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A Satisfying End by Brightbear

Part Three

Disclaimer: Spooks/MI5 does not belong to me. It belongs to Kudos, the BBC and many other people who are not me. Unfortunately.
Rating: NC-17 for sex between two men, the occasional bad word and very mild violence.
Spoilers: Episode 6 of the first season and episode one of the second season.
Pairing: Tom Quinn/Patrick McCann
Summary: McCann's laptop bomb had personal consequences for 'Davey Crockett' so McCann feels the need to apologise in person.
Notes: A big thankyou to my Betas Han and Thia. Without you guys, I would never have dared to post this (at least not where other people could read it).

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Patrick was pressing up awkwardly against Tom, chest to chest as he continued to kiss and nuzzle at Tom’s closed lips while the younger man remained immobile above him. Patrick worked his other hand up and around Tom’s back. The muscles under his hand were tense and locked. Tom had not pushed Patrick off but he wasn’t responding either. Patrick needed to up the stakes before Tom decided to pull away and resume his attack with a new vengeance. He could have just made things a lot worse.

He raised one of his own legs between Tom's motionless ones and rubbed his thigh against Tom’s groin. That got the reaction he was hoping for. Tom groaned once and opened his mouth to kiss Patrick back hungrily. Now it was Tom who was pressing himself against Patrick, pressing Patrick hard into the thin carpet. While Patrick was beyond caring that he himself was grunting into the kisses, he couldn't help but notice that Tom remained strangely silent. It wouldn't have bothered him, if he had been able to see Tom's expression properly.

Patrick continued to rub his thigh slowly between Tom’s legs, feeling the material of the trousers bunching up as an erection swelled within. He slid his tongue into Tom's mouth. He was rewarded with another groan.

He pulled Tom closer with his free hand, keeping the other firmly behind Tom's head. He needn't have bothered since it was clear that Tom had no plans to pull away. The murderous rage had been abruptly flipped sideways into a desperate passion. Patrick thought absurdly about switches being flipped to trigger personality changes, which led to thoughts about triggers and being 'turned on'. Then Tom shifted his leg to grind against Patrick's own half-hard erection and Patrick stopped thinking altogether.

Blood was roaring in Patrick's ears as the friction built. Through their joined chests, he could feel Tom's heartbeat speeding up and realised that Tom wouldn't last much longer. He caught hold of Tom's belt in a clumsy attempt to slow the pace. Tom's response was to push against Patrick's erection with a long, tortuously slow stroke that caught Patrick's breath in his throat.

Patrick growled in frustration but surrendered his grip on Tom’s belt. Tom drove heavily against Patrick only twice more and he was tensing and shuddering as his orgasm took him. Tom dropped his head, straining like a carthorse pulling a heavy load, and buried his face in Patrick's shirt.

The younger man went limp above him and Patrick bit back another growl as Tom stopped rubbing against him. Patrick was still hard and Tom's body weight was lying on top of the erection still trapped inside his pants. If only Tom would bloody well move.

As Tom showed no signs of being even remotely conscious, Patrick forced himself to take deep breaths. He stared at Tom's bedroom ceiling, finding one or two cracks in the plaster. He had time to find all the uncomfortable lumps in Tom's carpet that were digging into his back and eventually concluded that he was far too old to have sex on a floor without even getting undressed first.

Truth be told, Patrick had already done what he had intended to do. He had come here with the intention of apologizing to Tom and ensuring the Englishman never forgot him, which he figured he had now accomplished quite effectively. After arriving, he'd had to change his plans rather suddenly to prevent Tom committing not only suicide but also homicide. He wasn't sure which he should regard as more surprising.

When it came to preventing his own death, Patrick felt that he had been somewhat more successful than he could ever have anticipated. When you came down to it, the fact that he hadn't come couldn't be regarded as a major blow in the grand scheme of things.

Tom murmured incoherently into Patrick's shirt. Patrick sighed, realising that the hurried, desperate sex had sent Tom straight into an exhausted sleep. Had Patrick been a little younger himself, he would have been flattered. As it was, he was beginning to consider the best method of moving Tom before he lost all sensation in his left shoulder.

He held up a hand to ruffle Tom's hair. He was too damn fond of the Englishman already. Tom murmured again and pulled Patrick closer. Patrick frowned. He could, and had, put up with many things throughout a career in terrorism but being used as a teddy bear was not one of them. The line had to be drawn somewhere.

He was reaching out to grab Tom's shoulders when he felt one of Tom's hands touch the zipper of his trousers. He looked down in surprise at the hand, working a little clumsily but very determinedly at his zipper. He then looked sideways to find Tom watching him, eyelids drooping but still open.
"You faked sleep," said Patrick, indignantly. "You little shit...,"
Tom smiled sleepily and reached his hand through the fly to rub Patrick's erection through his underwear. As the friction built again, Patrick allowed himself to forget that he was angry.

After a few rough strokes, Tom hooked his thumb into the waistband of Patrick's boxers and pulled them down just far enough to release his erection into the cold air. Patrick watched as Tom's warm hand wrapped itself around his erection and began to pump.

One, two, three, and the pressure began to build beyond what it had been before. Patrick wrapped his arms around Tom's chest, trying to anchor himself. It had obviously been far too long since he had last done this.

Four, five, six, and the friction was so intense and overwhelming that Patrick had to shut his eyes. Seven, eight, and he was squeezing Tom with bruising force as he tensed and came hard. He arched his back, stretched his head backwards onto the floor and shut his eyes.

He finally came back to himself to feel something soft and wet pressing gently against his flushed cheeks. He cracked open one eye just as Tom leant down again to kiss him chastely and calmly on the cheek.
"You faked sleep," repeated Patrick but he was now too comfortably sleepy himself to be really indignant.
"I figured I owed you," mused Tom, nuzzling his neck. "You did just save my life."
"Hmm," agreed Patrick, shifting uncomfortably. "You reckon we could get off the floor? I'm certainly not as young as I used to be, that's for sure."

Tom blinked in surprise, seeming to notice for the first time that he was the one lying on top. He rolled off and stood, his movements no longer sluggish or drugged. He reached out a hand to Patrick and pulled the older man to his feet. Patrick stretched his back slowly and sat on the edge of Tom's bed. Tom watched him with a small frown.

Patrick followed his gaze to Patrick's still open fly, semen smeared around the opening. Then again, at least Patrick's fly had been opened. Tom had spent the whole time with his trousers done up. Patrick winced as he thought about how wet and sticky Tom would be feeling inside his clothes. Tom seemed to share the sentiment because he chose that point to step back awkwardly.
"Back in a second," said Tom quickly.

Patrick was trying to wipe the worst of the mess from the front of his trousers when Tom returned. He was carrying a damp cloth in his hand. Patrick raised a questioning eyebrow and Tom gestured towards Patrick's trousers.
"Ah, great minds do think alike," agreed Patrick.
Tom perched beside him on the bed with a nervousness that hadn't been there the second before. Patrick reached for the cloth but Tom pulled it out of his reach. Patrick frowned curiously and rested his hands neutrally on the bedcovers.

Watching Patrick's face carefully for a reaction, Tom leant forward and began to wipe Patrick clean himself. It felt strange to be touched and have Tom so close again, so soon after the sex. There was no urgency now, only a cautious attention and care. Tom, looking satisfied but half embarrassed at his boldness, tucked Patrick back into his trousers and sat back on the bed. He was watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye, waiting for a reaction.

Patrick reached forward and took the cloth from Tom's fingers. Tom surrendered the cloth easily but backed off hurriedly when Patrick made a movement for his zipper. Patrick caught Tom's arm and held him still.
"Now, come on," said Patrick sternly. "Fair's fair."
Tom snorted unhappily but didn't back away when Patrick reached for the zipper again.

Patrick pulled the zipper down and then the boxers beneath. He cleaned Tom lightly with the cloth, using the same care that Tom had treated him to. Tom spent most of the time staring at the floor, blushing. Patrick had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. He finished and tucked Tom back into his clothing.
"You're shy now?" asked Patrick, unable to keep from chuckling. "After what we just did?"
Tom didn't answer and turned a brighter shade of red. Patrick just chuckled harder.
"You're not bad for an Englishman, not bad at all," Patrick told him gently.
That earned him a quick glance from beneath lowered eyes and a small smile. Patrick found himself another reason to regret his age.

"Are you really retiring?" asked Tom slyly.
"Aye, I am," said Patrick airily.
"Hope you enjoy your retirement then," said Tom honestly.
Patrick grinned, "I'm beginning to see a whole world of new possibilities."

He stood up, stretching and giving his clothing a final check. He ran a finger down Tom's cheek, pleased that Tom didn't pull away.
"Look after yourself, Mr Crockett," said Patrick fondly. "I'll let myself out."
Tom sat on the bed and watched as Patrick left the bedroom.

Patrick walked down the empty corridor to the landing, down the stairs and out the broken front door. He paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the bedroom window. He wasn't surprised but grateful to see Tom watching him.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever had the guts to come back to this flat. He didn't know if Tom would ever have the guts to come looking for him. What he did know, was that his career in terrorism had come to a truly satisfying end and he was genuinely looking forward to enjoying his retirement.

THE END

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