Tulips 3
Getting Ahead


October 1998

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, they belong to John Woo and Alliance. But since the show has been cancelled, I'm keeping them!

After their last assignment Vic, Mac and Li Ann had actually been given a whole week off. Of course, Mac insisted that their real last assignment, or at least his and Vic's, had been to find out where they lived.

Once they found their way home, the next challenge was to try to sort out their belongings. Every box seemed to have been purposely mislabeled and the strangest things packed together. Vic had gone for three days without underwear before he found some of it along with his cooking knives and videocassettes in a box marked "Xmas decorations" that didn't actually contain a single Christmas decoration. While Mac had definitely not minded Vic not wearing any underwear, he was less happy about the wrinkles in his own clothes when he finally found them after two days of searching. Vic swore vengeance on Nathan, insisting that no one else could have come up with such an insane packing method.

Li Ann stopped by once to see how they liked the garden she had had planted for them, but finding them muttering direly as they were forced to unpack every box and repack things for storage, she didn't stay long.

By the time the Director called the team in for a briefing, Vic and Mac were looking forward to returning to work to recuperate. Once again Li Ann was the first one there, and she was sitting at the far end of the table, leaving two chairs side by side for Vic and Mac.

"Have any of you been reading the local papers?" As usual the Director got straight to the point, in her own unique way.

Vic shrugged. "Only what was wrapped around our stuff. And why were my shoes wrapped?"

"I wouldn't know. You'd have to ask the Cleaners. They did most of the packing."

"The Cleaners?!" Vic and Mac exclaimed in chorus. "They went through all our things?" "They packed that stuff together?" Their voices overlapped.

"Yes to all of the above. Now, could we possibly get past your domestic bliss and discuss the current situation." It was not a question. And once again, the Director had a hand on each man's shoulder. Both froze, looking out the corners of their eyes without moving their heads, their attention fixed on her gradually tightening grip. Satisfied that she had their undivided attention, the Director continued, "There's been a recent rash of scalpings in the area."

"Excuse me?" All three agents wondered if they had misheard her.

"That's right, I said scalpings. In the last week, there have been four murders, the victims, all bald or extremely short-haired men, have been attacked, knocked unconscious, scalped while still alive, then killed by having their throats cut. The attackers seem to believe they are Indian warriors, even dressing the part."

"If all the victims were killed," Li Ann started.

"There was another attempt last night, but this time the victim came to a little sooner than anticipated, and he survived. The attackers, unfortunately, escaped."

"Can we talk to the survivor?" Mac asked.

As he spoke, the door opened and Dobrinsky walked in, a bandage gleaming whitely around his nearly hairless pate. The three agents stared, their mouths hanging open, and the Director turned away to hide her smile at their reaction.

"No way!" That was Mac.

"They survived?" Victor.

"What did they look like?" from the ever-practical Li Ann.

"Sitting Bull." Dobrinsky glared.

"Huh? Last I checked Sitting Bull died sometime around the turn of the century," Vic pointed out.

Dobrinsky growled. "Not actually Sitting Bull, you fool, five men in full Native regalia, buckskins, beads, feathers on their heads, warpaint, tomahawks, and one goddamn razor-sharp knife that they were quite ready to use on me. I want these guys!"

"How are we supposed to draw the Indians out?" Li Ann wanted to know. "They've already seen Dobrinsky, and everyone else around here has plenty of hair."

The Director eyed Vic and Mac, causing them both to sit bolt upright.

"You're not shaving Mac's hair!" Vic yelped.

"No one touches a single hair on Vic's head!" Mac snarled.

Both men looked at each other startled that each one's first reaction was in defense of the other. Li Ann giggled at the look on their faces, Dobrinsky rolled his eyes in disgust, and the Director simply stared at them, letting them know that if she decided they should be bald, they would be.

"In fact," the Director drawled, "the Cleaners have already volunteered for that part of the assignment. They are apparently -- intrigued -- by the method. You will all be nearby to ensure that the Indians don't escape again. Consider yourselves the cavalry and the Cleaners as a wagon train under attack." Leaving that bizarre image in their minds, the Director headed out.

"My money's on the wagon train," Mac muttered. No one argued.

Since all the attacks had occurred in deserted alleys near nightclubs catering to both heterosexuals and homosexuals and after midnight, the agents had several hours to kill before they had to get into position. Dobrinsky went home to polish his bullets, Li Ann went shopping, and Mac took Vic downtown on some mysterious errand.

Vic went along quietly at first, but eventually his growing curiosity prompted him to ask Mac where exactly they were going. After all, they still had countless boxes to unpack at home. Vic wondered if there was any way that he could still hold Nathan responsible for his misery; maybe the researcher had helped the Cleaners with the packing. He really wanted to blame Nathan; he was such fun to torment. Vic's musings were interrupted by Mac pulling him into a tattoo parlor. A tattoo parlor? Vic did a double take.

"No way am I getting a tattoo, Mac. I don't care if you do make puppy dog eyes at me!"

"So you mean the beseeching look works? I'll have to remember that. Your damn eyelashes give you an unfair advantage!" Mac ignored Vic's grin. "Anyway, we're here for me, not you."

"Speak English."

"I want to get a tattoo, and I wanted you along for moral support."

"Are you nuts? Never mind, redundant question. I like your body just the way it is. What possible reason could you have for splashing on permanent graffiti?" Vic obviously did not hold a high opinion of tattoos.

"First of all, it's not graffiti; I'm not a wall in some inner city! Secondly, it'll be small. No one but the two of us will ever know it's there. And as for why, I want a visible mark that I belong to you now. I'm going to get a small "V" on my ass, near the hole so you can see it when you're inside me."

Vic was left speechless. Mac's statement got him so hot, so fast he thought he was going to have a stroke. He grabbed Mac and latched on to his mouth, wrapping his tongue around the other man's, stroking it even as he rubbed against his whole body. Mac wondered if he would have any fillings left when Vic was done, but he wasn't complaining. Finally, lack of air forced Vic to pull back very slightly. He continued to press into Mac, who was backed up against a wall by this time.

"Shit, Mac, you pick a hell of a time and place to say something like that!"

Mac grinned to himself. Two curses in as many seconds; I really got to him that time! "I just wanted you to understand why I'm doing this, Vic. I want you to be okay with it." He gave Vic another of his patented puppy dog looks.

Vic groaned. "Just wait till we get home and you'll see how okay I am with it. And I'm warning you right now; I don't care how sore you are from the tattoo. You did that to me on purpose, and I'm going to fuck you so hard you still feel me next month!"

Mac whimpered and seriously considered going straight home. After all, he could always get the tattoo another day.

Knowing exactly what his partner was thinking (the increased speed of his humping against Vic was a dead giveaway), Vic shook his head. "No way, lover. You offered; I'm taking you up on it. I want my mark on you. Be thankful I don't insist it be someplace visible!"

"If you really want, Vic," Mac offered hesitantly.

Vic kissed him again, gently this time. "No, not really. That's not what we're about. I don't own you, and I certainly don't want to humiliate you. We're equal partners, and I like it that way. But I love it that you want to show that we're together. Now let's do this so we can home and fuck ourselves into oblivion."

With that to inspire him, Mac nearly sprained something in his rush to get over to the shop owner who had been watching the two of them with interest. Apparently the old guy had excellent hearing as well, since he already had several samples of stylized Vs out on the counter. Looking over the graphics, Mac suddenly thought of the ridiculous case that had brought him and Victor together. With that in mind, he had the man design a red V entwined with a white tulip.

Not long afterward the two agents left the tattoo parlor, Mac walking a little gingerly.

"Is it very sore?" Vic asked, looking disappointed.

"Nothing could be that sore! You made me a promise, and I intend to keep you to it. Home, Victor."

In Victor's truck driving back to their house, Mac decided that he was a little sore and shouldn't be putting pressure on his 'injury'. Promptly putting his idea into action, he twisted in the seat, lying down and curling up so he was on his side with his head in Vic's lap.

Vic looked down with surprise clear in his green gaze, but Mac pulling down the zipper of his jeans with his teeth made the older man decide that sitting up straight and wearing a seatbelt was vastly overrated.

Nuzzling against the erection straining through silk boxers, Mac grinned up. Making sure Vic was looking at him What good timing for a red light!, Mac started to lick Vic through the underwear. When the silk was soaked, not entirely from the outside, and Vic was moaning, Mac released him. Hearing the honks behind them, Vic remembered to step on the gas and continue driving.

"I can still keep myself entertained, lover." Mac repeated his comment from the first night they spent together.

"God, Mac...oh god, that's so good!" (Mac was entertaining himself again.) "Stop, Mac! I'll crash the car, and I refuse to die before I get inside you again!"

Mac stopped sucking Vic but stayed where he was, occasionally blowing on the wet silk covering his lover. Vic was nearly out of his mind by the time he got to the house. Remembering how Mac made him come as soon as he stopped the car the last time, Vic pushed the ex-thief away before turning into the driveway. Mac's look of surprise disappeared when Vic explained, "Good as you are at that, I want to make love to you before I come."

Vic hadn't even finished speaking before he was out of the truck, pulling Mac along with him, and heading for the door with single-minded determination. Mac plastered himself along Vic's back while the older man fumbled with his keys, desperately trying to get the door open.

The instant they were inside with the door closed behind them, Vic grabbed Mac and slammed him up against the wall, tearing at his slacks while kissing him senseless. Succeeding in baring Mac, Vic fumbled around on the table in the entry for the lube they kept there.

"You don't need it, Vic. I want you in me now," Mac moaned, pushing back against Vic.

"No way am I taking you without lube, Mac! I won't hurt you like that!" Vic sounded angry.

"No," Mac nearly wailed, "I'm ready for you. When I stopped in the washroom before leaving the tattoo parlor, I got myself ready for you. Please, Vic, now." Mac thrust back harder on Vic's fingers which were checking him.

Vic went wild when he found that Mac was telling the truth. The younger man was already lubed and partially stretched, ready for his lover. Vic grasped Mac's hips, pulling him back even as he thrust in, slamming in to the hilt in one movement. Screams of pleasure escaped both men, the momentary pain of Vic's entry barely even registering on Mac's consciousness. Their bodies thrust together, Vic pulling nearly all the way out and pushing back even farther on each stroke. He angled his thrusts to strike the gland inside Mac each time, prompting continuous screams of pleasure. With Vic gripping Mac's hips to give himself extra leverage and Mac bracing his arms on the wall against the power of Vic's thrusts, neither man had a hand free to see to Mac's engorged cock. He was harder than he could ever remember being and in the grip of incredible pleasure. He wanted to come, but without being able to touch himself, he was held on the precipice. Mac was babbling incoherently, begging Vic to let him come. He twisted wildly, screaming Vic's name, cursing, feeling the pleasure go on until it almost became pain.

When Mac started to writhe, Vic froze momentarily, then thrust hard, going as deep as he possibly could, and yelling Mac's name as he came. He freed one hand and reached around for Mac's cock. At the first touch of Vic's hand, Mac too came screaming.

The next thing Mac knew, he was face down on the floor, Vic draped over his back, and his own semen dripping down the wall to pool under his cheek. "Ick!" He rolled out from under the other man, pulling him into his arms as he went. He called Vic's name, just starting to become concerned when the eyelashes fluttered, and he found himself staring into dazed pools of green.

"Wow." Vic was nearly pre-verbal. "I passed out!"

"Double wow, lover, so did I." Mac grinned at his lover. "Now could we possibly move this party to the bedroom till we have to get back to work?"

"Why? I'm comfortable." Vic achieved a near-whine on that last statement.

"Of course you are. You sleep on top of me, which is fine on a bed, but extremely painful on a tile floor. I can feel the pattern being imprinted into my back."

"Oh." Vic decided Mac had a point, and since he had no intention of sleeping anywhere except on top of the younger man (who needed a teddy bear?), they moved to the bedroom.

On the verge of falling asleep, Mac stopped to set the alarm. He didn't even want to think about what the Director would say if they were late.

At 10:00 that night, Vic, Mac, Li Ann, Jackie, Dobrinsky and Murphy were all concealed at various vantage points in an alley near a club with the right sort of clientele and which hadn't had any incidents yet. Looking around the apparently deserted area, Vic mused that this was the most heavily populated deserted alley he had ever encountered.

By 11:00, everyone was bored, everyone except Dobrinsky that is. He was far too intent on getting his hands on the men who had had the colossal nerve to actually attack him.

Mac decided to relieve his boredom, among other things, and silently worked his way over to Victor.

The moment he saw his lover, Vic knew this was a very bad idea, but he didn't try to stop him. Not only was diverting Mac from something he wanted about as easy as convincing a tornado to go away, Vic didn't want to stop him.

Mac leaned against Vic in a full-body caress, sliding his hands under Vic's sweater. He stroked his lover, gradually moving up until he reached Vic's nipples. Suddenly Mac stopped and pulled Vic's sweater up to stare at his chest.

Vic regarded him in bemusement, baffled by the world class pout Mac was wearing. He'd swear the younger man's lip was actually quivering!

"You're not wearing it," Mac sulked.

Oh. Understanding dawned. "I don't like to wear a nipple ring when I'm working. If it gets caught on something or the bad guys happen to yank on it, it hurts."

"I got a tattoo for you, and you won't even wear a measly ring for me?" Now Mac was laying on the guilt, but Vic wasn't buying it.

"First of all, much as I love your tattoo, it was your idea. Secondly, I told you I wouldn't wear it all the time. I don't want it to be ho-hum." Looking at Mac's hang-dog expression, Vic sighed. "All right already. I'll wear it all the time." Glaring at Mac's beaming face, Vic continued, "But I swear to you, if it gets ripped out, you will suffer every second that I do!"

"Worth it," Mac mumbled, sliding his hand into Vic's pants. Mac suddenly dropped to his knees and swallowed Vic whole. Much as he enjoyed teasing his lover, Mac knew this really wasn't a good time and meant to make it fast. He could feel Vic swelling to fill his throat as he swirled his tongue around his treat. Mac sucked hard, making Vic shove a fist into his own mouth to muffle his cries. After only a short time of this, Vic came into Mac's mouth, slumping back against the brick wall of the alley to catch his breath with his eyes closed.

Vic opened his eyes and let out a startled scream at finding himself staring into the eyes of an Indian wearing warpaint only a few inches from his face. The Indian jumped almost a foot straight up at the screech, and Mac spun around to see what the problem was.

Suddenly the alley was a scene of absolute chaos with Dobrinsky attacking one of the Indians with his own tomahawk after snatching it right out of the startled man's hands. Jackie was battling another Indian, repeatedly hitting him over the head with a rusty hubcap she had found nearby. Li Ann finished off her own opponent quickly, knocking him out when her kick sent him headfirst into the brick wall. The Cleaners simply shot the two Indians nearest them and watched the others, exhibiting a certain intellectual curiosity.

That left one Indian for Vic and Mac. Unfortunately, Mac was still on his knees in front of Victor, who in turn was more concerned with getting back into his pants. At that point, the Director arrived.

By this time, Dobrinsky had his opponent cowering on the ground, unlikely to move anytime in the next millennium. Jackie's foe was out cold at her feet, not far from the one Li Ann had subdued. The Cleaners' kills were draped rather artistically over piles of rubbish; presumably the Cleaners had calculated their shots to achieve an aesthetically pleasing finale. That still left Vic, Mac and their playmate. In a moment of cosmic irony, showing that the universe really does have a sense of humor, the last Indian slipped on a banana peel and knocked himself out when he hit the ground.

The Director looked around silently, noting the various corpses and unconscious bodies. When her gaze reached Vic and Mac, now decently covered and on their feet, they cringed, waiting for her to rip into them. But all she said was, "Perhaps a 'Most Frequently Caught in Compromising Positions' category?"

The following morning Vic, Mac and Li Ann waited in the conference room for the Director to join them. Dobrinsky had finally admitted that he had a terrible headache, and he was home in bed, with Jackie at his side to nurse him back to health.

The Director arrived in short order, carrying a file. "I trust you've all recovered from your -- exertions -- last night?"

The men flinched and refused to meet either woman's eyes.

"We were able to identify your little friends from their dental records, and our search team found some very interesting reading material in their homes. It seems that the gentlemen had found mention of an ancient ritual wherein the scalps of 17 enemies -- and no, I have no idea why that particular number -- could be used to reanimate a great warrior of the People." She shook her head in disbelief.

"The idiots didn't even know who they wanted to animate, it might have actually been Sitting Bull, but their goal was to reclaim all the Americas for the rightful native populace and remove the white infestation forever. That's a direct quote, by the way."

"So some other lunatic could get hold of a copy of this ritual and try again?" Li Ann questioned.

"Hardly," the Director responded dryly. "It wasn't even an actual shamanistic ritual. Nathan tracked down the reference and found that the so-called ancient writings were actually a script rejected by Ed Wood for being too ridiculous. I don't think there can possibly be a second group of imbeciles who would take it seriously. Now, Li Ann, I want you to go make nice with Nathan; I'm tired of hearing how you buzz."

Turning to Vic and Mac after Li Ann left, the Director hissed, "You got lucky last night in that you had an entire team of backups and your opponents were probably legally incompetent. But if you ever again get distracted like that when you're supposed to be working, I'll solve the problem by gelding you myself!"

Faint moans escaped both men, who hunched down protectively in their chairs.

Content that they had taken her warning seriously, the Director turned to leave. As she was going through the door, she added, "I must admit, though, we got some exceptional pictures. Maybe 'Most Flexible'?"


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