designed to draw the other man nearer.
Riptide took a step closer to him, his posture erect and head held high. “It was a job,” he said, with a small shrug. “I hope you are not mad.”
“I am not mad. Well, not at you.” He paused and took a breath, slightly widened eyes giving away contentment at the sight of his lover despite his weary words. “Maybe mad at Shaw and at how low we sold ourselves.”
Riptide shook his head. “It will work out in the long run. We’ve made a lot of money under Shaw. Someday you and I can have our own beach resort – somewhere nice and remote and fenced off so the outside world can’t get in.” He didn’t need to add, ‘So no one can see you’, but his eyes slightly moved to one side.
“Yes. “ Azazel smiled. “When Children of the Atom take over we will be free. We will have power. We won’t have to…do things like this anymore.”
After a pause, Azazel stepped closer to Riptide and asked, “So…how was it?” Any hint of anger was now gone from Azazel’s voice.
***
As he registered Azazel’s question, Riptide noted that Azazel’s relaxed posture appeared calm; his tail was not roving in a threatened position. Riptide wondered if Azazel’s question – “How was it?” - was perhaps motivated by curiosity, and he struggled to answer it. He wished he spoke better English.
That was one thing - at least he and Calderon had had no language barrier between them. With Calderon, the sex had been like the last time that Shaw had (as Azazel had called it) ‘pimped him out’ to the high-ranking man. It had been rough and dirty, with Calderon muttering a lot of obscenities about what he was going to do to Riptide and what Riptide was. It hadn’t meant anything to Riptide, other than providing him with a vague sense of power given the fact that it was his attractiveness that led Calderon to this frenzied state. Riptide was not opposed to having the occasional sexual encounter that was frenetic, dirty, and animalistic. He and Azazel had had many encounters that could be described with those adjectives, many encounters that focused just on raw needs and body parts.
But. He and Azazel had also grown to have a lot of sex that involved kissing and caressing, a lot of sex that could be described as tender, gentle, and affectionate. That was worlds apart from the past three days with Calderon, and from his encounters with anyone previously. Riptide thought now that maybe he preferred it that way: gentle and affectionate. He would still like a rough lay every now and then but mostly now preferred a sweet one. He was both surprised and unsurprised to note this change in his preferences, and he couldn’t say what had driven the switch. Only that he sensed – maybe due to the look on Azazel’s face, maybe due to the way that Azazel leaned towards him – that Azazel perhaps had experienced the same subtle shift.
Would it be possible, though, to know for sure without discussing it?
***
Azazel waited for his lover’s answer, unaware of how expectantly he was leaning towards Riptide.
“It was nothing like what we have,” Riptide said at last. “I had to pretend it was you, but he does not have your…special touch. Or your tail.”
At the mention of Azazel’s tail and Riptide’s enjoyment of it, both men spontaneously chuckled. Riptide stepped closer, and the appreciated appendage reached around and grasped Riptide’s right hand. He squeezed it. Azazel felt as if a barrier had been crossed.
“I am glad,” Azazel admitted, sounding relaxed at their shared laughter and smiling. “Glad that you are back here, too.”
“No one is happier than me – about the fact that I’m back here,” Riptide said, still smiling. His thumb stroked Azazel’s tail leisurely.
“I know we have to stay on the bridge,” Riptide continued, stepping even closer to his lover. He could feel the heat of Azazel’s body, and he reached his other hand out to gently touch the side of the other man’s face. “But…do you want to?”
“How many times did that bastard have you during last three days?” Azazel asked, his voice sounding concerned, almost tender.
“Far too many,” Riptide said bluntly. He then added, with a twinkle in his eye, “Of course he does not have your stamina. Thank goodness.”
“You must be sore,” Azazel said. His tone was steady and matter-of-fact, but he surmised that the look on his face was giving away the concern he truly felt.
Riptide’s response was a deadpan, almost amused, “Indeed.”
“Then let us wait until you are rested,” again Azazel’s voice was matter-of-fact, almost clinical – but he sensed his eyes were telling the true story.
Riptide placed his hands on the sides of Azazel’s waist. “You still want me,” he said, and it came out sounding like something between a question and a statement.
“You even have to ask?” Azazel hissed. Ever since Shaw had sent Riptide on this mission, Azazel had sensed that a challenging conversation would subsequently be forced to occur, and now he surmised that Riptide wanted this conversation too. What were they to each other now, Azazel and Riptide? How much needed to be said? Azazel felt his forehead grow damp. He certainly had never had a conversation of this type and would bet his stack of rare records that Riptide never had either. They were steering the ship in uncharted waters without even a compass. His happiness at Riptide’s return gave way to the uncomfortable sensation of fear.
“Maybe it is not just that,” Riptide said, and he swallowed. “I would like for you to know that you are…”, his voice trailed off before he took a breath and tried again. “I need you to know what you are to me.”
Azazel had to both admire his lover’s bravery and to feel pleasure that they were on the same page. Having observed Riptide swallow, Azazel surmised that he, too, was feeling discomfort over the discussion.
But Azazel didn’t want to be the first to show the vulnerability. “You can just tell me,” he said, meeting Riptide’s eyes. “What I am to you.”
Riptide grasped the top button on Azazel’s uniform. “I’d rather show you instead.”
Azazel took the hand that had reached for his button and squeezed it. His grip was iron, but his voice conveyed a contrasting softness, “We always show and never tell. So tell me now. Tell me what I am to you.”
“You know already,” Riptide said, and Azazel thought that Riptide might succeed in dodging it. However Riptide’s voice then came out resolute as he declared, “But I will say it anyway.”
Riptide’s face had a look of defiance, almost, as he continued. In the split second before he spoke, Azazel sensed what Riptide was going to say and considered whether he should feel triumphant that he had succeeded in getting Riptide to speak it first. But instead he, more than anything, respected the other man’s confidence.
“You are – everything. To me. That’s what you are,” Riptide spoke the words straightforwardly and he met Azazel’s eyes. The look he gave Azazel spoke both of the sincerity of his words and the passion behind them.
“You too, my love,” Azazel said, smiling and stroking Riptide’s hair. He let out a breath.
Azazel saw Riptide’s eyes widen; neither had ever used the word “love” before.
Riptide reached for his chin, his thumb brushing the rough bristles of the goatee, and began to kiss Azazel. It began with a chaste press of lips against lips, but Riptide soon pressed harder and slid his tongue inside Azazel’s mouth.
Azazel eagerly returned the kiss, but moved Riptide’s hands away when they made as if to unbutton his uniform.
“Tomorrow,” Azazel whispered. “Please get some rest now.” He gently ruffled Riptide’s hair and angled him towards the door.
“Tomorrow, then,” Riptide agreed. “My love.”
Riptide placed one last kiss on Azazel’s mouth, turned, and left the bridge.
TO BE CONTINUED
A few more author’s notes:
Click here for This Business of Love, Chapter Two of “A Business Transaction”
Feedback is always appreciated.
The movie doesn’t specify Riptide’s ethnicity. In this fic, I decided to make him Mexican, though I realize that is subject to discussion.
