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Title: CI5 Seal of Approval
Fandom: CI5 - The New Professionals
Author: Claire
Email: charlton@cobweb.com.au
Pairing: Curtis / Keel
Rating: NC-17 (& I think R for romance…)
Archive: Yes.
Spoilers: First 3 episodes, especially ‘Tusk Force’
Disclaimers: Er… Brian Clemens owns ‘em - not me…
Feedback: Please! <beg, grovel>
Thanks to: Jon for the beta and for the archive and to Clare for
the new
mailing list!
'CI5 Seal of Approval'
The early morning light slowly seeps through the window and
gradually illuminates the ultra-modern motel room. On the wall
directly in front of me is an oversized, framed Escher print. The
black and grey shades of the elaborate illustration stark on an
otherwise pure white wall. I can’t sleep and am lying on my
back, propped up by pillows. For the past thirty minutes or so I’ve
been half watching the print become clearer as more and more
sunlight enters the room.
My inability to return to sleep does not concern me. I’ve
already had a few hours and have no real desire for more. I can,
and have on numerous occasions, existed on a lot less sleep than
I’ve already had. Truth be told, I feel wonderfully content.
I may not be home, I may be in yet another strange motel room in
another strange city, but none of that matters. As long as he is
by my side I think I could be happy anywhere. No, I know I could
be happy…
Turning my head slightly, I take in the vision of the body that
is lying fast asleep next to me and smile. Chris is on his
stomach, his serene face turned towards me. One arm is thrown
over my chest in a way that can either be read as casual
affection or as a sign of possession. Either way is fine with me.
My smile slips a little as I notice Chris’ other hand. It’s
under his pillow and is no doubt wrapped around his Smith &
Wesson. The same Smith & Wesson that he slips under his
pillow every night. This cold, steel security blanket worries me.
I know better than to raise the issue though. It worries me not
because I fear that he may have to suddenly use it, but because
he feels he needs it. I’d like to be able to replace this
need, however I feel I don’t have anything viable to offer
him in return. The best I can offer is to not to give up; to hang
around for the long haul and to be there if ever he needs me.
I bite back a sigh, not wanting to wake him, as I turn my
attention back to the print. Lightly resting my hand over his, I
let my mind wander to happier thoughts. Needless to say these
thoughts involve Chris.
// From the first moment I laid eyes on him, striding
purposefully around the CI5 office, I knew I wanted him.
Initially I didn’t particularly care whether this want
eventuated in the form of a relationship or a one night stand.
Just as initially this want existed purely in a physical sense. I’m
the first to admit that I am inordinately fond of the finer
things in life, and Chris is very fine indeed. Tall and slim with
a smooth, fit body. Deep dimples appear in his cheeks when he
smiles and he has wide spaced, slightly slanted, almond-shaped
blue eyes. Like cats eyes they are. Short, spiky light brown
hair, full lips and an eternal paleness adding to the more than
pleasant picture he makes.
To my utter delight, Malone paired us together. I bided my time,
planned my moves and then, to my surprise, my feelings gradually
changed. They went from the basest of physical desires to
something stronger. Working so closely together, I began to
respect Chris and see more attributes in him than the purely
physical ones. His skill, his professionalism, his loyalty and
his determination being but a few of his characteristics I came
to appreciate.
As more and more pieces of the jigsaw that is Chris Keel became
apparent to me, I found that I would no longer be content with a
one night stand. He changed in my mind from being a mere sexual
object that I wished to obtain (consume?) to a person that I
genuinely wanted to spend my time with. This confused, and to a
certain extent, dismayed me. The apparent rule of no
relationships on the job was not one I really wanted to push.
My feelings eventually came to a head after an assignment sent
the pair of us to South Africa to look into the ivory trade.
Whilst we there our hired plane was sabotaged and we crashed into
the desert. I will never, for as long as I live, forget the
sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as I staggered around
the wreckage and saw Chris. I thought he was dead. He was just
lying there, unmoving. The relief I felt when he moved was unlike
any I have ever known. Fortunately, in some ways, his main injury
was only a broken leg. After fashioning a brace and a crutch, we
set off walking. We had no choice. To remain with what was left
of the plane would have resulted in the pair of us being nothing
more than sitting targets.
As we walked, well, *limped* across the desolate landscape I had
to have my arm around Chris in order to steady him. The gravity
of our situation aside, I enjoyed the feeling of my arm
encircling his body. The sensations this caused in me renewing
and strengthening my dormant desires. If not for Chris’
injuries and our barren surroundings, I would have liked nothing
more than to have taken him on the spot. Remarkably, I controlled
this feeling and after a few more misadventures, we made it back
to civilisation.
I didn’t allow myself to fully relax until we were safely on
an airliner heading back to London. Then, on the plane, just
after asking whether I cared to make a bet in regards to the meat
substance in our alleged meal being that of a previously
undiscovered brand of edible hiking boot, Chris simply thanked me…
Before I could query this out of the blue acknowledgment, he
continued. Thanking me for my refusal to leave him and
determination that we were both going to make it. He’d had
his doubts and confessed that without me, he may have simply
given up. He sounded so serious that I tried to make a joke of
the moment. Telling him that if he began to sing ‘Wind
Beneath My Wings’ I was going to ask to change seats.
Instead of laughing, as I hoped he would, he looked straight at
me, slowly blinked those beautiful eyes of his and quietly yet
firmly reiterated his thanks.
That was it. I lost it. I declared vehemently that I never would
have left him. That I would have preferred to have died with him
before I abandoned him and that it was because I cared for him
greatly… The words were out of my mouth before I could stop
them.
Chris’ eyes immediately widened and he whispered,
"Neat," or an Americanism to that effect. I watched,
embarrassed, with increasing disbelief as he grinned at me. A
Cheshire Cat smile that merely added to his feline-like
appearance. I couldn’t help but grin back. He appeared to be
sincerely happy with my declaration. This was further proven when
his hand suddenly slipped under my tray and come to a gentle rest
on my crotch.
I had so much more that I wanted to say but Chris, having said
his piece and made his point, leant his head on my shoulder and
immediately fell into a contented sleep. I was so delighted in
the feeling of his hand, warm on my lap for the remainder of the
flight that I forgave him for his medication induced dribbling on
my leather jacket. Greater love hath no man than he sacrifices
the quality of his leather jacket in order for it to become a
glorified pillow case.
Upon arriving at Heathrow, we detoured via my place and for the
second time in a week, Malone had to wait. Chris, although still
injured, exhausted me. Until then I - mistakenly - thought I knew
all the tricks of sexual pleasure. As we lay sated, wrapped
around one another, he looked at me with a completely innocent
expression and asked whether I’d forgotten that he’d
been in the Navy… Having no rebuttal to this, I responded
with another kiss.
That was almost a year ago.
For the first six moths we skirted around commitment issues.
Ensnared in the throes of predominantly sexual passion, nothing
else seemed relevant. I was still confused, couldn’t
differentiate between my carnal desires and other, stronger
emotions. My track record with relationships was not stunning and
I usually went through lovers quicker than I went through
toothbrushes. This had never really bothered me. I told myself
that it was because I liked to always have the newer, better,
brighter models of everything - lovers included.
From the onset with Chris it was somehow different. I don’t
know whether this was because I’d desired him first as an
object then as a person for so long or whether it was because we
worked so closely, so perfectly together. I couldn’t tell.
All I could tell was that there was something special between us
and that it confused the hell out of me. The never ending,
comforting cycle of work and sex helped keep my mind off my
inability to commit for a good half of a year.
Then, like the fateful South Africa expedition, something
happened that helped me see the light.
Late one night I returned home from a week long solo survival
exercise and thought that I had entered the wrong house by
mistake. I am, by nature, an ordered, tidy individual (or ‘anally
retentive’ as my delightful American partner sometimes cares
to inform me…). I do *not* like mess. I most definitely do
not like coming home and discovering what can be best described
as the aftermath of a small tornado in my living room.
Clutching my overnight bag tightly, I stared in disbelief at the
mess. The glass-topped coffee table was covered in what appeared
to be a medium sized rain forest’s worth of newspapers.
Scattered haphazardly amongst this mass of paper were numerous
coffee mugs. I thought I could also just make out the matt black
lump of a lap-top computer sitting precariously close to the
table’s edge. To my infinite disgust, half empty take-away
packets were also amongst the debris.
Gritting my teeth, I stalked over to the coffee table to try and
make sense of it all. A minor amount of welcome sense was
obtained when I saw handwritten notes on small scraps of paper
amongst all the news print. I didn’t need to look too
closely to know that the handwriting was Chris’.
I sighed as I narrowly avoided sticking my foot in a half eaten
tray of fried-rice and made my way out of the room. I could
vaguely understand the mess now as it appeared that for reasons
best known to himself, Chris had decided to work on whatever he
was working on, in my living room. For all I knew a note
explaining his motives could be hidden somewhere on the coffee
table but I lacked the inclination to look. I was already having
a hard enough time trying to keep my temper in check without the
pessimist in me telling me that under all that paper were
probably stains, if not cracks, that I didn’t need to see.
My ire raised a notch as I walked past the bathroom on my way to
the bedroom. The door was open and by the dim light of the full
moon glowing through the small window I saw yet more things that
I didn’t really want to see. I switched the light on and my
fears were immediately realised. At least three sodden towels
were lying discarded on the floor and if my eyes didn’t
deceive me, there was a toothbrush in the shower…
That did it!
Regardless of how good he was in bed, I was going to kill him. I
could hardly believe what he had done to my house. Half reaching
down to pick up the towels, I was suddenly reminded that I was
still carrying my bag. Straightening up, I decided to deposit it
in the bedroom before tidying the bathroom at least before I went
to bed. I doubted irrationally that I could possibly sleep with
the knowledge that I had that mess to wake up to.
Malevolent thoughts of what I’d like to do to Chris to teach
him the rights and wrongs of good housekeeping entertained me on
my way to the bedroom. These thoughts died a quick and painless
death as I entered the room and encountered a homoerotic version
of Sleeping Beauty splayed out on my bed. The room was bathed in
moonlight and the fairy tale vision took my breath away. Chris
was lying, sound asleep, on top of the duvet. He was clad only in
a pair of my hand made, silk boxers in olive green and my
favourite black Ralph Lauren shirt. I swear my mouth gaped open
and I stood there, staring, like an idiot. He looked so
exceptionally beautiful that my obsessive need to tidy was
immediately obliterated. I also swear that an epiphany occurred.
I forgave him everything and realised with a start that my days
of playing the field were over.
It’s easy to say that I was thinking with my cock, but I
wasn’t. Sex ultimately had nothing to do with it. All I
suddenly wanted was to forget the admittedly insignificant mess
and to crawl onto the bed alongside Chris. And, that was what I
did. Quickly stripping down to my boxers, I climbed onto the bed
and curled around him. Without waking, he wriggled closer and I
soon fell into a blissful sleep.
The following morning, after we had languidly and at length
re-acquainted ourselves with each others erogenous zones, Chris
sheepishly admitted that he’d taken over my house because he’d
missed me. I, in turn, had to explain the perfect moment of
clarity I experienced when I first saw him lying there.
There was therefore no more avoiding it, the time had come to
tell Malone… He was, after all, our boss and between us we
felt that it was only right to let him know about our
relationship.
After much discussion on the matter, we also decided that it
might be for the best to ask for new partners. The reasoning
behind this was vague but none the less relevant. We felt that
Malone might think that we’d put our interests before that
of CI5. Not that we ever would… but still, we decided we
wouldn’t be completely happy until he knew. Allowing Malone
the ultimate decision seemed the best way to tackle it.
Later that day, after I’d managed to get Chris to
begrudgingly help clean the house (he’d liked it the way it
was!), we presented a united front in Malone’s office. Our
distinguished looking boss watched with barely a raised eyebrow
as I locked the door to his office to insure against any unwanted
interruptions from Backus. He waited until we were both seated
before asking the obvious question, "So, gentlemen, what can
I do for you?"
I replied quickly and stated our request that we would like new
partners to be found for us. Chris then added, before Malone had
time to react, that it was because we were lovers. For a moment
the words hung carelessly in the air. I don’t know why I was
surprised by this typically American desire to lay all the cards
on the table without any real preamble but I was. Chris was
smiling broadly and I got the impression that he was actually
enjoying himself. That by blurting out our reason before we’d
agreed to he was showing to Malone that everything was, in fact,
fine. It was almost as if he was daring him to comment in the
negative.
He need not have worried, and more to the point, I need not have
worried. Malone took the confession as one would expect him to
savour a fine scotch. He leant back in his chair, clasped his
hands under his chin and replied that he had wondered when we
were going to get around to telling him…
It was at that point, electrical hum from the computer not
withstanding, that you could have heard a pin drop in the office.
I was dumbfounded, stunned by Malone’s own confession and
even Chris’ grin slipped. Only Malone seemed nonplussed by
it all. Then again, I don’t think I had ever seen Malone
fazed and wondered what immense vanity on my behalf made me think
he wouldn’t know about us. The man knew everything, that’s
why he was the head of CI5.
For a while, seeing as determination was one of our strong
points, we pushed on regardless and tried to get Malone to accept
our reasoning. We were wasting our breath though, he wouldn’t
have a bar of it. We listened closely as he told us his
*non-negotiable* reasons for insisting our partnership stay as it
was. He had some good reasons too. Better than ours and a lot
less vague.
Neither of us could find an argument to counter Malone’s
theories. Everything he said was right. Yes, we did work
exceptionally well together. No, we would never jeopardise an
assignment for the sake of our sex life. I managed to control
myself when I heard that but Chris nearly choked. Yes, it would
be preferable to only have to worry about each other without
having the added concern of whether the new partner was as adept
as us. Yes, we were sorry that we hadn’t felt that we could
have told him earlier. And, no, we most definitely did not know
that the two best agents of the late Seventies and early
Eighties, Bodie and Doyle, were also lovers. Malone’s trump
card was that he was happy for us and that now he knew how Cowley
must have felt.
With no other real options available, we admitted defeat
gracefully and promised to continue to do our best for CI5. The
situation was too peculiar to do anything but. Truth be told, I
was glad. I’d never really wanted to change partners. It had
just seemed the right thing to do. Now however, it was as though
we had the CI5 seal of approval. Which, inane as it sounds, was
immensely comforting. To me it meant that I could have both Chris
and the job - in that order - and, yeah, I felt as though all my
Christmases had come at once. By the happy expression on Chris’
face, it appeared that he felt the same way.
Walking out of Malone’s office, I felt lighter than air.
Less that twenty-four hours ago I’d still been confused
about what I wanted and the knowledge that everything now seemed
to have fitted perfectly together was simply amazing. There was
no other way of looking at it. I was staring at what I hoped to
be a life-long, constant source of happiness. An uncomplicated
sense of happiness that I doubted I’d felt since
childhood.//
This happiness, I’m pleased to say, is still with me.
Lying next to me, asleep, in fact. I know Chris loves me. He
tells me frequently and most importantly, I believe him. I’m
somewhat envious of the ease in which he does this, declaring his
love so freely. I put it down to his nationality. Americans
always appear to be more emotional than the British. I respond in
kind, when I can and it helps that I know Chris is aware of the
difficulties I have saying it. He even goes so far as to tease me
about it sometimes. I ’m confident he knows how I feel
though as they are just words and I’m a firm believer that
actions speak louder than words.
Love is not blind and I’m not foolish enough to claim
otherwise. We both have our quirks but they are mere drops in the
ocean. Niggles as opposed to true annoyances. I personally wouldn’t
have it any other way. Imagine how dull it would be if true
happiness lay in mirror images of ourselves. It doesn’t bear
thinking about.
Chris, for example, thinks that cleaning is something that some
people do for a living, and, well, who is he to deny them their
livelihood? I, on the other hand, might not go so far as to say I
enjoy cleaning but as I appreciate its results, am willing to do
it. Our biggest differences I suppose are cultural. Chris is of
the opinion that ‘theatre’ is something soapie stars do
over Christmas and ‘good theatre’ has Andrew Lloyd
Webber’s name somewhere on it. So far I haven’t managed
to rectify this startling acknowledgment of tastelessness. I
mean, this is the man who, when we were last in France wanted to
go to Euro-Disney to reintroduce himself to Mickey Mouse. What
could I do? I offered the Left Bank or the Louvre in lieu of a
trip down crass American memory lane but to no avail. In a way I’m
glad I went as it was an… experience. To my surprise, I
actually kind of enjoyed myself. Chris’ pleasure in being
able to forget the horrors we encounter everyday turning out to
be infectious. I choose not to think of his threat to print the
souvenir photograph of myself with Donald Duck onto postcards and
then send them to every CI5 officer in the world…
We have enough in common, even without the job, to be ideally
suited to each other. I forgive him for his bordering on slovenly
habits and he forgives me for eating, as he so delightfully puts
it, Kermit’s legs. For a while I tried to argue with him in
regards to my appreciation of the taste of frog’s legs as
the constant barrage of ‘Kermit in Wheelchair’ cartoons
began to wear thin. I told him that I would give up eating them
if he gave up the American dietary staple of hot-dogs. I even
went so far as to use his same argument. That they were most
likely made up of ‘Mans Best Friend’ - Rin-Tin-Tin,
Lassie, Benji and so on. I may as well have saved my breath but
at least the cartoons stopped. Now we simply agree to differ.
Slowly I come out of my reverie as I become aware that Chris is
awake and looking at me quizzically. He blinks a couple of times
and yawns sleepily before speaking.
"So, has it told you the answer yet?"
As I have no idea what he is talking about I can only offer a
less than eloquent grunt in response. Chris laughs, props himself
up on his elbow and tilts his head in the direction of the Escher
print. "You were staring at that print as if it was the
Delphi Oracle and I wanted to know whether it’s told you
what you wanted to know." It’s my turn to laugh now. He’s
right. I was staring intently in the print’s general
direction but I wasn’t really seeing it. Too lost in my
thoughts to concentrate on anything else.
Shaking my head, I smile at Chris and tell him the truth. "I
was actually thinking about you."
"Oh…" As he speaks, his hand that has been resting
on my chest pulls out from under mine and lightly trails down the
rest of my torso. Down through my navel, across my stomach before
coming to a stop on my cock. Chris looks up at me and mock pouts.
"You can’t have been thinking about me, or if you
were," he closes his hand around my cock to emphasise his
point, "I’m losing my touch." He smiles at me as
his hand opens and starts to gently stroke my thickening member.
"Aaaahh," he purrs, sensing the changes, "Maybe
you *were* thinking about me after all."
"Of course I was thinking about you." I manage to reply
indignantly. My reward being a surprisingly - particularly in
light of the time and the fact that Chris is not exactly a
morning person - brilliant smile.
"Good. Now let me give you something even better to think
about."
This promising sounding comment is punctuated by an enigmatic
smile. BeforeI can ask for elaboration, Chris disappears under
the sheet. Wriggling quickly he slides down the bed, coming to a
halt with his head just below my hip.
I raise my leg that is nearer the edge of the bed in hopeful
anticipation of giving him better access. My cock, which has been
so expertly awaken, twitches expectantly as Chris suddenly
removes his hand from it. I groan and he chuckles quietly, his
warm breath on my skin as he laughs adding to my slow building
pleasure. Then, in order to make himself as comfortable as
possible, Chris braces himself by placing one arm either side of
my hips.
Without further hesitation he lowers his tongue to my cock and
leisurely licks its entire length. The feeling of his wet, rough
tongue sending exquisite shivers up my spine. This sensation
intensifies as Chris nuzzles around, slowly licking every spot on
my aching balls before gently covering the tip of my cock with
his mouth. He blows softly for a few moments and then begins to
lovingly glide his tongue around the crown.
I clench my fingers into the sheets and feel as though I am
drowning in sensation. All I can make of Chris is a shapeless
lump under the white sheet but his touch is so wonderfully
familiar that I would know it if I was blind. There was once a
time when I felt that familiarity translated into boredom but I
don’t anymore. It’s more special than that. We know
each other’s bodies as well as we know our own. If not
better.
Chris is as aware of this as I am and he knows that I am nearing
climax. I know this because his sensual tongue work gives way to
plain old sucking. Suddenly, before I know it, his nose is buried
in my pubic hair and I feel myself being deepthroated. This
naturally sends me over the edge and I come with a satisfied
moan. Chris removes his mouth, casually licks my cock clean
before wriggling back out from under the sheet.
His eyes are bright and he takes the opportunity of my slow
recovery to cover my body with his. Chris quickly kisses me on
the lips, intentionally sharing my taste and then drops his head
on my shoulder with a happy sounding sigh. I feel as though I
have become a full size, human pillow and bring my arms around
Chris to hold him in place. Comfortable, he looks at me through
half-lidded eyes, whispers, "Wake me in half an hour,"
and settles down to sleep.
I stare down at his clean, sandy coloured hair and feel so caught
up in it all that I can’t help myself. Like the time on the
plane so long ago, the words come out of my mouth as though I
have no control over them. "God, I love you." Chris
rouses himself slightly, murmurs, "I know… I love you
too," before pressing himself down harder on me.
Smiling to myself, I close my eyes to the motel room and follow
Chris - as I would anywhere - into the land of sleep.
THE END
Feedback: charlton@cobweb.com.au
