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Title: D-Tech: Negotiations
Author: heartofslash
Fandom: post-Black Hawk Down x pre-Bourne Supremacy
Series: D-Tech / The Long Haul
Pairing: Hoot/Sanderson
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Hoot and Sanderson were composites, hence there’s no way they could ever open their own business, so this is obviously fiction, based loosely on some movies I enjoyed. I have plucked The Russian from his environment of origin because he's so darn purdy and deadly. No harm, no foul.
D-Tech: Negotiations
The glass-walled steam room of the Excess Bathhouse is in full view of the shower area. Concurrently, and conversely, the shower area is in full view of the steam room. Ideal for both voyeurs and exhibitionists, this feature also makes it the ideal location for a secret meeting of utmost relevance to international security.
Hoot and Sanderson sit on the topmost bench on the right, with a view of every thing, or at least everything that can be seen through the copious steam. They watch as Kirill enters the shower area, tosses his towel to one side and lathers himself between the legs.
They can’t actually see what his hands are doing, since his back faces them. All they see is strong shoulders, a ridiculously streamlined torso, and Kirill’s luscious (there is no other word for it) ass. But from the reaction Kirill gets from the guy at the next shower head, they can guess that Kirill has plenty to offer.
Kirill arches his back. Soapy water swirls down around his taut thighs, over crystal-cut calves, into the floor drain.
Kirill’s admirer looks ready to pounce.
Kirill turns his head to look at his neighbour. He must be saying something, although Hoot and Sanderson can’t tell through the steam and glass and irritating bass-heavy music. But the guy’s cock gets really hard, and then he gets this scared look on his face, and just leaves.
Interesting.
Kirill turns around and looks right at Hoot and Sanderson through the steam from the showers and the glass wall and the steam from the steam room.
“Fuck,” Hoot mutters.
“It’s a time-honored tradition among ancient warriors to impress and intimidate the enemy with a display of their superior weaponry,” Sanderson deadpans.
“Yeah, but he’s almost as big as me.”
“Bigger.”
Hoot shoots Sanderson a look that could fell a bull elephant.
“He isn’t all the way hard,” Sanderson explains in a scientific tone. “I bet he’s about as long as you, maybe a bit thicker.”
If Hoot were capable of pouting, he would be doing it. Instead, he looks very pissed off.
“But he doesn’t curve the way you do,” Sanderson adds hastily. “That curve... in the right position…” He’s whispering this in Hoot’s ear, and his breath make Hoot shiver in spite of the heat.
Kirill replaces his towel and heads for the steam room.
“Hung Russian at nine o’clock,” Sanderson announces a bit too brightly.
Kirill approaches confidently. “Gentlemen,” he says. His accent is thick and dark. Rich, like coffee. “This bench is occupied?”
Hoot gestures for him to sit.
Kirill sits on the tier below Hoot and Sanderson with his back to the tiled wall. The perfect strategic position. They all know how to do their jobs far too well.
“We have a situation,” Hoot drawls.
“No kidding around,” Kirill agrees.
“You are here for our men,” Sanderson accuses.
“Can we not share?” Kirill asks.
“We’re only here to look,” Hoot says, “not harm.”
“It is of no consequence unless the lists do not match,” Kirill shrugs.
“What?” Sanderson exclaims.
“My instructions are to take care of men on your list,” Kirill says. “Mine is additional information.”
“On the assumed targets?” Sanderson asks.
“The most likely couriers?” Hoot is confused.
“Maybe mine are real targets. Whole deal set to trap certain fish, no? A gamble, but this client likes to gamble.”
“And we take the fall…” Hoot growls a little too loudly.
The three men look around. If their plan was to blend into the crowd, they’ve failed miserably. Every pair of eyes in the steam room and half those in the shower are glued to their every breath and twitch.
No one looks as if they are listening. They seem content to look. And it would be easy to make them forget anything they might have heard with the provision of sufficient distraction.
Hoot stretches his arms over his head. His shoulders grow as he flexes, his triceps bulge, and his abs do something that can only be described as rippling.
A mild-looking man with a bushy moustache slips on the wet tile and cracks his head on a bench. No one notices.
“If anyone is asked if they saw us, they’ll say ‘no’ so they don’t have to admit why they were really lookin’” Hoot says smugly.
“Oh. Really.” Kirill shifts to the side and stretches out a long leg. His towel opens and reveals a flank about as firm as a flank can get, along with the pink, moist head of his almost hard cock. “You think so?”
There is a distinct moan from across the room.
Hoot grins and flexes his pecs.
“For fuck’s sake, stop with the pissing contest,” Sanderson hisses.
“What is this, “pissing contest’?” Kirill asks, looking alarmingly intrigued.
“Figure of speech,” Sanderson explains. “Can we go somewhere more private?”
“I have a room.” Hoot dangles the key from the chain around his neck.
Kirill nods. “I do not suppose it is necessary to search you.”
“Why? What do YOU have hidden under that towel?” Hoot snaps.
“Only my charms,” Kirill smiles, and it’s not altogether pleasant. Nor is it unpleasant. It’s… intriguing.
The three of them get up, much to the excitement of the now packed sauna. They go to through door, and expectations deflate audibly.
“I thought they were going to go at each other right here.”
“Did you see the pecs on the tall one?”
“What about the legs on that young, dark one.”
“It’s the ass on the older guy. Killer.”
“What I wouldn’t pay to see those three together.”
The room is dark and clean, with towels folded on a shelf beside the bed, next to a bowl of condoms and lube.
“Nothing but the best,” Kirill smirks.
“Best room in the joint,” Hoot says, opening the cupboard to reveal the sink. “Private. And quiet.”
Quiet compared to the outside. The boom of the bass is muted in here.
“Let me get this straight,” Sanderson gets right to business. “You don’t think the lists match?”
“Mine gives more details on the real targets, but I must only hit the ones you have fingered. Two English, the Italian, the Argentinean and a Belgian national.”
“Swiss,” Sanderson corrects him.
“No, you are thinking of his cousin,” Kirill says.
“I told ya,” Hoot taunts.
“Really? They’re identical then.”
“Almost,” Kirill aggress. “Except for the legs. And certain identifying marks on the Belgian’s…”
Hoot and Sanderson wait eagerly for Kirill to finish the sentence.
“That is not here nor there,” Kirill says defensively. “These are the real targets, and what they have in common is not the bait. They are all high placed. All with information on the boss. If they ever shared resources…” Kirill draws a finger across his throat.
“So he sets the trap,” Sanderson says.
“Lure targets with promise of big pay-off,” Kirill confirms.
“They hire a reputable firm to observe and report on the pick-ups…” Sanderson continues.
“Hires a brutal, heartless killer to eliminate the targets,” Hoot adds.
“Accomplished professional,” Kirill corrects Hoot, sounding as if he’s quoting from his own résumé.
Sanderson ignores the squabbling. “The targets fall. There’s proof D-Tech had every one of them under surveillance and we don’t even know the client’s name.”
“D-Tech is forced to cease operations, or go underground. What does he have against us?” Hoot asks.
“Do not take so personal. You Americans always think everything is about you. You are but collateral damage. The targets are, what did he call them? Loose ends. Thorns in sides.”
“They’re top names,” Sanderson says. “What the hell did he use to lure them all here?”
“Cold fusion,” Kirill and Hoot say at the same time.
Sanderson is surprised.
“I overheard,” Kirill says.
“I peeked at one of the packages,” Hoot admits.
“Remind me never to invite you over at Christmastime.”
“It looked legit,” Hoot says.
“Is total fake. Cold fusion is myth. Holy Grail of science,” Kirill assures them
The three men stop talking and stare at each other.
They are standing in a triangle, Kirill by the door, Sanderson by the bed, Hoot in front of the sink. Kirill’s eyes flick from Sanderson’s towel to the bed and back. Hoot growls low in his throat.
Kirill gets smug again.
Sanderson, oblivious to this wordless exchange, is deep in thought. “Okay, so we have an unknown boss wanted to eliminate top spies. It all goes as he plans, there will be an international outcry in the intelligence community. Everything will be thrown out of balance.”
“Why do you think I agree to meet you? I don’t want to kill them. Too much heat if you prove innocence. Nothing personal. And some of them are even good men.”
“That MI6 guy, he’s a good guy,” Hoot agrees.
“So... what if the bait didn’t work?” Sanderson suggests.
“Good idea. The client doesn’t know who’s on the list. His agent delivered our report directly to the newspaper box,” Hoot says.
“You never told me that,” Sanderson says indignantly.
“You didn’t ask!”
“We pretend the list was different?” Kirill asks.
“We substitute names and warn the real targets.”
“Discreetly,” Hoot adds.
“I must kill five men,” Kirill interrupts, "Or not be paid and have ruined reputation.”
“So, kill guys who might plausibly be used as couriers and who really deserve to die,” Sanderson says. “Guys no one will miss.”
“How about that irritating Brit with the bad combover – you know the one who likes little girls.”
“I know of whom you speak. Would be great pleasure to off that pig.” Kirill looks scary when he talks about killing people. It’s one reason he’s so successful in his chosen field.
“Hey, you now that Italian guy working both sides. He procures boys for the mob. Remember him, Hoot?”
“Good idea. I hate that fuck.” Hoot smiles in his own cruel way.
“I know of Argentinean. He sells babies on black market. Very nasty. I will take him out with glee.”
“We’ll have to compare lists and make sure the substitutes are plausible candidates.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
They stand awkwardly. They’ve moved closer in their excitement about solving their mutual problems, enriching their bank accounts and ridding the world of some scum at the same time.
“So,” Sanderson says finally. “What do we do? Do we shake on it?”
Hoot and Kirill look at Sanderson, then at each other.
“I say…” Hoot starts.
“…we fuck on it.” Kirill finishes.
Sanderson takes a step back.
“That door locked?” Hoot asks.
Kirill nods.
“Um, guys, you know, that kind of thing is all fun and games until somebody…” Sanderson has his hands out defensively.
“Until somebody gets their eye poked out?” Hoot smirks. He moves forward quickly. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll take care of you.”
Continued in: The Deal Is Sealed
Back to: Soldier Porn
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