Rubber Biker

"God-DAMNIT Jayce, stop acting like a mother hen!"

Duncan threw his coffee mug against the wall. The white china exploded, leaving a puddle of liquid on the floor and a growing brown stain creeping down the wall, vaguely reminiscent of a pool of blood with the splattered look of an exit wound.

Jason yelled back at his older sibling.

"Well, if you weren't so fuck-all stupid, you'd understand why I'm worried! You're my only brother! Some game is afoot and you're right in the damn middle of it!"

The brothers glared at each other.

To the untrained eye, the two looked like twins. Both were tall and handsome, and their shaved heads gleamed in the airy Mallorca kitchen. Duncan, the elder by five years, had a rangy build, intense blue eyes and an intricately cut moustache and beard. Jason, the younger of the two, had deep blue-green eyes and was clean shaven. He was a bit more muscled than his brother, but then again, his stints in the SAS and MI5 had accustomed him to a rigorous exercise program - a habit, once formed, he never broke.

Jason blinked. "I'm sorry Dunc. I know I've been a bit of a nag lately. But my contacts are telling me that your name keeps coming up all of a sudden and that's gotten me very concerned."

Duncan wiped the scowl off his face. "All right, baby brother, you're worried. And you don't get worried easily. But you have no reason to be. Who's rattling your cage? That ginger-haired spy that fancies you? Charlie? Charlie Ingraham? The one that still moons over you like a lovesick calf?"

"Yes, Charlie. He'd be clapped in irons and thrown into Portsmouth if MI5 found out he's giving me classified information."

"And being regularly fucked silly by me, too." he added to himself.

"Or the Chateau D'If - if the French still ran that particular hotel."

"Dunc, damn your eyes, STOP IT! This isn't a joking matter!"

Duncan had never seen his brother this upset. Whatever the information he received, it was more than sufficient for Jason to drive his brother to lash out at him about it.

"Charlie said that this isn't a good time for you to be moving about anywhere in England right now. Your name is high on some bigwig's shitlist and they're just waiting to grab you. I think your should call off your RPM buddy trip. Or at least postpone it."

"No can do. We've settled on the route and houses for the trip and we can't change it. Too many moving parts. But no one even knows about who's a member of the RPM club. Jayce, we have enough identity papers between us to furnish a small country. Anyways, I've already shipped the Ducati to the first site."

Jason sighed. "Well, will you at least use one of my passports? At least Interpol and MI5 don't have records of those."

"Okay, okay. If it makes you feel better."

"It will."

Jason closed the distance between himself and his brother and held him close. "Please be extra careful on this trip Dunc. Please."

* * *

The club had started out as a simple celebration after a job. Duncan, Connall and Fletcher had met at Everett's country home to relax and bask in the glory of an operation well done. The Faberge egg had been stolen from the British Museum and the replica put in its place with nary a glitch in the entire plan. It was the perfect crime. Everett Maroulis, Lord Statler - had put together the plan and the team for the heist; Connall McKinnock - a jeweler and illustrator - had created the replica egg; Duncan Blackburn - the master thief - had broken into the museum and made the switch, and Fletcher Livesey - the engineer - had arranged the route, cars and getaway. Everett had rented several motorcycles, racing suits and Motocross boots for an afternoon of fun and the four had enjoyed themselves immensely, rambling over the estate. They found themselves in the early afternoon beside a small brook beneath a huge oak.

Duncan pulled off his gloves and took off his helmet. "God, what a wonderful day! Y'know, Ev, we should be doing this more often."

Everett licked his lips. "Whenever you'd like Duncan. I couldn't ask to be around a better set of men! Brigands, thieves and counterfeiters - just what I like!"

"And probably more honest than some of your fellow MPs!" was Connall's happy rejoinder.

After a fine picnic meal and several bottles of wine, the men were completely relaxed and unbelievably aroused. The racing suits and boots complemented each of their physiques. It was not long before passions ran hot enough to boil over.

Duncan stood up and stretched. Fletcher eyed him appreciatively. He wrapped his arm around the thief, pulled him close and kissed him hard on the lips.

"I've been wanting to do that for weeks, Dunc. You were AMAZING!" He further unzipped the thief's jacket and proceeded to run gloved hands over his hard chest. Duncan grabbed Fletcher's trim waist and began nuzzling his neck. The wheelman moaned.

Everett stroked Connall's cheek. Connall grabbed the lord's crotch and gave it a squeeze. "Let's shatter some commandments, shall we?" He gave Everett an evil grin.

The men enjoyed the rest of the afternoon in an orgy of pleasure and lay spent on the soft grass as the sun began to set. They gathered themselves up to return to the manor house to continue their exploits into the evening.

The club was born.

* * *

It was Everett's idea to continue the concept of a motorcycle get-together each year - regardless if a job had been completed or not. It was also a good time for the four to plan their next caper. The men had grown close during the Faberge incident and grew closer with each passing season. Everett would select a country and several "stops" for the group. Each group member would proceed to rent a house for several days or a week in a location where they would base their operations - it was here that the orgies of food and sex would culminate after several (sometimes hard) hours of riding.

It was Fletcher, however, that came up with the more "interesting" additions to each tour. During the trip in Spain, he bought steel cockrings for all. In Germany, it was plugs. The feelings were indescribable - encased in tight riding leathers, astride a humming, vibrating machine, bound in front by steel and filled in back by something that sent vibrations into the core of your being. After several hours under these conditions, each man was in an agony of desire and could not wait to take (or be taken) by one of his fellows.

It was in Italy, however, that Fletcher's imagination outdid himself. Fletcher had rented the villa in San Remo - their base and first stop. The other three arrived on their cycles a few minutes before him - earlier, he had prepared the villa and had just dashed off for some last-minute items.

Duncan, Connall and Everett were removing their helmets as Fletcher pulled up. From the bulges in their suits, he could tell that the three had already ringed themselves and were ready for the upcoming festivities. There was a collective gasp as Fletcher removed his helmet and smiled at the three.

He was wearing a slick black latex hood with the mouth cut out. At first they thought he was riding blind, but as he approached them, they could see a series of small pindots in the eye areas. He pulled off his leather gloves to reveal a pair of skintight black latex gloves beneath; so tight that they highlighted every nail on his hand.

"Surprised, chaps?" As he walked towards them, he unzipped his leather suit halfway, revealing a smooth expanse of black rubber highlighting each muscle of his chest.

Duncan was the first to speak up. " 'Amazed' is more like it Fletch. I thought I was hard before. I could punch a hole through concrete now!"

"Well, there's plenty more of this stuff inside! Let's get rinsed off, lubed up and kitted out, shall we?"

The "Italian Trip" represented a new plateau for the four's fantasies. It was Connall who had said to Everett, "My dream biker - ringed, plugged and masked!" that formulated the abbreviation "RPM" and the name stuck.

Throughout their stops in Portofino, Genoa and Ventimiglia, the men drew astonished glances when they removed their helmets. It was not everyday that tourists and residents alike had ebon-black living statues in their midst. And, due to the very anonymity of the masks, they could engage in erotic displays in public which heretofore had been solely the province of their rest stops.

From that point on, they wore rings, plugs and masks on every trip.

* * *Jason used his computer system to alter Duncan's e-ticket to Wales and he was now traveling under a completely clean passport.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Duncan asked.

"It's been something Charlie has been working on. He got the software from the Yanks and passed it on to me. It works just as well to lay a false trail as to track a real one."

"He really must love you to take risks like this, Jayce. You're a lucky man."

Jason said nothing and kept tapping out commands on the keyboard. A faint blush colored his throat and cheeks. "Okay, we're done. At least MI5 is going to have a damn hard time finding you this time."

"Thanks Jayce, I promise I'll be careful."

* * *

"I promise I'll be careful." Duncan was in a thoughtful mood when he boarded the plane headed for Cardiff. He was turning possibilities in his head about his past jobs and who could be so fixated on him. The trip was uneventful and when the plane began its descent, he was no closer to a solution than when he boarded.

Duncan had no luggage to wait for. Everett's company - ExpoAir - the third largest carrier in Britain - managed moving all of the luggage and equipment for their trips. Not having to bother with long waits and customs was one of the little pleasures that Duncan enjoyed the most about these sojourns. It was an ebullient master thief that picked up his rental car, and began his drive.

The first stop on the tour was Crickhowell, about an hour away from the airport. Fletcher was responsible for the anchor site this year and Duncan was looking forward to seeing the engineer again. The wheelman had just the right combination of aggressiveness and humour that Duncan found irresistable. Sex with him - in any position - was always amazing and always fulfilling. Fletcher also found his time with the master thief incredible - he loved feeling those strong tattooed arms wrapped tightly around him during their frequent encounters and enjoyed watching the interplay of ink and struggling muscle when he held Duncan down and thrust deeply into him.

Duncan pulled up to the spacious bungalow and noticed Fletcher's Silver Ghost Kawasaki Concors 14/400 parked in front - he guessed that he was the first "guest" to arrive. He slung his bag over his shoulder and bounded up to the door. He gave it a few sharp raps and waited. The door opened.

"FLETCH? Good Lord, what have you done to yourself? You look -"

"- good enough to eat??" He gave the master thief a huge grin and a crushing hug. "Come on in!"

Fletcher was a damnably handsome man to start with, but he was now breathtaking. His silky black hair was buzzed down to a non-existent stubble and he sported a thin and intricately cut beard quite similar to Duncan's. The engineer had noticeably bulked up, and Duncan whistled as he saw the hard muscles of his arms, chest and back bunch beneath the thin linen sweater and how his tight jeans set off every curve of his long legs. His cognac-colored eyes twinkled and his bright smile was further accented by a small silver crescent piercing through his septum.

"I take it you like what you see?"

"I can't believe how fucking sexy you look. I love that piercing! Damn, I want you right now!"

Fletcher gave Duncan a quick, hard kiss. "Well ... that's not the only piercing I got ... come on into the kitchen so we can talk. I'm almost done getting the food ready for later." He looked down and deliberately squeezed his bulging crotch. He looked back up at Duncan and winked.

"You didn't get a-"

"I certainly did! Eight gauge!"

The two entered the kitchen and Duncan saw the delectable spread before him. Everett, cordon-bleu trained, had taught the other members of the RPM Club many culinary techniques and Fletcher was taking full advantage of them. Duncan could not keep his hands off the engineer and wound up behind him, holding him around his trim waist and gently nuzzling his neck as Fletcher continued.

As the last tray was put in the oven and the last pot put in the washer, Fletcher turned around to face Duncan. He slowly pulled the thin sweater off over his head.

He laughed. "Dunc, I believe you're drooling!"

In addition to building up his physique with about twenty pounds of rock-solid muscle, Fletcher had also gotten inked. His left arm sported a huge black tribal dragon stretching down his arm and around his shoulderblade grasping a multi-hued spherical shape in its claws. The upper and lower surfaces of his forearm had "exposed" biomechanical tattoos - pistons, tubing, struts, electronics - with the edges resembling torn flesh. Whomever did these works of art was a true genius - there was a depth and dimensionality to them that was awe-inspiring. A large vibrantly colored phoenix was curled around his other arm, with several planets and comets to add detail. Starting at his wrist, a series of black-inked equations circled around his arm, growing larger and lighter in color as they reached his shoulder. The tattooed equations themselves were exquisitely crisp and served as the ultimate backdrop for the phoenix.The sleeve was completely different than anything Duncan had ever seen before and matched the personality of Fletcher perfectly.

Duncan traced the inkings with his fingers, feeling the rock-hard muscles beneath the smooth illustrated skin. "Jesus Christ, Fletcher, these are amazing!"

"I thought you'd like them. I really wanted to do something different and I've always loved the way your arms looked. I just took it to a different level."

"What's this?" he pointed to the spherical shape.

"It's a Calabi-Yau manifold - it's a representation of 12-dimensional spacetime."

"And these?" he stroked the formulas on Fletcher's other arm.

"Schrodinger's probability wave functions and Von Neumann's quantum collapse equations."

"You are one sick bastard."

Fletcher slid his hands down past the waistband of Duncan's jeans and kneaded his muscular ass. He pulled the thief to him and began to slowly kiss down his neck.

"No ... I'm ... one ... randy ... bastard ..."

Duncan licked his lips. "As Connall would so aptly put it, how would you like to shatter some commandments before the others arrive?"

"I thought you'd never ask ..."

* * *

Connall and Everett arrived several hours later and were also amazed at Fletcher's trans- formation. After the vigorous romp with Duncan, the engineer had changed into a sleeveless muscle t-shirt to show off his brawny and newly-inked arms.

"Mmmmm ... looks like you've been working out overtime in the prison yard, mate!" Connall exclaimed.

Everett had come behind Fletcher and wrapped one arm around his waist and brought the other around the wheelman's neck. He turned his head towards him and gave him a deep, long kiss. His hand traveled down from the wheelman's tight waist and gently cupped his crotch. "That septum piercing feels wonderful Fletch. I love the way it tickles when I kiss you."

"Thanks Ev. I needed a change and I've never felt more comfortable in my life. The other partners at the firm were a bit appalled at first, but they got over it. Rather quickly, too. It's amazing how many surreptitious looks and tented trousers I'm getting from the other fellows - particularly if I 'accidentally' brush against them."
"Any new conquests?" Connall asked.

"Not yet. Although one of the new architects - Brian - couldn't stop looking at my PA in the washroom. I gave him a wink and a slap on his ass. I think he would've been ready for anything if someone hadn't come in at that moment."

"Damn, Fletch, you've throttled your libido up by several notches!"
"Definitely!" Fletcher licked slowly licked his bicep as he gave a wanton glance to each man. They all laughed.
"Whatever you're cooking smells wonderful. Between the aromas wafting out of the kitchen and you looking like a hypersexed convict, I'm hard as hell!" Everett said.

Fletcher chuckled. It was like being wrapped in the softest velvet. "I've put some new and different items together. Bittersweet chocolate and chile peppers, for one. I can attest that THAT combination is a potent aphrodisiac! Let's eat!"

* * *
The sky was a battleship grey with sullen rain clouds. Somewhere, the sun may have been rising, but here there was no sign of it - just a heavy sky with a dull light that filtered through the overcast and fog that gradually and reluctantly filled the horizon. This day was beginning far cooler than the one before. Fletcher groggily peered out of the window at the leaden air and sank back down into the soft bed. He curled a muscled arm around the still-sleeping Duncan and drifted back off to sleep.

At eleven o'clock, Duncan propped himself up on one elbow and looked at the sleeping Fletcher. The engineer looked even younger in repose and the thief again marveled at the interplay of ink and smooth skin as his muscular chest rose and fell. As he gently stroked the edges of the dragon wing on Fletcher's arm, the wheelman woke up again and smiled at him.

" 'Morning, love." he said as he kissed Duncan. He reached out and stroked the thief's face.

"You were amazing last night - I should have your legs on my shoulders more often."

"You were no slouch yourself. Although you've gotten a bit more rough since the last time we were together."

"I didn't hurt you, did I? I'm still getting used to sex with the PA. I swear to God I think I got bigger since I had my cock pierced."

"No, you didn't hurt me - you've just gotten a lot more vigorous ... and I think you got bigger, too."

"Hmmm. That's probably an aftereffect of the HGF, steroids and hormones. I was juiced for two months to build myself up. I knew I became more aggressive. It tapered off once I was off of them, but I'm definitely not the man I was."

"I like the man you've become even better."

During this interlude, Fletcher had been running his hand down Duncan's torso, his fingers making intricate curliques around his nips, his navel and his washboard abs. As his hand moved lower, the engineer discovered the throbbing hardness in Duncan's crotch. He stroked the thief's cock.

"Dunc, I want you inside of me. Now." He rolled onto his back and pulled his legs back. His pucker winked at the thief.

Duncan didn't need a lot of encouragement. In fact, seeing the muscular naked stud ready for him was all the encouragement he needed. He grabbed some lube off the bedside table and slowly entered Fletcher. Once he buried himself to the hilt into the wheelman's willing hole, he began a strong, steady rhythm.

"Ahhhhhh ... Harder, Dunc! Harder!" Fletcher panted. He grabbed the posts of the headboard and his entire tattooed and muscled torso tensed under the sexual onslaught.

Duncan slammed in and out of Fletcher. Each thrust made the bed shiver and groan. He pulled out and with a final slam into the engineer, exploded his seed into the younger man. Spent, he pulled out of Fletcher and collapsed on top of him. The two breathed deeply in content. Fletcher wrapped his strong legs around Duncan's waist and grabbed the thief's wrists. He rolled the two of them over with Duncan now pinned beneath him.

"You. Are. Such. A. Damn. Fine. Fucker." The engineer said between nuzzling Duncan's neck and kissing down his strong chest.

"I try. Good Lord knows, I try. You know, we could probably keep this up all day."

Fletcher chuckled. "Well, it's definitely not riding weather today ... motorcycle riding, that is." He gave Duncan a kiss on the tip of his nose. He got out of bed and padded naked towards the bathroom.

"How about a shower and then some breakfast? Maybe some more ... exercise ... afterwards?" His eyes twinkled with a mischievous gleam.

Duncan leapt out of bed after him.

* * *

It was fortunate that both Duncan and Fletcher had started to wear their cockrings on a near permanent basis - it would have been well nigh impossible to put them on in the state they were in. The two descended the stairs and entered the kitchen to find Connall and Everett had prepared breakfast and were in the middle of an embrace that would have made Casanova blush.

"How long does that concoction of yours last?" Duncan said sotto voce.

"About eighteen hours." Fletcher replied in the same conspiratorial tone of voice.

The engineer cleared his throat. "I expect you to sweep the dishes off the table and mount him right here!"

The two lovers broke apart. "Fletch, you old reprobate! You've got to let me package this stuff! We'll make a mint!"

"I was going to talk to you about that, Ev. Glad to hear we're on the same wavelength."

The four sat down to breakfast - sausages, rashers of bacon, biscuits with clotted cream, racks of toast and blackberry jam from Fortnum and Mason. Plus hot, rich Brazilian coffee. After the hearty meal, the four sat around the large kitchen table, enjoying the camaraderie and planning the remainder of the vacation.

"So, Ev, what's our route once the weather clears up a bit?"

He stretched. "First, we'll take the A40 going northwest to Brecon ..."

"My spot." Duncan said.

Everett nodded. "We'll stay there for a few days - go through the park trails - and then travel southeast on the A470 to Trefeinon and finally then south to Abergavenny. Connall's managing the final destination."

"While we're waiting for the weather to improve, lads, let's take a look at the bikes. They're beauties."

Connall opened the kitchen door and the four of them crossed the yard and went into the garage. Fletcher's Silver Ghost Concors was the closest to the door, followed by Duncan's Red Ducati 1098S. Connall's black and white Harley Davidson Ultra Classic Electro-Glide was next, with Everett's metallic blue BMW K1200GT furthest away.

Everett gave a low whistle. "Nice Harley, Con. That must have set you back a pretty penny."

The jeweler grinned. "It was a gift to myself from the Italian heist. I had to wait two years to get it. It was worth every moment - it moves like a dream! That's a beautiful Ducati, Dunc. Rides well?"

"Like you're floating."

The four proceeded to stroke and fondle each machine, almost as if they were handling skittish warhorses eager for battle. They took turns straddling the bikes, imagining where they would be riding and what they would be doing on the road.

As they were about to leave the garage, a huge thunderclap split the sky. As it faded away, a solid sheet of heavy rain began to fall. The drops beat a heavy cadence on the roof the garage and the four looked uncertainly through the watery grey curtain across the yard to the back door of the bungalow.

"We could wait a bit and see if it lets up," Connall suggested.

"I don't see that happening any time soon." Fletcher said. "The wind is picking up too. I say we make a dash for it."

The four bikers reluctantly agreed and tensed themselves for the sprint across the backyard.

"Okay, lads. On three. One ... Two ... Three!"

Everett, Connall, Fletcher and Duncan raced across the yard. Duncan, the last one in, shut the kitchen door. Each man was completely soaked and stood in their own growing puddle on the kitchen linoleum.

"Oh, hell ... I'm drenched! Real good idea, Fletcher." Everett groused as he stripped naked and threw the wet clothes into the sink. The other three followed suit. In a moment, four naked and bedraggled men looked at each other.

Duncan gave Fletcher a completely evil grin. "Fletcher, love, this is just TOO good to pass up." He winked and tilted his head towards Everett and Connall.

Fletcher caught on immediately. Both tattooed men had developed raging erections; their cockrings circled their engorged members and the aphrodisiac had stoked their lust to the boiling point. Again. The engineer's PA gleamed in the light.

The wheelman opened a cabinet and removed two bottles of lube. He tossed one to Duncan. He then swept the remains of the breakfast - bowls, plates, cutlery - off the table and onto the floor. Fletcher grabbed Everett about the waist, lifted him onto the table and pushed him down onto his back. The engineer pulled the lord's legs onto his shoulders and opened the bottle of lube. He spread a generous amount onto his member and an equal amount onto and into Everett's pucker.

"Fletcher, what do you think you're do-" Everett said as Fletcher entered him and began to thrust brutally and deeply.

"Oh, damn ... Oh bloody Christ ... Oh Lord ... Oh shit .... Yes! ... YES! Harder, Fletch, more! MORE!" Everett panted as the engineer pistoned in and out of him. He was holding onto the sides of the table to give himself some traction against the wheelman's assault.

Duncan, in the meanwhile, had been just as busy with Connall. He slicked back the wet auburn hair and held Connall's head in both hands. Duncan crushed the jeweler against him and kissed him ferociously on the mouth. He grabbed Connall's nips and twisted brutally; the other man hissed - partly in pain, partly in pleasure. Duncan hooked a kitchen chair with his foot and pulled it over to them.

"Bend over and hold on!" he barked.

Duncan lubed himself up and with a single thrust - buried himself to the hilt into Connall. The jeweler whimpered as Duncan's tool drilled into his chute - in and out, in and out - all the while the thief twisting the other man's sensitive nips. Duncan growled deep in his throat as slammed into Connall again and again ... and again.

Fletcher and Duncan exchanged vicious grins over the bodies of their comrades as they cruelly raped them. They found themselves blessed with an incredible stamina as they swapped victims repeatedly and emptied load after load into them.

And so it proceeded throughout the rest of the day - the smell of sex filled the kitchen as sweat-soaked, lubed-up bodies writhed and intertwined in pleasure as the sounds of grunts and moans filled the air between thunderclaps.

* * *

The storm passed and a new day dawned warm and sunny. During their light breakfast, Everett winced a bit as he sat down at the kitchen table.

"You okay, Ev?" asked Connall.

"Fine. Fine. Just a little sore from the yesterday's assault from those two." He pointed to Duncan and Fletcher.

Duncan sniggered. "Oh, come now, Ev ... you enjoyed every minute of it!"

Fletcher grinned around a mouthful of toast. "And nothing a good fat plug won't fix!"

Everett looked at the two bald men in mock disgust. "Of course I did! He wagged a finger at the thief. "But just you wait Duncan Blackburn ... I'm going to ring your balls like church bells when we get to Brecon!"

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it!"

Connall, who had been filling his cup with more coffee, put his mug on the table and kissed the top of Fletcher's head and hugged him. "And when I get done with you, Fletcher, you'll be walking bowlegged for a month."

Fletcher turned around in his chair and gave Connall a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Promises, promises, Con." he laughed. "Let's clean up here and then get kitted. It's going to be a wonderful day for a ride."

Between the four bikers, the rental bungalow was restored to its former pristine condition; there was no evidence of the orgies that had gone on for the past few nights.

Duncan and Fletcher shared one of the bungalow's large bedrooms; Everett and Connall the other. Duncan tossed his towel onto the bed and padded naked to the closet where his cycle gear was hanging. Fletcher was in the adjoining bathroom, whistling a happy tune in the shower. He took out his overnight bag and proceeded to remove his latex t-shirt, plug, mask and gloves. The thief powdered the inside of the t-shirt and slipped it over his head. He reveled in the slick, gripping feeling as he pulled the it down over his torso and adjusted it to leave a smooth black expanse across his chest.

Duncan was lubing up the large black silicone plug when Fletcher came out of the bathoom.

"Hey, let me help you with that, Dunc."

Fletcher poured some lube onto his hand and gently rubbed the thief's pucker. He took the plug and pushed it gently but insistently up Duncan's chute. Duncan felt a mixed rush of pleasure and pain as the largest part of the plug passed his sphincter and then it settled firmly and tightly against his muscular cheeks. Fletcher took the edge of the towel that was wrapped around his waist and cleaned the excess lube of his partner.

"Ahh. That feels SO good ... thanks Fletch!"

"Anytime, love. anytime ..." the wheelman said as he gave his lover a quick kiss.

Duncan proceeded to pull on his black, white and red Teknic Chicane one-piece racing suit. Meanwhile, Fletcher had removed his towel and was slipping a sleeveless latex shirt over his muscular torso.

"Where's your plug?"

"In my bag. Want to do the honors?"

"Sure! Any reason to get my hands on that ass!"

Duncan rummaged through Fletcher's bag and took out a heavy metal plug. It was composed of a large head and a round metal end connected by a short length of thick black medical-grade tubing. The thief whistled as he hefted the item and began lubing it up.

"Fletch, this is some plug! Heavy little bastard, isn't it?"

"Yep. Solid aircraft grade aluminum. Feels incredible once it's in. I got it when I was in San Francisco last year."

Fletcher bent over and Duncan poured some lube onto Fletcher's crack. He pushed the metal plug in. Once the head of the plug was within the engineer, Fletcher tensed slightly and the black tubing disappeared into his ass, leaving the circular metal end pressed firmly against his pucker. He straightened up.

"Mmmmm. Thanks Dunc."

Fletcher sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the Tourmaster pants up and over his legs. The black leather darkly gleamed in the light streaming through the window; he closed the leg zippers and stood, adjusting his ringed and pierced cock in the pants. He then zipped up the fly and grabbed the matching jacket from the bed. He lined up the zipper at the bottom of the jacket with the matching half on the pants. He fastened the two pieces together and then zipped the jacket up. Both men tucked their pants legs into boot openings and fastened them shut.

The masks came next. Duncan's mask was a pull-over. Fletcher's mask zipped down the back. Thin black latex surrounded their faces as they made final adjustments to the pepperpot eyes and mouth openings. Duncan stared into the featureless black mask of his lover and stroked the ebon face. Fletcher smiled and returned the gesture. Duncan kissed Fletcher. The engineer's lips were soft but strong, they tasted like the cream and currants from breakfast. Fletcher shivered. This was the kind of kiss he loved. Hard, passionate, driven by need, but just a kiss; he hated it when guys went straight for the tongue down the throat. Duncan poured some latex polish onto his hood and rubbed it in. Fletcher took the bottle and did the same. Both hoods now gleamed wetly in the light. When the two were done, they donned their gloves and carried their small bags down the stairs.

Connall and Everett were already in the living room. The jeweler was wearing a Dainese Steel Division 2-piece yellow and black suit with a yellow latex hood. Everett was wearing a Dainese T-Age one-piece suit in black and anthracite with a black latex hood. The jeweler and the lord turned as the other two came down the stairs. Their masks, like Duncan's and Fletcher's, hid their entire face except for the mouth opening. They gave the thief and the engineer hungry smiles as they cupped their leather-covered crotches and squeezed.

The four left the bungalow and went into the garage. They straddled their bikes and headed northwest on Brecon Road toward their next stop on their trip.

* * *

The four bikes purred along the A40, passing the small towns of Bwich, Llandetty and Pencelli on their way to Brecon. They made a stop in a sunny glade just outside the outskirts of Llanhamlach where they had a lunch of cold chicken and beef, sparkling water and biscuits. Their appetites unsatisfied, Connall and Everett made an amorous and aggressive advance on the master thief. Connall grabbed and held Duncan's arms behind his back and forced him to his knees as Everett unzipped his pants. He fed Blackburn his heavy cock through the mouth hole in the thief's mask.

Duncan relaxed his throat and swallowed Statler's thick seven inches until he felt the lord's scrotum slap his chin. Everett pulled out and Duncan's tongue laved the tip of the cock before it was insistently inserted back into his throat again. And again. At some point - Duncan was not sure when - Connall had let go of his arms. The thief grabbed Everett's waist and pulled the lord closer to him; he was vaguely aware of the zipper of his suit being pulled down and a gloved hand pulling his own swollen member out of it. He felt soft lips surround him and teeth gently graze down his length. After a moment, the two movements snapped into synchronicity - Everett's member travelling in out out of his throat, and Connall's expert ministrations on his own manhood. Duncan felt Everett tremble within him and as the cock in his mouth pushed into his throat, a huge load of cum exploded out of Statler. Duncan swallowed for all he was worth. A moment later, a massive eruption of his own wracked his body as he shot his seed into Connall's hungry mouth and down the jeweler's throat.

Everett withdrew and began fastening up his pants. Duncan flopped onto his back - spent. He raised himself on his elbows in time to see the two round on Fletcher with purposeful intent.

"You're next!" Connall said with an evil laugh.

* * *

The four had enjoyed themselves in the Llanhamlach glade for most of the morning and it was a group of slightly worn, but very satisified bikers that pulled into the rental property on the outskirts of Brecon as the sun rose to its zenith. The house was a former mill and still had a working waterwheel turning lazily in the wide stream. Duncan opened the door and snapped on the lights. He removed his helmet and gloves and walked around the main floor - nodding appreciatively - and into the kitchen. The refrigerator and pantry had some food, but it was obvious that the thief would need to make a market run for the night's celebrations.

"Duncan, come out here for a tick?"

Duncan reentered the living room - Everett and Connall had removed their helmets and masks and were looking at a football match on the large plasma television. The jeweler ran a hand through his damp and tousled hair.

"Manchester United is playing!"

"Against whom?"

"Chelsea!"

At that moment, Fletcher entered the house. His jacket was unzipped, displaying the black latex stretching across his pecs. He dropped his helmet on the sofa and watched the game for several moments. He sidled over to Duncan and held him about the waist. He gave the thief a soft kiss on his latex-clad cheek.

"While those two hooligans are engrossed right now, why don't we clean up and I'll help you get dinner ready?"

"We'll need to pick up some groceries for the evening first. Probably for a few days would be wise."

Fletcher started opening pantry doors and found several bags of pretzels, chips and other finger type food. A further search revealed a number of good-sized serving bowls. Fletcher and Duncan placed the snacks in front of the other two RPM members. They picked up their helmets.

"Where are you two going?" asked Everett.

"Into town. For food. The cupboard's bare."

"We'll be back in a bit."

The two got onto their bikes and headed into the town proper. They decided to focus on the night's meal and breakfast; they could stock their larder at a later time. They soon came across a pair of young men. They stopped their bikes. Duncan lifted his visor.

"Excuse me, is there a Tesco around here?"

The two teenagers were taken aback by the blank, black of Duncan's mask. The taller of the two stammered directions and pointed. Duncan dropped his visor and the two RPM'ers rode off.

"Did you see the look you got Dunc? I wouldn't be surprised if the lad wet himself!" Fletcher chuckled.

"I can't wait until we actually are walking around. Perhaps we'll get a torchlit parade of villagers with pitchforks!"

The two bikers pulled into the supermarket lot and parked their cycles. They stowed their helmets and gloves and entered the store.

The reactions ranged from surprised stares to indrawn rushes of breath and sidelong glances from customers and personnel alike. They heard more than a few muttered "perverts" which for some odd reason made both of them nearly burst out laughing. One matronly woman grabbed her young children and held them close to her as they passed. Fletcher decided at that moment to stop and grope Duncan's bulging crotch. Duncan wrapped his arm around the engineer and proceeded to give him a deep kiss. The two could hear the woman making strangling sounds as they grew more amorous in their embrace. When they broke apart, Fletcher turned his mask-clad face to the wide-eyed woman.

"Oh, don't mind us - we're just perverts!" Fletcher laughed. She fled down the aisle.

Duncan ran his hand down Fletcher's leather-clad ass and gave it a slap.

"Come on, Fletch. We have friends to feed and townsfolk to appall!"

Duncan was chuckling as they were putting the food into the cycles' carriers. "Dear Lord, that was FUN! Wait until they see the four of us touring around!"

"Hide your children! The cycle perverts are about! Sex devils! Call a priest!" Fletcher chimed.

The two gunned their accelerators and shot out of the lot.

* * *

On the way back to the millhouse, Duncan spotted a small butcher shop on a side street. He turned into Bell Lane and stopped. Fletcher pulled up behind him. From the store window, he could see the floor was covered in sawdust and when Duncan entered, a bell over the door tinkled. Fletcher came in a moment later. Soon afterwards, the proprietor came out of the back room.

The butcher was a handsome young man with ginger coloured hair and deep green eyes. He was wearing a white t-shirt stretched across his muscular arms and chest and an apron with a few splatters of blood. He smiled at the two bikers as he wiped his hands on a towel.

" 'Afternoon, gents! What can I do for you?"

"Do you have any Cumberland sausage?"

"Certainly! I also have some breakfast links, too. Fresh. Just made 'em. Local recipe. Beef and herbs. Would you like some of those too?"

"Definitely! Thank you!"

"Anything else?"

"Do you have any leg of lamb?"

"Let me check..." the butcher went into the back of the store. "For how many?" he called back.

"Four!" Fletcher yelled.

The butcher came out with a hefty leg of lamb. "You're quite lucky. This was the last large one!"

The three chatted as he wrapped up the lamb and sausages. He also put in a jar of mint jam in the package.

"You didn't seem too surprised when we walked in the door." Duncan said.

The butcher gave the two a wide smile and a knowing wink. "I appreciate fine cuts of meat when I see them ... particularly when they're packaged as well as you two!"

As the bikers were leaving the shop, the butcher called out to them. "Hope to see you soon!"

Duncan waved and called back, "Tomorrow!"

* * *

When they arrived back home, Duncan and Fletcher put the perishables into the refrigerator. Everett and Connall were still glued to the set, watching the match.

"How about a quick shower before we start cooking?"

"Together?"

"How else?"

The two inked men bounded up the stairs and proceeded to sensuously remove their layers of leather and latex. Naked under the hot blasts of water, the engineer and thief lathered up and enjoyed caressing each other's tattoos and marvelling in the feel of his hands on the other's body. The two toweled off and changed into sweat pants and light shirts.


Between the two of them, the meal was soon prepared and cooking away. The game ended and the other two RPM'ers entered the kitchen. They were both still in their leathers. Connall took in a deep breath.

"Smells great! What're we having?"

"Roast leg of lamb, roasted potatoes, carrots and green beans. Plus a salad."

Connall nuzzled Everett's neck. "Let's get cleaned up, sweetheart." The two of them left the room talking about the match.

During dinner, Duncan and Fletcher related the responses of the various townspeople. And after several bottles of wine were polished off, Connall and Everett could not stop laughing at the slightest thing said.

"... and she was holding her kids like we were going to put them in the shopping cart!"

"Fletch, stop! My sides ache from laughing so much!"

"That butcher is one horny bastard - I was thinking we could invite him over for dinner tomorrow."

"And have some J-Lube for dessert!" Connall cried.

Fletcher choked and sprayed out a mouthful of wine onto the other RPMers. He was laughing hard as Duncan slapped him on the back.

Fletcher was still laughing and choking as tried to speak. "With ... with ... with some Reddi-Whip and a ... and a ... cherry on top!"

All four laughed uproariously until tears formed in their eyes.

"You realize we're completely gassed, don't you?"

"Yep!"

"Certainly!"

"Really?" drawled Fletcher. Connall and Everett began giggling.

Duncan hauled Fletcher off of the couch and wrapped his arm around the engineer's waist. The wheelman gave the thief a glazed smile and attempted to kiss him, but wound up banging his nose against Duncan's ear. The other two RPMer's started laughing again at his attempt. He tried to focus his attention on the goings-on, but failed. He rubbed his nose and stood swaying on the carpet.

"Come on, handsome, let's go to bed."

Fletcher gave the other two - who were attempting to stand up and failing miserably (but still having a wonderful time) - a wave as he and Duncan staggered up the stairs. Duncan deposited Fletcher on the large bed. He pulled the t-shirt off of the engineer and removed his own. Fletcher fell back onto the coverlet and stared at the ceiling. His PA peeked out of his loose cutoffs. He lifted his head and looked at Duncan.

"Damn, I AM lit."

"Of course you are." Duncan said in his best Sean Connery voice.

Fletcher began giggling again. He patted the bed next to him. Duncan sat. Fletcher pulled him down beside him.

"Do you know the real reason why I got the tats and bulked up?"

Duncan shook his head.

"Because I love you, Duncan Blackburn. I love you with all my heart and all my soul. I loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I love everything about you. I love the way your lips quirk up around your beard. I love your eyes. I love the way your muscles move under your tats. I love your sense of humour. I wanted to have some part of you with me always."

Fletcher snuggled closer to Duncan and cradled the thief's face in his hands. He gave him a gentle and lingering kiss on the lips.

Duncan was at a loss for words. He had always felt a deep affection for Fletcher that went far beyond the sex the two enjoyed, but when he saw the newly shorn and inked wheelman in the kitchen in Crickhowell, his heart has skipped a beat. Here was a man that would do anything for him. He wondered if the growing love and tenderness he felt towards Fletcher mirrored the feelings that Charlie Ingraham had for his baby brother.

A gentle snore broke the thief's reverie. Fletcher had wrapped a muscled arm around Duncan and fallen asleep. In a few moments, Blackburn had settled his head into the crook of the engineer's neck and drifted off to sleep himself.

* * *
The master thief woke early the next morning and gently disengaged himself from the sleeping engineer. He padded into the bathroom, showered, quickly trimmed his beard, inserted a small septum tusk and silently descended the stairs to get breakfast ready for his fellow bikers. As the aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen, Fletcher entered and gave Duncan a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. He was wearing the cutoff sweats from last night, his crescent and little else. He opened the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of juice and leaned against the counter.

Duncan put several of the sausages into a pan to cook. He turned and held Fletcher by his muscular waist and gave him a feathery kiss on his lips. Their jewelry gave a small "ding" as the two came together.

"You went out like a light last night, sweetheart."
Fletcher snaked his hands around Duncan and gave his ass cheeks a gentle squeeze.

"My, we're frisky this morning!"
Duncan stroked a kunckle across the wheelman's cheek and continued down to the hollow of his throat. He opened his hand and caressed his broad chest.

"In vino veritas, Fletch. I ... I love you too."

Fletcher gazed at Duncan first in wonder, then in amazement. A huge smile split his face and he stroked Duncan's head and eyebrows; their eyes closed, they held each other cheek-to-cheek, breathing in their scents and reveling in the intimate contact.

A drop of hot grease from one of the sausages landed on Duncan's back. Startled, he broke the embrace.

"Shit!"

At that moment, Connall and Fletcher came into the kitchen; their naked torsos framed by clinging track pants that did nothing to hide the muscularity of their lower frames or their already erect members.

"Anything wrong, Dunc?"
"No, just a blasted grease spatter. Took me by surprise."
Duncan had prepared a full English breakfast for the bikers - rashers of bacon, grilled tomatoes, fried bread, black pudding, baked beans, fried mushrooms, the fresh sausages from the butcher, and scrambled eggs. In the middle of the table, he also placed a plate of lightly boiled eggs - their yolks glistening - surrounded by finger-shaped slices of bread.

"Oh Lord - soldiers! I haven't had them in ages!" Everett exclaimed.

The four enjoyed the breakfast with the exception of the coffee. At the first sip, Everett made face.

"Uggghh! Dunc, this tastes vile!" He added additional cream and sugar to his mug.

Duncan sipped his coffee. It had a faint, bitter and medicinal aftertaste. He normally drank his coffee black, but this batch definitely needed something. He added cream and sugar to his mug also. The other two said nothing, but also added generous amounts to their mugs.

"I'll pick up a different brand this afternoon. Sorry about that."

During breakfast, Connall suggested a day out touring within the Brecon Beacons National Park. The other three heartily agreed. After the meal, the RPMers went back upstairs to kit up. Soon after, the four were on their bikes and on their way.

* * *

The National Park was established in 1957, last of the three Welsh parks; (Snowdonia was first in 1951) with the Pembrokeshire Coast being the other. It covers 519 square miles (1344 km²), stretching from Llandeilo in the west to Hay-on-Wye in the east. It encompasses the ranges confusingly (at first) named the Black Mountains (in the east of the park, on the border with England) and the Black Mountain (in the west). The area to the west of the Brecon Beacons range is known as the Fforest Fawr (Great Forest), and was designated a geopark by UNESCO in 2005. Most of the national park is moorland, with some forestry plantations, and pasture in the valleys.

The four bikers entered the park and paid the entry fee at the gate. The park ranger gave them a sidelong glance and sternly warned them to mind any cyclists or horses on the trails. "You don't want to be giving anyone or anything a start!" Everett assured him that they wanted to enjoy the natural beauty of the park as much as anyone else and it was a privilege, not a right for them to be able to see the sights. He thanked the ranger for his talk. Mollified, the park ranger waved farewell to them as they entered the nature preserve.

"You silver-tongued bastard!" Connall exclaimed when they were out of earshot. Everett laughed and gunned the accelerator.

About thirty minutes into the park, Everett - who had been slightly leading the other three - pulled over. The others stopped beside him.

"Ev?"

The lord had removed his helmet and was leaning heavily on the big cycle.

"Don't know what's with me ... I feel light-headed all of a sudden..."

With that, Everett collapsed in a heap next to his BMW.

Connall leapt off his bike and ran to Maroulis. He opened his leathers. Suddenly - Connall, too, pitched over - unconscious.

At this point, Duncan and Fletcher were frantic. They leapt off their bikes to the sides of their fallen friends and lovers.

"Dunc? Oh, bloody Christ ..." Fletcher collapsed on the ground next to Connall.

Duncan was left alone, kneeling on the ground when his vision suddenly began to dim. He was swallowed up into blackness before he, too, dropped onto the dirt road.

* * *

Duncan awoke abruptly as icy cold water hit him in the face and ran down his chest. He sputtered as the water went down his nose and into his throat. His mask was missing. He found himself with his wrists tied and his arms stretched painfully above him. His suit was pulled halfway off and its sleeves were dangling near to the grass. The rope was fastened over a large tree branch and was barely long enough to have his feet touch the ground.

"Well, well, well, the last pervert's finally awake!"

Duncan turned to find a rough looking man with long stringy hair and a unkempt beard staring at him. He held an empty bucket in his hands. The man wore camouflage fatigues and sported a large automatic in a thigh holster. The hilt of a hunting knife was visible at the top of one of his boots. He could see Fletcher tied up next to him in the same manner - they had stripped off his jacket and tied him - hands above him - to the same branch as Duncan. The engineer's hood was missing also, and a large, purpling bruise was visible on the left side of his face. He gave Duncan a guarded look.

"Who the hell are you? What happened?" Duncan muttered. He was still fighting off the effects of whatever knocked him out and he was barely understandable.

"All you need to know pervert, is that someone is paying a lot of money to bring you to him. We was told to wipe the inside of those coffee mugs in the house with some liquid. He called it a "binary barbiturate" - said once it got mixed with milk and sugar, you'd be knocked flat within an hour. As for me, the name's Fred. I'm a bounty hunter. Now, which one of you is Duncan Blackburn?"

Silence.

"Toby! Get your arse over here!"

Duncan twisted around to see a younger man - black fatigues, buzz cut and tattoos - give Everett a swift kick in the ribs before sauntering over. Everett and Connall were on the ground - hog tied with their hands behind their backs and their legs pulled back over themselves. Everett groaned and tried to curl up from the pain, but the ropes held him in position. Two other men were about - brutal looking thugs wearing similar clothing to the Fred and Toby.

"I was told to get the bloke with a shaved head and arms full of tats - I didn't expect to find two of you matching that description. Now, it don't matter none to me if I drag you back breathing or I drag back a carcass. So I'll ask again - nice-like - which one of you is Blackburn?"

Fletcher spat in his face. Toby rushed towards Fletcher with a hunting knife drawn - a look of manic glee in his eyes. Fred shot out his arm and held him back. He wiped the spittle off of his cheek.

"How stupid do you think we are, Fred? Do you actually think we believe you're going to let the rest of us go?" Fletcher said in an amazingly good, but overstated Scottish burr.

"Ahh ... you're a Scot! That's the last piece of the puzzle! Well, Mr. Thief, I just decided you aren't worth the bother of bringin' back alive. I'm goin' to get paid one way or another and a corpse will be easier to haul back than a squirmy bastard like you."

He pulled the knife out of his boot and pressed the tip to Fletcher's cheek. He pulled it down lightly, leaving a trail of tiny ruby drops on the engineer's face.

"And you're quite right about bein' left breathing. But me and the boys are goin' to have a bit o' fun with you all before we send you to your maker. Toby, here ..."

He put his arm around the young thug. Toby gave Duncan and Fletcher a deranged smile.

"... likes to play with knives. He'll probably start skinnin' you one at a time. You'll be last, Blackburn. After all, I want you to hear and watch the others scre-"

Fred stopped in midsentence. He looked down to see the razor-sharp tip of an arrow protruding out of his sternum. He gave the two bikers a confused stare as he pitched forward. Dead.

The air was suddenly filled with the sounds of hissing death as two more arrows hit Toby - one spun him around as it landed off-center in his chest; the other pierced his throat as fell to the ground, choking on his own blood.

The other two bounty hunters suffered similar fates. Bolts hurled them backwards onto tree trunks, pinning them like butterflies on an examining board. Additional bolts pierced their chests and throats. Their death rattles echoed in the small clearing.

It was over before Duncan and Fletcher could take ten breaths.

"What the hell just happened here?"

A rustle in the surrounding brush made Fletcher and Duncan look in the direction of the noise.

Two figures emerged.

One was dressed in a sleeveless leather black shirt, black leather pants and black MX boots. His muscular arms were bare and laced-up leather vambraces covered his forearms and hands. He was carrying a deadly longbow slung over one broad shoulder and a quiver of wicked looking arrows over the other. The other man had on a dark green cotton shirt with some type of black leather half-jacket over it. Black leather laced pants, bucket boots and long gauntlets completed the outfit. The second man was holding a crossbow. Both had on black latex masks in the style of the RPMers - pepperpot eyes and open mouth.

Crossbow went over to Connall and Everett and quickly cut their bonds and helped them into a sitting position.

Longbow came up to Fletcher and Duncan. He took Toby's knife from the ground, cut Fletcher's bonds and gently lowered him to the ground. The bowman then turned to Duncan and gave him a smile as he cut the ropes holding him captive. He held the thief tightly for a moment.

"I thought I told you to be careful this time."

Duncan returned the embrace. "Thanks, Jayce. I would have been a corpse without you."

Fletcher looked quizzically at the thief. "You know this angel of death?"

"There's no one on God's earth better with a longbow. Fletch, this is my baby brother, Jason."

Crossbow walked over to Jason and held him around the waist.

"And I take it this is Charlie?"

Ingraham made a small bow. He smiled at Duncan and Fletcher. "I hope you still have some sausages left!"

* * *

Jason and Charlie saw to the needs of the four RPMers. The bikers were a bit roughed up and bruised (Everett needed some taping about the ribs) but overall, nothing that some antiseptic and light rest wouldn't correct.

"So let me understand ... you've been trailing us since Crickhowell?"

Jason nodded. "After Duncan left, Charlie got some further information about the bounty hunters and what they were planning to do. We lost Fred for a bit at Crickhowell, but when he surfaced again in Brecon with his crew, we knew they would make their move here. I know this park like the back of my hand."

Fletcher, Everett and Connall looked at him.

Jason blushed. "I used to be in the SAS and MI5 - they ... I ... did a lot of training here."

"We've been tracking the trackers and been your guardian angels since you arrived in Wales." Charlie smiled.

Jason grinned and wrapped his arm around Ingraham's waist. "Charlie's a freelancer now - like me. He turned over one too many stones to get the bounty hunter information. He's on the lam from MI5."

The spy kissed the younger Blackburn. "I had to make a choice between Jason and king and country ... and I made the right one."

"His Majesty just can't keep good help these days, can he?" Connall quipped.

The six laughed.

Jason turned to Everett. "By the way, Everett, you had a mole at ExpoAir. He sold the information about your itinerary to MI5."

The assassin paused. "I'm afraid you have some minor repairs to pay for."

Everett arched an eyebrow.

"Alan Santana strayed too close to a jet engine. Don't know what he was thinking, being there on the tarmac. Poor lad got sucked right in. I'm afraid some of the blades got bent..."

"Actually Jayce, I tossed him in ..."

"Love, I can't be bothered with such MINOR details." Jason smiled at his lover and kissed the former spy again. He squeezed his ass.

Fletcher turned to Duncan. "I didn't know your baby brother was so ... talented. Freelance what?"

Duncan looked at Jayce. "You tell him."

Fletcher looked back and forth between the two brothers. "Hmmm ... more of that famous tightlipped Scottish privacy thing?"

Jason cleared his throat. "Dunc and I are both rather modest about our work. Perhaps you've heard of 'The Joker' ?"

The three RPMers look at Jason in shock. Everett spoke first.

"Good God! The assassin?"

Jason gave the lord a smile and a nod. "I see my reputation precedes me."

Charlie nibbled Jason's neck. "It certainly does. And it seems like he's got a partner in more ways than one now."

He turned to Maroulis. "Everett, does the name 'Lescault' mean anything to you?"

"He was the one who got the Faberge egg."

"He was also the one that got the information from MI5."

Everett's eyes narrowed and his nose flared in anger. He began to curse - first in English, then fluently in Greek.

Charlie grinned at Jason. "Quite inventive, isn't he? I wouldn't have thought to do that with duct tape and a monkey."

Everett stopped to catch his breath. "I'll kill that fucking bastard! Gama stavros sou !!!"

Jason put up a hand.

"Hold on Ev. Lescault hired bounty hunters to kill four people. Particularly one with heavily inked arms." He kicked the lifeless body of Toby onto his back.

"Charlie and I will arrange for the park personnel to find the bodies. Too bad they they are so badly mangled ..."

Ingraham shook his head. "... that they can't even use dental records. Just four men, senselessly killed and one with tattoos."

"In the meantime, Charlie and I will pay a little visit to Monsieur Lescault." Jason's face hardened.

He gave the four bikers a grim smile that dropped the temperature several degrees and chilled them to the bone. The smile never reached his eyes.

"Why don't you head back to Brecon and just rest up for a few days? I'm going to really enjoy presenting that fucker the bill for this little operation."

I can't believe the story is finally done! When I set out the concept of the "situational" story with existing characters, I had no idea how complicated this was going to turn out. I was juggling five major characters - Jason, Duncan and the three bikers - and I felt that I had to give each of them a dimensionality at least on par with the master thief. Some areas were relatively easy to compose - the scenes between Jason and Duncan; others were far more difficult - like how to get the binary barbiturate into the food. I found here that I had many more "scenes" than in the Richard story - and I had to deal more with transitioning between them. My favorite, though is the thunderstorm -- good old deus ex machina to the rescue!

Fletcher, surprisingly enough, came to the forefront very early. When I wrote the plot outline, it was Everett that had more of a starring role. When it came down to writing the actual story, however, it was the engineer that was interacting more with Duncan and I let the story develop along those lines.

You'll notice that there are two major love stories going on here - the one between Jason and Charlie and the one between Duncan and Fletcher. The former is already quite developed, and it takes only a small nudge to push Charlie into the role co-assassin/ex-spy; after all the two have been lovers and Ingraham has already risked terrible dangers to maintain his relationship with Jason. The latter, though, develops more slowly - I've always seen Duncan as the more calculating of the two brothers (even though Jason is the professional hitman) and his guard does not come down easily. He has problems with sharing himself completely with someone else. It takes Fletcher's confession to really bring Duncan around and as an extra, his willingness to be Fred's victim and let Duncan survive - a very "I am Spartacus!" moment. As my good friend Mike has said, my AE's tend to take on some facet of my personality - I can definitely relate to Duncan's reticence as far as relationships go.

The inspiration for this story came from a video I saw on Guyzingear. In it, an extremely well built guy is wearing a latex t-shirt, plug and PA and proceeds to get into a one-piece racing suit with boots and gloves. I really got off on the video and decided to build a story around it.

The "situational" story is something I definitely will continue to do - but I need to intersperse them with my normal AE backstories. The mental batteries definitely need recharging after one of these opuses!