“Calm down? You lying tart!” He pointed at the stocky figure standing in the lift doorway, a camel coat hanging loosely across his shoulders, open-necked shirt and burgundy cravat, cowboy boots…. He looked again, harder, and looked back at Noir, frowning.

“It’s not what you think…”

Moon’s temper exploded.

“Stop saying that! Stop saying that and tell me what this really is! ‘Cos you’ve gone too far this time, Vince Noir!”

Noir turned to the figure in the doorway, palms out in a gesture of hopelessness.

“Oh, for Jagger’s sake, tell him, Douglas! He’ll never believe me!”

“What…?” began Moon.

The newcomer advanced into the room, a broad smile on his equally broad face, dark blond hair flopping artfully over one eye.

“He’s right, Moon! Though I don’t blame you for doing a double-take. Happens constantly. Even I get confused sometimes…” The voice was still booming, but younger and lighter. And the face….

“See?” The stranger pointed to his own features. “See? No moustache! That’s generally the clue to look for.” His tone was entirely affable.

Moon looked on bewildered, and sat down heavily on the sofa, running a tired hand over his face.

“This is my boss, Howard,” said Noir gently. “Douglas—he’s ‘B’s’ nephew.”

“And that,” said the younger, moustache-less ‘B’, “is as far as similarity goes, I assure you. It’s only the nepotism that we have in common. Truth be known, I’ve always suspected he was the wrong side of the blanket. After all, great-aunt May was a notorious…”

“Thanks, Douglas,” interjected Noir hastily. “I think you’ve cleared that up okay.” He looked at the bemused Moon and gave him a quick grin, then turned to Douglas again. “Come in and have a beer.”

“Oh, I forgot,” beamed Douglas, taking off the camel coat and slinging it onto a far sofa. “I’ve brought Chinese!”

Moon was about to protest that it was a quarter past three in the morning when a trio of exquisitely slender Oriental girls, dressed in very short skirts and very high heels, tripped giggling out of the elevator with an assortment of brown paper carrier bags which they deposited on the coffee table, and, still giggling, tripped out again. Douglas beamed benevolently at them, patting one’s neat bottom as she skipped past.

“Wait in the Bentley, girls,” he called as the elevator doors shut on them. “I won’t be long.”

Noir was getting plates from the kitchen, and more beer.

“You using the Bentley, then? What happened to the Veyron?”

He stuck a bottle into the stunned Moon’s limp hand and started to open the packages.

“In for valeting. Besides, there’s more room to… ah… work in the Bentley.”

“Ain’t there just,” smirked Noir, spooning out rice. He elbowed Moon.

“Come on, Howard, wake up! This is Douglas Douglas, head of Fashion Division, and my lovely boss. Could be yours, too, if you play your cards right.”

He winked at Moon, who looked from one friendly grin to the other, and then downed as much beer as he could in one gulp.

Douglas leaned forward across the debris of foil trays, and stared intently at Noir.

“You really think so, Agent Noir? That’s your considered opinion?”

Noir returned the gaze steadily, his face grave.

“Absolutely, Douglas. A wide pin-stripe—in a dark weave, mind—would be perfect. Not many people could carry it off, but you could.”

Douglas’ features relaxed.

“Good, that’s my outfit for Milan Fashion Week sorted, then. So now, what do we do about Mr Big’s—and my uncle’s—plans to bring the country to its knees?”

Moon, replete with roast pork and plum sauce and half-asleep, snapped to full attention again.

“The deadline is this morning—that much we know from what Sable said; a series of explosions in government buildings. But when—I mean, what time—this will happen…” He shrugged. “We have no details. And anyway, who’s to say they won’t change the plan, or bring it forward, now they know we’re on to them?”

Douglas smiled and tapped the side of his nose.

“You’re forgetting something, Moon. As far as they all know, you both died in the factory explosion. They think they have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” grinned Noir, patting Moon’s arm reassuringly. “Yeah, it’s a bit helpful being dead right now! Okay, so how do we think they’re going to do it?”

“A series of explosions,” mused Moon, stroking his moustache. “It implies a common trigger, unless they’ve had a mole in every government building.”

Noir looked doubtful.

“What…” he began.

“Mole agent, Vince. An insider.”

“Ah,” Noir nodded sagely.

“I agree” cut in Douglas. “I suspect they’ve kept the execution of all this to their key team. So they will want a coordinated action, controlled by perhaps just one of the group.”

“That would be ‘B’”, chirped Noir excitedly. “Let’s face it, Big’s a lazy arse. He won’t be interested in the nuts and bolts of blowing up government, just as long as his army can march in and pick up the pieces. But ‘B’ would love all that control stuff. I bet it’s all coordinated from Service HQ!” He looked brightly from one companion to the other.

“Good thinking, Vince,” said Douglas. “But without evidence, that’s all it is. We could be barking up the wrong tree without a paddle, and we don’t have time for that.”

Moon was deep in thought.

“Howard…?” ventured Noir.

“Evidence…” Moon muttered. “Evidence….” He looked up quickly and grabbed Noir’s arm.

“The camera! The shoe camera and the microfilm! Where is it?”

Noir gaped at him.

“In my sock drawer. Hang on, I’ll get it.

In the darkened room some familiar images started to appear on the white walls. Now they were making sense—the lay-out of the flapjack factory, complete with vats and drainage system (“the sewer,” said Noir pointedly); the control room and the conveyor belts; the mysterious fabrication area which Moon had spotted initially on the plans and which Sable had proudly confirmed as being where the special explosives had been manufactured. The diagram of the deadly manufacturing process itself, which had made Moon’s blood run cold when he had first seen the picture projected, now fitted perfectly into the whole scenario.

But what about a seemingly unrelated diagram involving a central blank box connected by dotted lines to a number of haphazardly-arranged smaller boxes, with numbers written over each?

Noir’s frown of concentration was clearly intended to cover bewilderment. He stole an anxious glance at Moon.

“Errr…” he began hopefully.

Douglas looked from one to the other, and then at his watch.

“Well, chaps…”

Still staring at the diagram, Moon waved a hand impatiently.

“Agent Noir! We need a map of central London!”

Noir rolled his eyes and looked doubtful.

“You haven’t got a map?” asked Moon, incredulous.

“Never fear, lads! I have an app!” proclaimed Douglas, reaching into a back pocket and producing a shiny mobile phone. “Central London, you say?” He clicked some buttons and passed the phone over.

Moon glanced from diagram to phone, the beginnings of a triumphant grin twitching at the corners of his moustache. He beamed at his fellows.

“Look, if you take this big box as representing Service HQ, down by the river, then look where the other boxes are!”

Noir grinned broadly and then looked at Moon hopelessly, the grin switching off.

“I don’t…”

Moon pushed at his arm. “Look, if this…” he pointed at the map “…is HQ, then this box represents the MoD, just south of Whitehall.” He pointed to the correlation of the boxes in the diagram to the positioning of buildings on the map. “And this is Parliament, and this is 10 Downing Street, this is the Treasury, and this is…”

Both Douglas and Noir looked bleak.

“The Arts Council!” they intoned in hushed, horrified voices.

“And there are numbers,” continued Moon. “A zero over HQ, then there’s a group of buildings marked ‘plus one’, then another group—‘plus two’. And there’s one floating around at the top of the page which says ‘plus three’—oh, and some smaller letters—‘Scotland’!”

He looked at Douglas. “The Royal Family, sir?”

Douglas ran a hand through his artfully-styled locks.

“Could be, Moon, could be. HM and the gang are on hols, after all, though how a flapjack shipment would get there, I’m not sure.”

“Anyway,” continued Moon, turning back to the diagram, “what we have is a schedule for the explosions.”

“But how do they get exploded?” This was from Noir, sitting cross-legged on a cream floor-rug, looking like a child engrossed in an episode of Doctor Who. Moon had to suppress a smile. He turned to the screen and clicked on.

“Let’s see….”

The last image was a surprise; a standard photograph of a laptop computer, but with annotations written in various hands, and with varying thicknesses of pen. It was a jumble of arrows and asterisks and exclamation marks, together with somebody’s precise script that read “Ensure internet connection secured BEFORE inserting flash-drive!”. There was a very large arrow pointing to one side of the laptop with the words “IT GOES HERE!” scrawled next to it, and, at the bottom of the page, scribbled across a corner, were the numbers ‘11 8 11’.

“So,” mused Douglas, “are we to deduce…”

He tailed off and looked expectantly at Moon and Noir. And Noir looked expectantly at Moon.

“My best guess, sir,” said that agent “is that the triggering signals will be sent electronically via the worldwide interweb to the hidden bombs. And the instructions are in some separate device, presumably the flash-drive mentioned here. It implies there is an agreed moment for triggering, but when….” He shrugged hopelessly.

“Wait!” Noir leapt towards the screen, pointing at the numbers at the bottom of the page. “Look at this!”

“A code…?” suggested Douglas.

Noir looked at Moon with shining eyes.

“Eleven. Eleven, eight, eleven. The eleventh of August at eleven o’clock. Yeah?

Moon grabbed his arm excitedly.

“And the eleventh is tomorrow… I mean, today!” cried Moon, taking up his thread.

They grinned at each other.

“Well, I know that ‘B’ has a scheduled appointment first thing with HRH at St James’ Palace” said Douglas. “He’s likely to be back around ten.”

Noir still held Moon’s gaze, a delighted smile on his lips.

“We just need to wait till he’s back in the building and take the lot of them!” he crowed.

“Not so fast, Vince!” Douglas was shaking his head gravely. “There’s no way we can just charge in without adequate evidence. We need to catch them red-handed.”

“So, we get into the building,” said Noir, patiently.

Moon gave him a doubtful look.

“Normal disguise!” said Noir brightly, answering his un-asked question. “The refreshments cycle interface is at nine-thirty every morning.”

“The what?”

“The tea-lady changeover. One shift comes in and the other goes out. We can sneak in then. You can borrow one of my disguises, Howard.”

Moon looked unconvinced.

“I don’t think…” he began, but Douglas clapped his hands.

“Splendid plan! I’ll keep in touch with you via the usual earpiece communications devices. As soon as you have these swine bang to rights, call me for reinforcements. We’ll be standing by!”

“But we can’t wait…” began Moon anxiously. Noir grasped his arm and gave him a gentle shake.

“Yes, we can, Howard. Nothing’s going to happen until ‘B’ gets back to HQ this morning. You heard the way they all talked about it tonight… I mean, last night. They’ve got precise timings and they want to stick to them.”

There was silence for a moment. They heard another siren—fire, police or ambulance—in the distance.

“That factory explosion is drawing emergency services in from across London,” mused Douglas. “By the time the bombs go off this morning, there will be exhausted crews and vehicles in all the wrong places. It really is a dastardly plan.” Then he looked up brightly.

“Right, chaps. I’ll leave you to get some shut-eye. The girls will be expecting me by now. Activate your comms when you get into the building. If there’s any news in the interim, I’ll phone Vince. Check in with you around nine-fifteen.”

The agents nodded. Douglas rose, drained the last of his beer and turned on his heel. The lift doors opened for him and he got in, holding them apart for a moment.

“I must say, Moon, I was a bit doubtful when Noir said he was working with you. Didn’t know what to expect. But I’m impressed. Very impressed.” The lift doors slid silently closed and Douglas disappeared from view.

They both watched from the window as the Bentley swung out of the yard.

“Does he ever sleep?” mused Moon.

“Not,” smirked Noir “if he can help it.”

He turned back to the table and started to pick up the empty trays, padding back and forth to the kitchen. Moon watched him for a moment and then went to help. It was a strangely domestic interlude. They wiped the table, put the cutlery in the dishwasher, and then looked at each other. Noir’s eyes were unreadable as he drank the last of his beer, but they never left Moon’s face. The other man felt at a loss. He cleared his throat.

“Should we think about getting some rest?”

Noir cocked an eyebrow.

“That really what you want?”

“Well, I just thought…” Moon stared at his feet. He felt Noir move close, and his beer bottle taken from his hand and placed on the counter.

“We can rest tomorrow, can’t we? Right now… right now, I want to make sure I don’t miss one moment of this.”

“One moment of what?”

“Working with you, you berk! Being with you. This is the best assignment, the best… fun… I’ve ever had.” He suddenly looked anxious. “Don’t you think so too?”

Moon smiled warmly at him and linked his fingers round the back of the man’s neck, drawing him closer. He kissed his brow.

“No contest, Vince.”

Noir looked up at him with a grin, which suddenly faded.

“Dammit! I don’t have any jam!”

Moon reached down and started to kiss his neck.

“Your mind really does work in strange jumps of logic, you know,” he murmured against an ear. “What’s jam got to do with anything?”

Noir squirmed so they were nose to nose. He raised his hands and stroked his thumbs softly across Moon’s cheekbones.

“‘Cos of what you said. About when you got your scar. You know, the hot Ukrainian beauty and the whipped jam.”

Moon frowned and then smiled.

“Ah, you mean the hot jam, the whip and the Ukrainian beauty.”

“Yeah! That! Sounded like it was important to you. I wanted…” He dropped his eyes. “I wanted this to be something you’d remember. Better than anything before…”

Moon hushed him.

“Vince, that incident involved torture. It’s bound to stick in my mind a bit. I should hope this occasion would be better.”

Noir pulled him closer still, wrapping a leg round him.

“No-one to interrupt us…” he breathed, moving in to bite Moon’s neck gently, feeling the man shiver. “No-one to tell us what to do, what not to do, who not to trust…”

Moon captured his lips, kissing him deeply. Noir twined his fingers in chocolate curls and let Moon’s tongue take him over. It was a long moment before they both surfaced for air.

“Just us,” continued Noir.

“Only us,” confirmed Moon.

“That’s all we need”

Moon held him in a tight embrace, burying his face in the black hair. As Noir relaxed against him, listening to his breathing, he suddenly found himself scooped up, Moon’s arm under the crook of his knees. He looped his own arms around Moon’s neck, just smiling, eyes shining, feeling no need to speak as Moon carried him over the threshold of the bedroom to set him gently down onto the cream covers of the bed. Moon stood back, suddenly abashed, surprised at his own audacity, but Noir kept smiling and reached out his hand.

“Come to me, Howard.”

Moon stared at him. Protocol, discretion, discipline, reason—all had long been disregarded in this relationship, he mused. It was only them; just them.

He untied the knot in his belt and let the dressing gown fall to the floor, hearing a gasp from the bed as Noir took in his naked body. And for the first time in his life, he revelled in it. Howard Moon—sex god; more masculine, more powerful, more confident than he had ever felt before.

And in that new-found confidence, he touched himself, deliberately, pulling at his hardening erection, taking wicked pleasure in the reaction on Noir’s face—the darkening pupils, the open mouth and pink tongue just showing at a corner, the chest rising and falling rapidly as the man panted in his arousal.

“Come to me, Howard. Please.”

Arms reached from the bed. Moon knelt beside him and bent down to kiss him again, this time fiercely, as if by the kiss he could somehow brand the man as his own. He felt Noir’s legs lock around his back, and the hardness of him against his own belly. He breathed in perfume and musk, and tasted honey and salt as his tongue moved from Noir’s mouth to his long throat. Noir was moaning nonsense, thrusting up against him. Moon disentangled their arms and sat back on his haunches, amused at the confused look he received.

“What…?”

Moon smiled and put a finger to his lips. Then he reached out and ran his hands up Noir’s thighs, pushing underneath the robe, feeling the tickle of black hair and the ripple of muscles. He stopped tantalisingly at Noir’s hip-bones, then stroked back down the soft skin of his inner thighs. Noir threw his head back and groaned.

“Fuckin’ tease!”

Moon grinned. He reached out again and undid the knot in Noir’s belt, slowly unwrapping him like a present he had long promised himself. His own breath hitched in anticipation. He unfolded the robe and Noir lay there, as beautiful and bewitching as the first time. Moon gazed in wonder at him, hardly able to drag his eyes away from the man’s hard cock standing proud, red against the white skin. He stroked Noir’s hip-bones again, running his fingertips in towards the shaft and then out again. Noir arched on the bed and moaned.

Moon swallowed thickly, his desire flooding his mouth with spit. He took hold of Noir’s waist firmly with both hands, drawing his hips up towards him. At his touch, Noir flinched and gasped in a way that indicated pain, not pleasure; Moon let go hurriedly.

“Oh, Vince, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

He stared at the bandage on Noir’s ribcage, and the purple bruising under and around it, hate and anger at Sable and his savagery almost overwhelming his lust.

“Oh, shit, no, Howard! Don’t stop, please! It was just a bit sore there…”

“Oh, Vince, that bastard, that bastard. When I get my hands on him…” Moon leant over and carefully kissed him again. “…when I get my hands on him, he’ll pay for what he did with his Heckler and Koch…”

Noir pushed at Moon’s shoulders, suddenly alarmed.

“No, Howard, don’t think that! He never… it never… he never put it anywhere near me, I promise you….!”

Moon frowned in confusion and then grinned.

“His Heckler and Koch, Vince. His gun; I mean, really, his gun…”

Noir slumped back in the pillows.

“Seriously? I thought they were a comedy double-act.”

Moon kissed him to shut him up, but he felt the man wriggle beneath him as he struggled out of the robe.

“Vince, you’re injured. We shouldn’t…”

Noir pulled back and looked at him in wonderment.

“You don’t really mean that, Howard? Surely?”

“… I might hurt you…”

Noir grinned and snaked his legs up around Moon’s waist, pulling the agent down towards him. He ground their hips together, cock rubbing against cock. Moon felt tremors run through him, making him go hot and cold all at once. He couldn’t suppress a moan. Noir’s grin became even more wicked. He bit hard at Moon’s neck and dragged the man’s full weight onto his injured ribs.

“Don’t you understand, you berk?” he murmured breathlessly as Moon adjusted his position, supporting himself on one arm while he stroked back Noir’s hair and stared questioningly into the blue eyes. “You could never hurt me.”

And to reinforce the point, he pulled Moon even closer to him, gripping hard with his legs, until he heard an answering growl in his ear.

“Want you, Vince Noir…”

“Oh, you can have me, Agent Moon. Any way you like.”

Moon pushed him back again, then trailed his mouth from Noir’s throat to his chest, leaving a wet trail on the hot flesh. He worried a nipple with his teeth, feeling it grow hard under his lips. He rubbed his face against Noir’s stomach, hearing his stubble rasp on skin. He had no idea where these erotic inspirations were coming from but he made a mental note to suggest updating the Service Training Manual very soon.

And then his hands were hard on Noir’s hips, holding him down as the man squirmed in delight at the movement of Moon’s tongue over his pelvis. The smell of his skin—all warmth and earthiness and spice—was intoxicating.

Moon’s face brushed against Noir’s hardness, and the man moaned and swore and arched his back as Moon threw caution finally to the winds and took the full, heavy cock into his mouth.

“Oh, please, Howard! Oh god, please, please…”

Moon moved his head gently so that Noir’s cock slipped in and out of his mouth. The sensation was electrifying. Moon felt his own cock twitch and throb in response. He longed for his own release, but right now, Agent Moon had a job to perform.

He let his mouth work harder, lips and tongue pressing and teasing. He felt Noir’s hands in his hair, grasping at his scalp to push deeper in. And Moon let him have his way, relaxing his tongue and staring deeply into the dark blues irises as Noir gently fucked his mouth.

What he read there he couldn’t put a name to, but it made him take over again, now pulling and pressing and sucking, and hearing wonderful, decadent profanity spill from Noir’s lips as he writhed beneath. Suddenly he was shouting:

“Howard! Oh, Howard!”

Moon’s mouth was full of warmth. He held fast onto the other man as Noir jerked and thrust his way through his orgasm. It tasted sweet—he tasted sweet. Moon swallowed gently, feeling Noir soften in his mouth. Noir was spread out helplessly on the bed, still making little sounds of torment as the sensations faded in him.

Moon couldn’t ignore his own arousal any longer, and he saw Noir’s eyes on him, pupils dilated. He was breathing hard.

“Yes, Howard. Please.”

“I… well, I…” Moon looked down at their bodies—intertwined, so close—and back up at Noir’s face.

“Do you…? Do I…?”

Noir gave him a lazy, wanton smile.

“Do whatever you feel you want to, Howard. There ain’t no rules…”

He reached down and let his fingers close gently round Moon’s length, making the man thrust helplessly into his palm. He smiled and nodded his approval, biting his own lip while Moon’s fingers explored him. Moon felt him tense up.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Howard.”

Noir hauled himself up a little and scrabbled in a drawer on the night stand. He handed Moon a small bottle, its contents hardly used. Moon stared at it and then back at Noir, who misread his confusion.

“Yeah, been waiting a long time for you, Howard. A long time…”

Moon took a deep breath and let the liquid slip over his hands and then pushed in again between Noir’s thighs. This time, his fingers entered easily, Noir twisting on them, making little ecstatic cries. They locked eyes again, and Noir suddenly turned so that he lay on his stomach. Moon held him up gently and pushed pillows under his hips and injured ribs, then stroked his hands down over the white skin, pausing at the damp crease between buttock and thigh. Noir looked back over his shoulder, his eyes hooded.

“You won’t hurt me, Howard,” he said again, anticipating Moon’s anxiety. “Please.”

Moon leant over and kissed the angled face, then his shoulder-blades, then the small of his back. He was amazed that this felt so easy, so uncomplicated, when in all his past life complications has arisen unbidden at all the wrong moments, convincing him that the world operated that way. He was amazed at his own daring. He trailed little light kisses down to the base of Noir’s spine, then slicked his hands again, and his body, and pushed into him.

He moved gradually, the sensations taking him over. Heat from their joined skins flooded him. What he felt was intensely physical—pressure, tightness; it made him feel powerful and vulnerable all at once. That he was doing this with a man; that he was with this man…. there was fear and joy in him, and he was bursting with unspoken emotion.

Noir was pushing backwards, encouraging, so he pressed in further, moving in long, smooth strokes. Noir was trembling beneath him. He reached back one hand and Moon, himself lost, grasped at it, pressing the fingers warmly.

In, in… skin against skin, Noir clenching around him, both of them saying things they neither heard nor understood, apart from the repetition of each other’s name. Then Noir dragged Moon’s hand beneath him.

“Jesus, Howard. You made me hard again, you animal….”

It was all too much now. Noir was shaking with the effort of supporting their combined weight, and the pressure of Moon’s fingers round him. Moon kept rocking against him, pushing in, lost in the movement, and when his release came it took him almost by surprise. He felt surrounded by warmth, and that warmth spread to his hand as Noir came all over again, with little half-cries and gasps. Moon clung to him, breathless, then slipped away as Noir turned to collapse on his back. He laid his head on Noir’s stomach, listening as their breathing subsided. Later, he let his hand drift over the down at the top of Noir’s thighs, and could feel soft fingers playing with his hair again—stroking, stroking—then over his brow and cheeks, and petting long strokes up and down his back.

Eventually, he looked up.

“All right?”

“All right, Howard.”

Moon slipped up the bed so their faces were level and they kissed softly.

“That was…” said Noir. He never finished the sentence, but neither of them expected him to. It was a statement all by itself.

They held each other.

“We could be like that, said Noir thoughtfully after a while, a propos of nothing obvious.

“Like what?”

“Double-agents.”

Moon looked up sharply.

“I beg your pardon, sir!”

“No, I mean like Heckler and Koch. A double-act. Double-act agents, working together.”

Moon relaxed again with secret smile, snuggling against the warmth of Noir’s chest.

“Yes, Vince, that we could.”

Another pause. Moon could tell that Noir was building up to say something. He looked up to find Noir gazing at him intently.

“Howard…”

“Yes, Vince?”

“When was the last time…” Noir shifted a little, looking away suddenly, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, when were you last in love?”

Moon opened his mouth to reply, and then shut it again, sensing a trick question but not clear in what direction it was headed.

“I don’t…. I mean… I’m not…” he began uncertainly.

He saw Noir blush.

“Oh, I understand, Howard,” he interrupted hastily, stroking his hair again. “Don’t want to talk about that, yeah? I’m the same normally. ‘Cept… just thought I’d say… I mean, well, me… Ages ago, it was. A long time….”

“Vince…”

Noir looked at him quickly and then dropped his eyes.

“S’all right, Howard.” He spoke lightly,

“It’s just… this job we do. I’ve never found it easy…”

“Oh yeah, exactly. I know, it makes it hard to commit. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone. I feel exactly the same way…”

“And as for another agent…”

“Well, yeah, of course. Against regulations.” His voice was flat.

“Yes, that’s right. Against regulations.”

There was another pause. The sense of disappointment in the air was almost palpable. Noir was now gazing deliberately and casually at the ceiling. Moon stared at the weird profile; wide brow, long lashes, sharp cheekbones, ludicrously attractive nose, sweet mouth, masculine jaw-line.

“He’s beautiful” he thought. “But it’s not just that…”

He saw an Adam’s apple bob, and he swallowed as well on reflex. He couldn’t put a name to everything he was feeling, but one thing he could clearly identify; a sense of utter certainty.

“Vince…”

“Yeah?”

“The thing about secret agents is…”

Noir turned his head on the pillow and frowned.

“Yeah?”

“…is that we… we’re good at keeping secrets,” Moon blundered on, not sure whether his words were going to make any sense now.

The frown deepened. Moon kept smiling at him, trying to impart some sense of what he was feeling but couldn’t put into words. And gradually the frown softened to query, to mild doubt, to a flash of disbelief, and then a slow smile of realization.

“Yeah, we are, aren’t we?”

He snuggled down against Moon.

“Gotta sleep now, Howard.”

Moon grunted at the sudden intrusion of reality.

“Have you set the alarm?”

Noir stirred and fumbled with a clock on the night stand.

“There. Seven-thirty. We’ll get almost three hours.”

Moon sighed his acquiescence and settled down. He heard Noir’s breathing even out, but just as he was relaxing into sleep himself, he felt the man tense up again.

“Howard? I just thought….”

“Hmmm….?”

“If anything goes wrong tomorrow, this place is our bolt-hole, okay? If it goes tits up, we re-group here, yeah?”

“Okay, Vince, but it will be fine, really it will…”

He felt Vince turn to look at him in surprise.

“Idiot….” But the voice was kind.

They slept fitfully, holding tight.

Howard Moon: Secret Agent

Chapter Nine

Contents

Chapter Nine

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Chapter Nine

Contents

Chapter Nine

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About

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Categories

Series

Pairings

Genre

Characters

Challenges

Fic Length

Disclaimer