Turncoat Read online

Dixie grinned. "Never hurts to hear. You still need to burn energy? I think I might have an idea or two."

  Greg's fidgeting abruptly stilled, and Dixie liked the hungry look that came over his face a whole hell of a lot. "I'll admit that's my favorite way to get rid of my restlessness."

  "I think that's the favorite method of a lot of folk." Dixie tugged him in close and bent to get a taste of that troublemaking mouth he'd been admiring despite himself.

  Greg tasted like sugar and vanilla. Must have been in his hot milk thing. Dixie grunted as Greg tried to climb him like he was a damned tree. Skating his hands down Greg's body, admiring the lithe, trim muscle he could feel, he grabbed Greg's thighs and hoisted him up.

  Greg tore away from his mouth long enough to mutter, "That's stupid hot." Then Dixie's mouth was being too thoroughly tongue-fucked for him to get a reply in.

  Not that he was complaining. The life he led didn't leave much room for things like getting laid, so when sex was an option, he liked it good enough to last a bit. "If we're doing this," he said when he finally managed to make himself pull away, "we'd best pick a room, 'cause Byron will kill us if we fool around in his kitchen."

  Greg snickered. "Fair enough. I suppose you can't carry me the whole way, either. Let me down, and your room is probably closer because mine is all the way down."

  Snorting at the idea he couldn't carry Greg the whole way, Dixie shifted his hold and hefted Greg up and over his shoulder, laughing at the yelp that elicited—and grunting at the hard pinch to his ass. "Watch it."

  "I am, trust me," Greg said with a snicker that was dangerously close to becoming a giggle.

  Dixie rolled his eyes and wended quickly through the building to his room. He dropped Greg on his bed, then went to scrounge up the supplies he was pretty sure he had around there somewhere. Aha, there they were. Grabbing them from the shoebox they were in with a bunch of other odds and ends, he threw the condoms and lube on the bed close to Greg's head.

  "Off with the clothes," Greg ordered. "Why the hell are you completely dressed anyway?"

  Dixie pulled off his t-shirt and dropped it to the floor. "Habit. Around here, if I'm up, I'm dressed. Never any telling when I'm going to have to go, and there ain't always time to grab pants for those of us that can't go through walls."

  "I don't remember what we're talking about," Greg replied, rearing up to his knees and splaying his small hands across Dixie's stomach. "You're hot like fire. Literally and figuratively." The muscles of Dixie's abdomen tensed and flexed as Greg chased the words with his mouth, dragging lips and tongue across his skin.

  Dixie twined his fingers in Greg's hair, kept him pressed close. "You're an eager little thing."

  Greg looked up with a quick grin, eyes bright and hot, then went back to what he was doing. He shifted his balance, pulled back just enough to get his hands up to the fastenings of Dixie's jeans. The soft noise of approval he made as he pulled Dixie's cock out was the most gratifying thing Dixie had heard in forever. "I really hope you're going to fuck me."

  "That's the aim," Dixie replied. "Be easier to do if you were wearing less."

  Giving Dixie's cock one last teasing stroke, Greg moved away to strip off the boxers he was wearing, tossing them to join the growing heap of clothes on the floor.

  Naked, Dixie crawled onto the bed. It was too small for the both of them, but they'd have to make do. He settled between Greg's thighs, idly stroking all that dark gold skin that was even softer than it looked, and smooth as smooth could be. He dragged his callous-rough fingers over Greg's cock, liking the shudder that got him, the way those brown eyes darkened, the pupils blown. His fingers explored further, finding nothing but smooth, hot skin. Dixie smirked. "You're like one of those hairless cats."

  "Haha. One more cat joke and I'm starting in with 'dark choc—'" Greg toppled a bit when Dixie shut him up with a kiss, but Dixie chased him down and kissed him harder, determined to learn every secret of that troublesome mouth.

  Fingers skated along his skin, lingering at his ass to grab hard. Dixie drew back, mouth curving in a smirk. "Find something you like?"

  "I'm not usually much for doing the fucking, but your ass is definitely a rule breaker," Greg replied, then reared up enough to put attention on Dixie's collarbone, then up to his throat.

  Dixie enjoyed that for a couple of minutes, then shook loose of Greg's hold enough to grab the lube and condoms. "Get yourself ready. I want to see that."

  Greg caught the lube when Dixie tossed it, quickly coating his fingers as he spread his thighs as much as the bed allowed. He reached down and back pretty as you please, teasing and stroking at his own hole before nudging one finger inside.

  "You make it real hard not to make cat jokes," Dixie said, "as much as you like to be touched and clearly know how to take care of yourself."

  "Yeah, well, this business doesn't leave much time for finding somebody else to do the work." Greg worked a second finger into himself, head falling back, breath coming sharper, shorter, as he fucked himself on his own fingers. "Speaking of somebody else doing the work…"

  "I gotcha," Dixie said, getting a condom on and moving in close again, stroking lightly over Greg's fingers where they were still working his hole. He gently pushed in one of his own, mouth dropping over Greg's to swallow the gasp that got him.

  Breaking the kiss, pushing in a second finger as Greg's slid away, Dixie bit at the soft lobe of Greg's ear before murmuring, "You sure I can't make cat jokes?"

  Greg groaned. "Only because your drawl makes everything sound sexy. But you'd better be about to fuck me, nice as your fingers are."

  Chuckling, Dixie drew back and removed his fingers. Slicking himself up, he pressed his cock to Greg's wet, stretched hole and carefully pushed inside. He spread Greg's thighs up and wide, determined to drive as deep as he could into that tight heat. Sweat made Greg's skin gleam, and the hungry look on his face as Dixie began to fuck him in earnest was the finest thing Dixie's had seen in months. "Good kitty," he murmured, and then thrust hard, turning the curse Greg had started to form into a howl.

  Greg's arms came up, but Dixie snagged them and pinned them to the bed, not even remotely surprised when that got him a long moan. He nipped at Greg's jaw, lapped at his lips, kissed him hard enough to bruise as he pulled out and slammed back in, over and over, pounding Greg as hard as he could, determined to take and give every ounce of pleasure he could wring out of the both of them.

  Byron was gonna give him hell over the bed knocking the walls, but he didn't much damn care right then.

  He pressed Greg's wrists harder into the mattress, bent close to his ear again as he pounded that fine ass. "Give it up, pussycat. Come on my cock, just because I told you to." Greg moaned and shuddered, whimpering out Dixie's name as he came apart, head thrown back to bare his throat.

  Dixie put his teeth to it as he pumped a last few times before finally coming himself, the orgasm hitting so hard his vision went spotty for a moment.

  When he could see and breathe properly again, he gently pulled out and discarded the condom, rustled up a hand towel from his laundry basket, and mopped up the mess on Greg's skin. He threw it in the hamper for dirty laundry, then turned back to the bed—where Greg had already climbed out and was pulling on his boxers.

  Before Dixie could say anything, Greg practically crawled up him and kissed him hard. "Sweet dreams, dark chocolate."

  Dixie pinched him. Hard.

  All it got him was a snicker as Greg left, a mischievous grin before he was completely out of sight.

  Yawning, Dixie killed the lights and crawled into bed, and was fast asleep within seconds.

  *~*~*

  "Shut up," Dixie said, opening the fridge and pawing through it to avoid Byron's smirking face as long as possible.

  Byron chuckled. "Like I said, I'm surprised you two haven't crossed paths before. I knew you'd get along."

  "It's too early to put up with you," Dixie replied as he finally grabbed the orange juice and a c
ouple of hard boiled eggs from the bowl where Byron always kept some.

  "It's three in the afternoon."

  "That's early for us, and you know it, so shut up." He set everything on the island, then fixed toast and coffee before sitting down across from a still-smirking Byron. "You come up with a plan, yet? How come you've never posed using Greg to get us a Mason Chip before?"

  Byron popped a grape in his mouth and chased it with coffee. "He's small time. I use him for info gathering, stealing little things here and there. I could never bring myself to put him square against the G.O.D. As rough as he's had it, he's still not like you, me, and Matt."

  "Not a near-heartless bastard three steps from being as bad as the Dogs, you mean," Dixie said. "Yeah, I suppose you got a point." And he did. Greg was too open and earnest for all that he was a professional criminal. Didn't need to know the man five minutes to see that. "Has he thought to ask how a Mason Chip can be coded to a person, yet?"

  Byron shook his head. "Of course not. He hears 'microchip', he thinks computers and shit like everyone else. It won't occur to him until we tell him exactly where to find it, and I'm not sure I have the heart to do that."

  "May not have a choice," Dixie replied. "Someone like him stands the best, if not only, chance of being fast enough to get in and out before the G.O.D. comes down on him like the end of days." He wolfed down a piece of toast. "With us at his back he can get a hell of a lot farther than the front yard. And out again."

  "Ideally," Byron said pensively. "Speaking of computers, how are you?"

  Dixie shrugged. "If we've got the downtime, it wouldn't hurt to run the full gauntlet so I'm ready once we have the chip in hand, but I'm running fine for now." He reached up to rub his fingers across the back of his neck, causing a sharp tingle to run through his body.

  He might not be a super, and he wasn't a genetic experiment like Matt…but he hadn't gotten out of the G.O.D. unscathed either. Bio-Computer 3.1 was what his files said, though it was a bit of an overstatement. He was wired to be able to connect to the G.O.D. computers from literally anywhere in the world. The only thing that had ever stopped him was the lack of a Mason Chip.

  Once he had that, there was fuck all the G.O.D. would be able to do to stop him.

  Unless they'd already developed a replacement, but Dixie doubted it. He'd done a lot of fucking damage on his way out, and it had taken them decades just to get his father right—and his father had been 2.0.

  Version 1.0 was a dark, dirty secret even Dixie hadn't been able to unearth.

  "We can do it today," Byron said. "Greg was gone when I woke up, left a note saying he was going to speak to his friend. I'm working out a plan to get a Mason Chip, but there are almost too many angles to consider so it won't be ready any time soon. And you obviously have nowhere to be." He grinned. "Unless you and Greg have a hot date."

  Dixie rolled his eyes. "Me on a date—that'll be the day. You know I don't do that crap." He finished eating and pushed his dishes away. "Get back on topic: who do you think this friend of Greg's is, that they'd need Greg to steal a Mason Chip? Someone that close to the G.O.D., shouldn't we have at least heard of them?"

  "It's entirely likely we have," Byron said. "I would be willing to wager his friend is a super, after that 'doesn't want to draw attention' comment. And there aren't a whole lot of supers based here. Whisker and Minder are the only ones who ever make the news." He gave Dixie a look.

  "You can't think Whisker is friends with Minder. Nobody is friends with Minder. He's the only son of a bitch nobody knows anything about. There's more in Scone's dossier than Minder's. How would Greg and Minder wind up knowing each other?"

  Byron shrugged one shoulder, got up to pour himself more coffee. "I could be wrong. Let's face it, the list of people with a vendetta against the Pantheon is probably longer than even we realize. Greg's friend could be a super, could be somehow connected to a super, could even be someone within the G.O.D. settling a different grudge entirely. But I have eyes and ears in a lot of places, and I'm pretty certain I'd know if someone had popped up this close to home who wanted to get their hands on a Mason Chip. Except for the one person even I know nothing about, though I've tried."

  "I think I'm a bit afraid of a man who managed to keep hidden from you," Dixie replied.

  "Then you should be afraid of Greg, because I didn't know he was connected to Minder until he practically admitted it. And I could still be wrong."

  Dixie made a face. "Doubt it. You got an uncanny accuracy rate for these things. One of your dark faerie tricks, no doubt."

  Byron's mouth curved in one his all the mysteries of the world smiles. "Speaking of being on the news…"

  Dixie groaned, bracing his elbows on the island and resting his forehead in his palms. "I don't want to know."

  "Our humble mechanic has definitely been outed as the notorious Turncoat. They're broadcasting some charming interviews, let me tell you. Mostly of the 'he seemed so sweet, I never would have thought he was a crazed murderer' type, but with a few 'I knew there was something funny about him' sprinkled in for good measure. They try so hard to make you look like evil incarnate, but your pictures are all so wholesome."

  Getting up, Dixie dumped all his dishes in the sink. "Guess you're putting up with me indefinitely. It was getting risky trying to play normal, anyway. Now that we've compromised Sunrise, fixed Matt, and have added Countdown to our numbers, they're gonna be gunning for the whole lot of us more than ever."

  "Mm," Byron agreed. "I'm working on that, too. Anything you need to do, or shall we go ahead and get you running?"

  Dixie snorted. "What would I have to do? I'm grounded, ain't nothing on my hands but time."

  "How much do you want Greg and his friend to know? You'll probably still be wired up when they get back."

  "They're gonna have to know eventually," Dixie said. "Don't rush to show them, but if it comes up, well, it is what it is. He saw a hint of my tricks last night. No secret lasts forever. Let me get a shower and I'll meet you upstairs."

  Forty-ish minutes later, wearing only a pair of yoga pants because hell if they weren't the most comfortable thing in existence, he climbed the stairs all the way to the top of the apartment building. The very top floor had been split into three parts. One half was a makeshift hospital, and Byron had filled it with a lot of bells and whistles.

  The other half was divided between storage and a room that looked like something out of a sci-fi novel. Or a G.O.D. laboratory. There was a bank of monitors to the left, arrayed all along the wall. Beneath them was a smooth black table that looked like glass until Byron rolled over on his stool and it shimmered to life to display a large, intricate keyboard and additional buttons, boxes, and rapidly moving lists. "Have a seat, beautiful."

  Dixie sat down in the long, leather-covered, medical looking seat that had been designed specifically for him. Several months after Byron had taken him and Matt in, Byron had coaxed info out of him, and over the course of several more months, had built the room. The chair had actually been the easy part, in the end, since damn near everything else had needed to be stolen straight from G.O.D. headquarters throughout the country.

  He settled in, tried not to twitch when the padded bands came up to hold his arms and legs in place for when he invariably fell asleep. The headrest had a special gap at the neck, and after a few more minutes' work at his monitors, Byron rolled over and with deft, gentle touches, removed the artificial skin that covered Dixie's access and control points—a series of tiny slots to connect wires and insert the Mason Chip, and the points where only Dixie's touch could wake or shut down his systems. "Ready?"

  "Yeah," Dixie said and grunted as Byron attached two wires. Behind him, the monitors flared to life as they began to pull and list his data. Byron wheeled around to his other side and set to work on the rest: one drip of special fluids and medicines, another that would replenish and restore the special nanowiring attached to Dixie's system, and a shot with a special numbing agent that would
keep Dixie from screaming his fool head off at the pain that'd tear him apart otherwise.

  Because humans weren't meant to be part machine, not the way he was, anyway, but nobody at the G.O.D. gave much of a damn.

  He turned his head ever so slightly to read the monitors, taking in where all was well and where the nanowiring was going to need repairing. The damned stuff ran through his body, using him as battery-processor-autorepair. What his body couldn't fix, periodic maintenance took care of, though it could take anywhere from eight to twenty-four hours to do it.

  Byron quickly finished the rest of his work, ensuring Dixie wouldn't need to move for any reason for a whole lot of hours. Rolling back to the monitors, he punched several keys to the get the process going. "Best guess right now, I don't think this will take you more than the usual twelve-ish. Want anything?"

  "Just an audiobook," Dixie said. "What have you got?"

  "Couple of new fantasies, you'd like them both. I've also got some new thrillers and a history book."

  "Give me one of the fantasies."

  Byron nodded and pressed a few more buttons. "Call if you need me."

  Dixie grunted out a reply and closed his eyes as the audiobook began to play, let himself fall into a trance while his body worked on repairing and cleaning all his computer bits.

  He was pulled out of it a few hours later by a sudden weight draped across his lap. Hands splayed across his chest, and Dixie dragged his eyes open to see Greg watching him like, well, a fucking cat. "Can I help you?"

  "I totally thought Byron was fucking with me," Greg said, eyes roving over Dixie, wide with fascination. "Although I gotta admit the stupid pants you're wearing are almost more distracting than the fact you've got stuff plugged into you."

  Dixie narrowed his eyes. "You're something else again, kitten."

  "Call me that one more time," Greg replied, nails digging into Dixie's chest as his eyes snapped to Dixie's, "and I'll hook you up to something that will fry you from the inside out."

  Dixie grinned. "Stop clawing me. And my system is pretty well wired against that."