Master Apprentice Archive Diplomatic Relations Quick search:

Archive - MA and my own site - www.twistedcorner.net

Pairing - Obi/other

Category - Obi/Other, first time, romance, angst, AU/R (I never know the difference)

Rating - NC-17

Spoilers - none

Disclaimer - If you want him, you can have my half-invisible turtle, Fred. Otherwise, I don't have anything of value to sue for.

Summary - Two diplomats find it isn't as easy as in the movies.

Feedback - Love, Hate and Tears are always appreciated.

Notes - Every place in this story is really in Minsk, Belarus. Just not always where I put it. Nor did I make up the intrusive presence felt by diplomats serving in this country.

Thanks to: Bonny, for the lovely and most excellent beta, Aeshna, who shoved me toward Bruck and Clara Swift for pestering me about it until I finished it. You guys are fab!

Brock looked over at his schedule. He was almost done with the interviews. From there he could start the background checks, which would ultimately decide whether or not these poor people would get a chance to live in England. The pile was pitiful but that wasn't really his fault. If they would come up with more credible excuses for why they wanted to go, he thought to himself as he stretched. A small noise alerted him to incoming email. Probably another bad joke from his sister, he thought as clicked over to his mail. There was a party announcement from a name he didn't know.

Opening the e-mail he found himself looking at an invitation for an "it's finally summer" party. Thrown by the Americans. The American Marines no less. Well, the bleached blond thought, they at least throw decent parties. If he was lucky he might find some eye candy that would make the night even more enjoyable. At least these boys weren't nearly as bad as the ones in Riyadh where it was the Marines, a few other men, and a room full of women. He grimaced; there was nothing worse than simpering women in little to no clothing. He got enough of those on the visa line. And he had to admit; there was no such thing as a bad looking Marine.

He entered the date into his calendar and sent an acknowledgment back to the Marine. Must be a new one, he mused. While he couldn't openly court any of the Marines, it was fun to see how subtle he could get without them noticing and getting uncomfortable. The expatriate community was scarce in Belarus and he could ill afford to make the Americans uncomfortable, never mind the diplomatic implications. He had learned the hard way that you never made an American Marine uncomfortable with his sexuality. It simply was neither proper nor wise.

Glancing at the clock, he rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. It was back to the trenches for him.

Brock shrugged out of his jacket and looked around. There was a surprisingly good turnout for the party. Most of the Americans had shown up and quite a few from the other embassies as well. He nodded to the few people he knew as he made his way over to the bar.

"Hey man! Glad you could make it," Seamus said over the din. The stocky blond behind the bar was Brock's favorite target for covert flirting. Despite the name, Seamus was the all American boy, poster child for heterosexual males everywhere. Every time Brock ran into Seamus at a party or around town he had a different girl on his arm--all gorgeous and most barely able to speak English. Seamus obviously wasn't interested in his dates for their minds.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Brock grabbed the outstretched hand with a firm grip. Before he could add anything further a woman dropped into the seat next to him.

"Hey Seamus. I need something," the woman flipped the thick braid over her shoulder.

"What do you need, Annette?" Seamus said turning toward her.

"Besides you? A Rolling Rock and what ever foo-foo drink you know how to make," she replied.

"Double fisting tonight?" Brock asked, intrigued.

The woman jerked her head to the left. "Lazy bones over there makes the woman get the drinks." Sticking out her hand she added, "Annette LaCombe."

"Brock Wright." He shook the outstretched hand. Turning in the direction she indicated, he saw a man with brown hair wearing a black t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans leaning against a high table. The man, who couldn't be more than twenty-five, regarded the party with thinly veiled impatience.

"Thanks Seamus," Annette said as she grabbed the two glasses and the bottle of beer.

"Let me," Brock grabbed the beer and followed the dark-haired woman back over to the table.

"Ben, Brock. Brock, Ben," Annette said as soon as they reached the table.

"Here you are," Brock passed the beer over to the other man.

Ben took the bottle and with a smile passed it over to Annette, exchanging drinks. "Thanks."

"I don't know why Seamus keeps giving me a glass. I never use it," Annette complained as she took a swig from the bottle.

"He's probably hoping you're going to be more ladylike," Ben replied sipping at his own drink. He turned toward Brock and smiled. "It's nice to meet you."

"Ha. He should know better by now," Annette replied as she leaned across the table. "So how did you end up in the garden spot that is Minsk?"

Brock shrugged and took a pull of his Guinness, "I do visa work at the British Embassy. Yourselves?"

Annette grinned. "We're the geeks."

"Annette," Ben sighed as he turned to Brock. "We run the computers for the American Embassy."

"Gotta go, Franzi just walked in. Don't leave without me this time. Brock it was nice meeting you," Annette tossed over her shoulder as she scampered into the growing mob.

"Do you have to deal with her on a daily basis?" Brock asked as soon as he was sure she wasn't coming back.

Ben grinned and shook his head. "It's worse than that. She's my boss."

"Did you really leave her somewhere?" Brock asked. He wasn't quite sure what the ethics for dating in the workplace were for the Americans, if they even had any. The man in front of him was gorgeous and there was such a shortage of eligible, gorgeous gay men in this country. It made him yearn for the good old days of London. Before he could do anything he had to make sure Ben was available. Americans could be so touchy sometimes.

Ben snorted, "I leave her at a Marine function once and she'll never let me forget it." He rolled his eyes and look over at Brock, "I thought she had gone clubbing with the Marines and some others. I didn't realize she was in the bathroom when I left the party. She ended up here with just Perry to keep her company and Perry wouldn't let her use the Marine vehicle to get home. I think she ended up walking.

"It's all moot tonight, since she drove."

Brock frowned, "You don't drive?"

Ben turned toward him and grinned, "It's a little cold for my bike and neither of us likes taking the shuttle. It's inconvenient."

"You're a biker? You don't look the type."

Ben laughed, a rich sound that lit up his face. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Tell me my good man, what exactly do I look like?"

Brock was tempted to tell the truth, the other man looked like a walking wet dream, but didn't want to drive him off just yet. Still nothing ventured, nothing gained. No one ever achieved anything by playing it safe. "Like you're bored senseless and are looking for a little excitement in your life."

An eyebrow rose. "And what do you suggest?"

Brock squashed the first thought that came to mind and instead smiled, "I'm sure we can come up with something."

"Where are you from, originally? You don't sound American." Brock asked, sipping his café latte.

"I don't sound American and I don't look like a biker. You are the judgmental type aren't you?" Ben replied, a slight smile taking the sting out of the harsh words.

"I'm a Vice Consul. Part of my nature."

Ben nodded, acquiescing. "My father is a Scottish schoolteacher. My mother owns her own business and is a slasher."

Brock barely managed to keep from spitting his coffee through his nose. Ben simply raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. Oh yes, Ben knew exactly what he was saying and he knew exactly what the term meant. "That must have been embarrassing, growing up."

Ben laughed, "Aye, it was awful. Especially once she started asking me for ‘technical expertise'."

"Still, it made it much easier to tell her. She knew before I did," Ben added after a moment.

Brock took in the restaurant, looking for his usual "friends." "My family took it well. I think it helped that I was away at school, so they weren't confronted with it immediately. My sister, Jenna, thought it was fabulous. We had always been close and as far as she was concerned it simply meant there was someone 'to go cruising with' as you Yanks would say."

"Ah, but we've just established that I'm not a Yankee. I'm quite definitely a Padres fan."

Brock looked at him strangely, "Pardon?"

Ben waved him off. "How did you end up in Her Majesty's Service?"

"My father. He is a career diplomat. I've lived all over the world. After university I tried to settle in London but found that I had itchy feet."

Ben nodded, "After September 11th I wanted to serve my country, but I'm not exactly military material. This was the next best thing. I'm enjoying myself--with one small exception."

"And what's that?" Brock asked, intrigued.

"There aren't nearly enough good looking men in this country."

Brock smiled and leaned over the small table. "How long has it been?" he whispered.

Ben glanced around, a faint blush staining his cheeks. "Too long."

"My place isn't that far," Brock said as he signaled the waitress for the check.

Brock opened the door to his flat and immediately turned, pulling the other young man through the door before slamming him up against the wall. He thrust his tongue into the willing mouth as he unbuttoned the man's pants and stuck his hand down them, grabbing the hard shaft.

Thrusting his tongue in time with his hand, Brock felt Ben tremble just before he went over the edge. Letting go of Brock's mouth, Ben groaned and if Brock hadn't pinned him to the wall he would have fallen to the floor. "Wow," he breathed, before giving Brock a quick kiss.

Brock chucked, "Is has been a long time, hasn't it? We'll have to remedy that."

Brock woke slowly, the sun slanting across the room and into his eyes. He tried to roll over, away from the offending light and found his arm trapped by something warm and very welcome. Brock smiled, it'd been a long time since he'd been given the opportunity to have someone spend the night. It almost made up for being woken up at such an ungodly hour.

Leaning over he brushed a kiss on his bedmate, "Good morning," he rumbled.

The man currently doubling as a furnace stiffened and pulled away. Brock frowned, "Are you all right?" He asked as Ben pulled away completely and sat up.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the other man mumbled.

Brock sat up as well. "That sounded sincere."

Ben shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's just...I have to go. I'm on duty this week."

Brock frowned. Something was seriously wrong and it had nothing to do with Ben's job. Brock grabbed Ben's shoulder and turned the other man toward him, "Wait. What's really wrong here?"

When Ben finally looked up at him, Brock tried not to cringe. There was real pain in the other man's eyes. "I don't do this." Ben whispered, turning away and reaching for his shirt.

"You don't do what? Fuck other men? Because it didn't seem that way last night." Brock joked, trying to get Ben to look at him again.

Ben chuffed a laugh and shook his head. "I don't do one night stands. I don't," he stopped and Brock managed to get him to turn around again.

"You don't do what?" Brock asked again, gently.

Brock felt Ben take a deep breath, as if he was preparing for something particularly difficult. "I don't fuck on the first date. I'm not your stereotypical gay man. I can't do casual sex."

Brock felt something inside relax. This he could deal with. "The stereotypical gay man isn't a stereotypical gay man. Do you regret last night?"

Ben gave him a weak smile, "No. Last night was...good."

Brock laughed and went in for a quick kiss, "Not exactly what I was hoping for, but 'good' is better than 'I wish it had never happened'." He sobered, "May I call you? Perhaps we could go out on an actual date?"

Ben nodded, "I'd like that." He paused before continuing, "I really do have to go. 'Nette and I have to reimage a bunch of computers and the only time we can do it is this weekend. And I'm already late. I'm surprised she hasn't called looking for me yet." He blew out a breath and chuckled, "She's going to be so pissed."

Brock frowned, "Why's that?"

"Because I'm going to walk into work smelling of sex, and she didn't get any."

Brock leered. "You could always shower first."

'Nette looked up from the GhostServer she was currently ripping apart as the door to their office opened. "About damn time," she grumbled.

"Sorry, overslept." Ben replied, praying she was buried too deeply into the server to notice he was wearing the same clothes as last evening. He frowned. "What's the problem?"

'Nette didn't bother to look up as she replied, "the fucking thing won't turn on. I'm hoping it's the RAM and not the processor or power supply. Whose bright idea was it to use an ancient desktop for the Ghost Server anyway?"

Ben stifled a laugh. "Yours, I believe." He sat down on the other side of their dead server and reached for the ESD bracelet. "How far did you get?"

The woman looked over at him and a smirk graced her lips, "I think the real question is how far did you get?"

"I told you, I overslept," he said firmly. He hoped she'd leave it at that.

"Right, but you didn't say where or with who."

Ben glared at her, "That's none of your damn business."

"Was it the cute British Vice Consul? You two were pretty chummy and then you were suddenly gone. I buzzed you around midnight to make sure you didn't need a ride but no answer."

"What part of 'it's none of your damn business' did you not understand? I swear you're worse than my mother." Ben groused as he took the hard drive from 'Nette's hand.

"That was harsh," she retorted, not sounding wounded at all. That was the thing he loved about 'Nette. Anything rarely offended her and she was incredibly opened-minded for a woman with three brothers and straight out of America's Heartland.

"So what's the backup plan if this doesn't work?" Ben asked, bridging the silence.

'Nette looked up at him and grinned. "What makes you think there is a backup plan?"

Ben stretched. Eight hours and three hard drives later they had managed to get all the damn computers reimaged and ready to be rolled out on Monday. Now they were sitting in their favorite bar, waiting for the waitress who wasn't coming.

"You should invite him," Annette said, swirling the Ukrainian beer she favored.

"Who?" Ben asked trying to figure out what planet Annette was on.

She gave him a look that said she wasn't buying the innocent act for a minute. "Your date from last night. Whoever it was."

"Trying to get rid of me?" Ben smirked as he took a sip from his blue lagoon and grimaced, this place definitely had gone down hill since they reopened.

'Nette snorted, "right. Like you aren't tired of me after eight hours? Please, even I'm sick of me. Call your boy."

"'Nette!" Ben hissed, looking around quickly.

The woman rolled her eyes, but acquiesced. "Your friend then. Ask him to join you. You do at least know his name right?"

"Of course I know his name!" Ben snapped, pulling his Nokia out of his pocket. He noticed that he had two unread messages. Activating the keypad, he ran down the list. The first was from Annette making sure he was all right and letting him know that they were going to Babylon. The second was from Brock.

Ben sucked in a deep breath and opened the message. Want to catch a drink and watch England destroy the French? The message was dated around 5pm. Ben glanced at his watch, quarter to eight. He wondered if Brock was still interested. Quickly he hit the reply button, We just finished. We're at X-Ray if you want to join us. He hit send before his nerves could get the better of him.

"So?" Annette asked, startling Ben. He'd almost forgot she was there.

"I just SMSed him. He's probably got plans--." Before he could finish his sentence, his phone beeped. Ignoring Annette's knowing smirk, he pressed 'read,' Be over in a bit. Order me a Guinness.

"Where are you going?" Ben demanded as Annette rose from the table and threw down a few thousand rubles.

She just rolled her eyes. "Home, stupid. Do you think I really want to watch you moon over your new fling?"

"It's not a fling," he protested, realizing belatedly that he answered the wrong thing.

Annette laughed, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun, but don't be late! I'm not doing that roll out by myself."

"Yes ma'am!"

Ben's grin faded as the waitress finally came over and asked what he wanted. "Uh, another blue lagoon and a Guinness," he grimaced as the waitress gave him a confused look. There were times he really wished he knew more than "excuse me" in Russian.

He held up one finger and then pointed to his drink. The woman nodded and wandered off. Ben rolled his eyes; there went Brock's beer.

He glanced down at his phone and idly scrolled through the options until he got to games. He was startled a few minutes later as Brock slid into the booth across from him.

"Hello," Brock said with a grin.

"Allo," Ben replied. "You'll have to get your own beer. They don't speak English here."

Brock nodded, signaling the waitress and quickly ordered something in Russian. The waitress nodded and scurried off to fill the order.

"You speak Russian?" Ben demanded.

"Of course I do. My Belarusian isn't as good as it should be." He paused, "don't you speak Russian?"

Ben shook his head self-deprecatingly. "No. The State department prioritizes language skills according to your job. I don't interact with the natives during work, so I don't get to take the classes."

"But how on earth do you survive? They don't speak English here," Brock demanded.

"I'm very good at charades. We do have the opportunity to take lessons through the embassy but," he shrugged, "I could barely pass Spanish in high school. Russian is beyond me."

"You work with computers, yes?" Brock asked.

Ben shook his head. "I went over this with my Spanish teacher. Computers are different. I can't explain it. I can hack with the best of them, but I can't even count to 10 in Spanish."

"You're a hacker? You are full of surprises aren't you?" Brock smirked.

Ben shook his head, "'Nette doesn't call us geeks for no reason." There was a slight pause. "How was your day?"

Brock smiled to the waitress as she set down his pint of Guinness. Turning to Ben, he said, "Much worse after my bedmate took off on me. I was so hoping for some good morning sex."

Ben blushed and almost choked on his drink. "Don't."

"Don't what? Want morning sex? Why ever not?" Brock frowned.

"Please don't talk about last night."

"Why not? You aren't regretting it, are you?" Brock asked.

"No, no of course not. It's just that, the KGB likes to follow us, and I'd rather not give them something to put in their report."

Brock looked at his companion. Ben wouldn't look at him and he wondered if there was something more than the KGB watching. Ben hadn't seemed to mind last night. He couldn't have missed that Brock lived across the street from the KGB's headquarters; something that gave him endless amusement as he watched the agents overtly watch him from their windows. A thought occurred to him. "You are out, aren't you?"

Ben squirmed in his seat, unwilling to look at Brock. "I am--or was."

Brock raised an eyebrow. "Was? I didn't know you could go back into the closet."

Ben leaned forward. "I was out until I joined State. Even then, I never made it a secret. But here," he took a sip of his drink, "not everyone is as opened minded as 'Nette. If I was ostracized, it could get bad, and State has a very long memory."

"They would hurt you?" asked Brock aghast.

Ben shook his head quickly. "No. At least I don't think so. But it would get very uncomfortable. I hang out with the Marines and they're, well, they're Marines."

"Yes, that's very true," Brock said with a laugh.

"You don't get it. The Marines have a job at the Embassy. If one day Lukashenko decides to storm the Embassy, they keep the Belarusian army out while we wait for the helicopter. They're also, good or bad, the focal point of our social world here. If I came out and told them, rubbed it in their faces what do you think would happen the next time we had a crisis."

Brock reached out and took Ben's hand. Oddly, Ben let him, "When was the last time we had a crisis in Belarus? I'm not making fun," he added hurriedly as Ben tried to pull his hand away. "The last time was, I believe, ten years ago. Lukashenko isn't going to let anything happen to the Embassies, he's not ready to piss off Western civilization yet. You said yourself you don't think the Marines would hurt you."

Ben took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I know I did. This is just-weird."

"Because you're with me?"

"No, because I'm with a guy, period. If you haven't noticed, this isn't exactly gay man central. I had decided to just let it lie while I was here. I would scope out the situation, see exactly how progressive State was with gays and go from there. It's my first tour and I'm enjoying myself. This is the first job I've had that I actually like to go to work." He took a long drink, "you've ruined the plan."

"It was a lousy plan to begin with," Brock said dismissively as he leaned back and took a swig of beer. He grinned as Ben bristled. "I've got a much better one."

"I'm sure you do."

"It involves my place, maybe some beer or wine-"

"I can see where this is going," Ben said.

"-and a Fawlty Towers marathon." Brock concluded, smirking.

"Fawlty Towers?" Ben asked, his face a strange mixture of disbelief and comedic disappointment.

"Of course, what do you think I was going to say?" Brock demanded, a sexy smile crossing his features over his beer glass. "It is a school night after all."

"Fawlty Towers? If we're going to have a marathon of British comedy at least make it Red Dwarf or Black Adder."

"Red Dwarf?!" Brock exclaimed, "The biggest bunch of bullocks I've ever seen! I refuse to show that crap in my flat."

"Crap? Red Dwarf is classic! And so much better than Fawlty Towers. The holographic Rimmer? It was priceless. The adventures they went on? Fawlty Towers only had the crumbling hotel," Ben replied, a grin escaping. It had been awhile since his last debate on British comedy. His mother shunned all things from the misty island, mostly because of his father, he supposed. His father had loved comedies but Ben hadn't seen his father since Ben was fifteen and had moved in with his mother.

Ben brought himself back to the present. He wasn't with his father; he was with a gorgeous young man who seemed very much interested in Ben. Brock had short, spiky bleached blond hair and blue eyes that contrasted sharply with his dark complexion. He was a few inches taller than Ben's own five foot ten inches and broader in the shoulders as well. Ben looked down at their joined hands, and before Brock could formulate a suitable rebuttal, leaned forward and kissed him.

This time he savored the taste. Brock's lips were like velvet covered steel and tasted faintly of Guinness. Ben opened his mouth and ran his tongue over Brock's lower lip, seeking an invitation, which Brock impatiently granted. He swept his tongue inside, tasting teeth and exploring Brock's mouth. Pulling back he smiled. "You were saying something about your place?"

Brock grunted as the local radio station blared "Walk like an Egyptian." "Bloody hell," he moaned as he rolled out of bed. He hated Mondays. He realized just about everyone in the known world hated Mondays with him, but he couldn't help it. After pissing, he wandered over to the kitchen and started making his breakfast of muslii and whatever fruit his housekeeper had bought for him. Today it was blueberries and it looked as if she bought enough to feed the entire British fleet. He grinned at the thought as he flipped on the telly and turned to Sky News. He might as well see what the rest of the world was up to before he headed off to hear another dodgy story from visa applicants.

He frowned as Black Adder came on instead. It took him a moment to remember what he'd been doing last night. Right, Ben had come over and they had argued again over what to watch before settling down to watch the latest Tarantino flick; something about a blond woman getting revenge. Not exactly what he would have chosen for a date movie but then they hadn't really watched the movie at all.

He grinned into his muslii. Ben was a frustrating tease. He professed to not want to do anything except actually watch the movie and then proceeded to sit as close as humanly possible without actually getting into Brock's lap. Brock hadn't been about to complain and had slung an arm around his newest friend. Then Ben started to squirm against him. Brock did the only thing he could to preserve his sanity. He grabbed Ben by the chin and kissed him until they were hard and panting. Ben's pupils were dilated in the warm glow of the tele and Brock couldn't help but smirk as he remembered it. Before he could alleviate the problem, Ben's cell phone rang.

Brock frowned, that had been the only downside of their evening. Ben had left shortly after the call, throwing him an apologetic smile. "Duty calls," he said simply before diving back to the couch and giving Brock another quick kiss. "Call me?" he asked.

Ben pulled out the ringing cell phone from his back pocket. "Yes?" he asked.

"You're so polite on the phone. It's quite refreshing actually. I was wondering if you'd care to join me for some dinner this evening?"

Ben laughed. They'd been trying to have dinner for two weeks. Something always seemed to come up. "I'll look forward to it. You're sure you don't have to entertain any lovely ladies?"

Brock snorted over the phone, "No. I finished work about an hour ago. There are no dodgy Brits wanting my help either."

"What time then?" Ben asked, wondering how much time he'd need to get himself home and showered. They'd been cleaning out the storeroom all day and he didn't get off for another hour.

"6:30 all right with you?"

Ben grimaced. That would only give him a half hour to get ready for their date. "Seven would be better," he admitted.

"That's fine with me. Sushi all right with you?"

"I haven't had good sushi in a while. That would be great."

"I'll pick you up at seven then. What's your address?"

Ben quickly gave his date the address and then hung up.

Annette looked up from the screen. "Why don't you go at 5pm. I'll close."

Ben stared at her; Annette rarely offered to close for him. She came into work at 7:30am every morning and was more than ready to go at 4:30pm, regardless of whether she actually left or not. For her to voluntarily work until six was a major deal and he wasn't sure he felt right about being indebted to her for that. He had no idea when he'd be able to pay her back, if ever.

"Go," she repeated. "It's just me and the mutt and he isn't going to explode if I'm an hour or so late getting home. Especially if Katya took him out like she's supposed to. So go."

"You're sure?" he asked once more.

Annette rolled her eyes. "Yes, now agree before I change my mind."

"Three times the dodgy bastard comes in and demands a visa and every time I refuse him because his documents are forged."

Ben laughed, "and I assume it doesn't help when Gretchen's refused him as well."

"Gretchen's refused everybody at least once. She's evil, that one," Brock retorted, "I think Gretchen's banned him from the US for life after the last time."

"Possibly. She's been so overworked with this J-program that 'Nette hasn't seen hide nor hair of her."

Brock frowned. "I didn't know Gretchen was a lesbian. I thought for sure she was straight."

"She is." A light of comprehension dawned on his face. "You think 'Nette's a lesbian?"

"You mean she's not?"

Ben laughed, "You not one of those gay men that decide that everyone's gay as well, are you? They're as bad as the straights saying there is no such thing as homosexuals. We're just all confused and sexually-abused individuals."

"No, I'm not. But I'm rarely wrong either. Are you sure she's not gay?"

Ben nodded, "Positive. The amount of time she spends bemoaning the fact that there are no good looking men in Belarus cinched it. No lesbian could put on as convincing a show."

Before Ben had a chance to add fuel to the fire, someone said, "Hey!"

Looking up he found himself facing Seamus and the rest of the detachment. "Hey," he replied, hoping and praying that they wouldn't put two and two together.

"Hey man, what's going on? Hey Brock." Brad, the newest Marine, replied sticking out his hand.

Brock glanced over at Ben and smirked. The Marines had no clue, they never did. It was no insult to their intelligence, simply that they were insulated from the known world. No one was gay in the United States Marine Corps, at least none that were out of the closet. As such they had no "gaydar."

"Hello. How are you doing tonight?" Brock asked, politely.

"Pretty good, and yourself? Out for some decent service?" Brad replied, not noticing as Ben almost choked on his drink. Brock reached over and smacked him hard on the back.

"Are you all right?" Brock asked, turning to his date.

Ben waved him off, still hacking his drink out of his lungs.

Brock obliged him and with a smirk answered, "Something like that."

Seamus cocked his head toward the stairs. "Come on man, Gunny's hungry."

"Yes, mustn't keep Gunny waiting." Brock snickered under his breath.

"You shouldn't tease them like that," Ben muttered.

"Would you rather I tease you?" Brock demanded, leering suggestively at Ben's crotch. Ben had the decency to blush, but didn't deny it. Brock speared a piece of sushi between his chopsticks. "Maybe after dinner."

Brock grinned as he glanced over at his date. Ben's eyes were glued to him, a look of hunger flickered in his green eyes. Out of habit Brock glanced out the window to his neighbors and found himself with company. The light was on and though the curtain was partly pulled across the window it didn't hide the shadow of the person sitting in the straight-backed chair. The telescoping lens pointed at his window wasn't even hidden. The KGB were watching. Fucking wankers. I'll give them something to put in their bloody report.

"Come here," Brock purred. Ben complied, melting into Brock's arms as his mouth descended onto the other man's. His arms tightened their hold as he guided Ben over to the couch. Front row seat, Brock thought as he pushed Ben over the arm. "I'm going to make you scream tonight."

"Really?" Ben replied.

"Oh yes. That is the plan."

"So far, there's only been a lot of talk."

Brock smirked and pounced on the younger man. He threaded his fingers through the chestnut hair and latched onto Ben's throat. Ben bucked beneath him, but kept silent. A challenge then. Nibbling his way up to Ben's earlobe, he let one hand slide down Ben's neck and over to his wrist, pinning him to the couch. "Be good now," Brock whispered as he bit down on Ben's earlobe.

Brock held Ben down as Ben tried to rub their erections together. Brock's hand slid down to his collarbone and loosened the tie at Ben's throat. Sliding the tie off, he grinned before he captured both wrists and lightly tied them above Ben's head. "Stay there," he warned as he went back to nibbling Ben's throat, one hand kneading Ben's crotch as the other started unbuttoning his dress shirt. Shoving the shirt off Ben's chest, he straddled the other man and looked down at his captive lover. Ben's skin was flushed and his breathing was fast. Brock rocked his hips and let their erections rub briefly together through the intervening clothing, finally eliciting a moan out of Ben. He flicked his gaze over to the windows. I hope you're getting off on this.

He ran his hands down Ben's chest, his fingers tweaking the nipples through his undershirt.

"I don't care about that!" Ben exclaimed, arching into the touch.

"Where do you want me?" Brock asked teasingly.

"Lower!" Ben gasped.

"Somewhere like here?" Brock asked, his hands resting on the waistband of Ben's pants. Ben looked up at him, his eyes glazed with lust.

"Please," Ben begged, and Brock couldn't resist. Ben lifted his hips as Brock pulled off both pants and briefs stripping his lover bare from the waist. A thick erection bobbed and Brock couldn't wait to taste it. Shifting off the couch, he grabbed Ben's hips and pulled until his butt rested on the arm of the couch and his cock stuck up like a flagpole. With a feral grin tossed toward the window, he swallowed Ben whole. Hollowing out his cheeks, he sucked hard, his hands holding Ben's hips immobilized against couch. Ben groaned, a noise that seemed to come from his toes. His hands were still tied above his head and Brock hummed around Ben's cock at the thought.

Ben grunted and tried to fight Brock's hold, but the position gave him no leverage. "Fuck!" he exclaimed.

Letting go of Ben's cock with an audible pop, Brock licked his lips, "Excellent idea, love." Glancing over at the window he smirked. "Don't go anywhere now."

Quickly, he went to the bedroom where he grabbed a condom and a bottle of lube. Returning he stripped off his pants and prepared himself. Pouring lube over his hand he pulled Ben's hips forward to the very edge of the arm of the couch. Slowly he prepared Ben, glancing out at the window. Wanker's in for the long haul. When he'd managed three fingers he pulled out, dribbled lube over his condom-wrapped cock and slowly pushed himself into his lover.

Ben grunted as Brock's cock slid into his body. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it did allow Brock to find Ben's prostate. Using the hand slicked with oil, Brock grabbed Ben's cock and stimulated him inside and out. With a scream Ben arched and shot his load into Brock's fist.

Brock could feel his own orgasm approach and grabbing Ben's hips thrust hard into the other man until he too climaxed, Ben's name on his lips. He collapsed on top of Ben.

"I didn't get to touch," Ben pouted.

Brock smirked. "Next time, I'm all yours." With one final glare at his peeping tom he thought, I hoped you enjoyed yourself.

"I can't believe I have you to myself tonight," Annette said as she looked over the menu.

"What does that mean?" Ben demanded. He wasn't going to bother looking at the menu. It was in Russian and he was willing to let Annette translate.

"It means you've been pretty much attached at the hip with Brock," She replied. "Don't get me wrong, I like the guy a lot, but it's nice for it to be just you and I again."

"You live right below me, 'Nette. You can come up and visit any time you'd like."

"Right, and get an eyeful like last time? No thanks, that was more than I needed to see of hot man-on-man action."

Ben blushed and was saved from further commentary by the waiter.

Annette took a deep breath and rattled off her order. She turned to Ben, "What do you want?"

"You had something with broccoli in it?"

"Broccoli soup and a steak." Annette replied with a grin.

"Fine, that sounds good," he replied. He'd eaten more weird stuff in a year in Belarus than in his entire life so far. "Wait, no mushrooms."

Annette stopped in her recitation and nodded before turning back to the waiter and trying, haltingly, to explain that Ben wanted the same only without mushrooms. The waiter nodded, jabbered back at her and then left.

A few minutes later, the waiter brought over their sodas. "At least I got that part right." Annette said as she grinned up at the waiter and thanked him.

"That doesn't inspire a lot of confidence in whether my dinner is going to be edible," Ben said.

"If you would learn Russian you could do this for yourself and then you could insure your meal was to your liking," Annette said with a shrug.

"Right, because boiled tongue sounds better in Russian than in English." He paused for a moment. "You didn't order that for me, did you?"

Annette laughed, leaning back so the waiter could put her cream of broccoli soup in front of her. "No, but I should one of these days, just to see you squirm."

"I thought you just said you'd seen enough of me squirming," Ben replied between bites of the soup.

"But you're so lovely when you squirm," she replied with a laugh. "And really that's a totally different kind of squirming. I wouldn't have minded it, except Brock was there and I didn't feel as if I could enjoy it. The last thing I want him to do is pound me for lusting after you."

Ben stared at her. "You honestly think he'd be jealous of you?"

"I didn't say that," she told him as the waiter placed their meals in front of them.

There was a moment of silence and before Ben glared over at his coworker. "What did you say to them?"

"I thought I said you wanted a steak without mushrooms." Annette snickered.

"That's not what I have," Ben snapped back as he looked down at his plate full of mushrooms.

"Yes, I can see that. This is why you shouldn't try to change things on the menu. Do you want me to try and explain it again?"

"No!" Ben exclaimed quickly. "That's all right."

Annette just shook her head, "Do we need to have the conversation about indoor grown mushrooms again?"

Ben glared again. "This doesn't happen when I'm with Brock."

"Again if you knew more than 'yes,' I wouldn't have to do it for you," she snapped back.

"Sorry, it's—they're mushrooms," Ben replied, poking the plate gingerly.

"Yes, domestically grown ones," Annette said, her grin reappearing. It was an argument they'd had on and off every time Ben ended up with the fungi.

"I know that, but 80% of the fallout of Chernobyl is in Belarus. How do we know these aren't wild mushrooms? I don't want to leave here glowing in the dark."

"They don't grow in the wild here. They might even be out of a can," Annette told him as she snatched some off his plate. "And eating them every once in a while isn't going to make you glow."

"You know what I mean," Ben grumbled as he longingly eyed Annette's plate. "This place isn't safe."

Annette shook her head. "You've been listening to Douglas again. He comes up with the strangest ideas." She speared a mushroom with her fork and popped it into her mouth. "See? No glowing and I haven't died of mushroom poisoning either. You're fine."

Ben simply continued to poke at the offensive little blobs.

With a sigh, she cut the steak in half and dumped it on his plate of mushrooms.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ambassador. I thought the speech was very moving," Brock said, shaking the American ambassador's hand.

The older man smiled back at him. "Thank you. I hope you enjoy yourself, Mr. Wright."

Brock nodded as the man moved away. Inwardly he sighed, one down, many more to go. The American Independence Day celebration was the biggest diplomatic event of the year, followed closely by Her Majesty's Birthday Party. At least the QBP was indoors in air conditioning. Brock resisted to urge to tug at his collar and made his way over to the bar. At least the Americans made sure there was plenty of alcohol.

Standing off to one side, he surveyed the area. Throngs of people, dressed in suits or skirts, all trying to cozy up to the Americans. He took a swig of his beer and grimaced. It was some piss water the Americans tried to pass off as beer. It is better than nothing, he thought as he downed it.

"Hello, Brock," Annette called out as she stepped up to the bar.

"Good afternoon. Enjoying yourself?" he asked, glad to have some kind of company, however brief.

"Not really. I hate these things. We're not allowed to talk to other Americans, but I don't know anyone here. Present company excluded of course. We seriously get shafted."

Brock arched a brow at the comment. "Was it my imagination, or were there extra Marines for the flag ceremony today? I thought there were just 5 members of the detachment?"

"There are. My brother's in town on leave, so they recruited him as well. I think he enjoyed it." Annette smiled as she sipped her beer.

"Are all the Americans here?" Brock asked, grinning over at her.

Annette laughed. "For a diplomat, you're not very subtle. Ben's around, last I saw him, the Indian ambassador's wife had cornered him. You might want to save him before he gets himself into an international incident."

"I'll see what I can do. Thank you," he replied as he ventured back into the throng. He realized belatedly that he hadn't asked Annette exactly where the Indian ambassador's wife was. He nodded greetings and waved at a few of his contacts. He'd already made the rounds; the American ambassador was really the last person he had to make sure to talk to. He and Gretchen had already decided to have a round-table with the other vice consuls later in the month to discuss items such as trafficking in persons. His time, until they kicked him and the rest of his embassy out, was his.

He finally found Ben listening to a discussion between the representative from the UN and the Red Cross over refugees. With a smile, he deftly maneuvered Ben away from them.

"Thanks," Ben said with a slight smile as they wandered away. "I had no idea what they were talking about."

Brock took a quick glance around and then leered over at Ben. "You can always make it up to me." Brock grinned as his lover flushed.

"Don't do that here," Ben finally hissed.

"Why not?" Brock demanded.

"What if someone overheard you?"

"What are you more afraid of? Being overheard, or being caught?" Brock demanded. He watched his lover's face and found a faint trace of—longing in his eyes. "Where's the restroom?"

"Pardon?" Ben replied,

"I need to use the restroom. Can you show me where it is?" Brock asked.

Ben glanced at him suspiciously, before turning and heading toward the house. Glancing back at Brock, he shook his head and nodded. "Here."

Brock smiled, and glanced about. No one was in the wide hallway that led back outside. Good. Taking Ben's tie in his hand he pulled his lover into the bathroom with him.

"What--" was all Ben managed before Brock locked the door and kissed his lover.

Brock buried his hands into Ben's brown hair, as the other man melted into the searing kiss. It had been a long time since Brock had given a quick grope in a public, or in this case semi-public, restroom and he realized he wanted more. He didn't want to simply grope his lover through his dress pants.

Pressing his lips to Ben's ear, he whispered, "I'm going to suck you. I am planning on sucking your brains through your cock. Would you like that?"

Ben moaned quietly as Brock nibbled his earlobe while kneading the growing bulge between his legs. He whimpered and finally nodded when it became apparent that Brock was more than willing to make him wait.

With a feral grin, Brock kissed Ben as his hands quickly pulled the dress shirt out from Ben's slacks and undid them. Sliding his hands down, he positioned himself in front of the leaking organ before delicately drawing the tip of his tongue along the pulsing vein to the head.

Ben stifled a groan, well aware of exactly how thin the walls were in Belarusian homes. Brock reached out a finger and caught a drop of precum on his finger, before looking up at his lover and sticking it in his mouth.

"Do it already," Ben finally hissed unable to handle the suspense.

"Yes, sir." Brock replied, opening his mouth wide and taking Ben to the root. His tongue worked the shaft as his hands massaged Ben's thighs, his thumbs rubbing the crease between hip and thigh. With a look upwards, he started to hum the American national anthem. Ben's head dropped back against the wall with an audible clunk and he stuffed his fist into his mouth to keep the moans quiet.

Brock cupped and rolled Ben's balls, and as he got to the part about the "rockets red glare," Ben's hand fisted into Brock's short hair and came into his mouth. Brock dutifully swallowed it all, before releasing Ben's softening cock and sliding back up his lover's body. Ben sagged against the wall, his pupils dilated, his slacks and briefs tangled around his knees.

"How did I do?" Brock whispered in his ear.

"Ugh," was the articulate answer, before Ben looked over at Brock. With surprising speed for someone that looked as if he could fall to the floor at anytime, Ben pinned Brock to the opposite wall of the small bathroom. "Turn about's fair play," Ben murmured before unbuckling Brock's belt and sticking his hand down his pants.

Brock hurriedly pushed the confining trousers away and rested against the wall, willing to let Ben have his fun. Ben's hand roughly encircled Brock's cock, his other hand wrapped around the back of Brock's neck, holding him in place. Ben devoured Brock's mouth as his hand kept up a steady pace. It didn't take long for Brock to come as well, shooting into Ben's hand. He didn't miss Ben's grimace of distaste before he turned to the sink to rinse his hand.

After the two men straightened their respective clothing, Brock put a hand on Ben's shoulder, stopping him from leaving. "Let me leave first. Then come out after a few minutes." At Ben's nod, he quickly kissed him. "We'll have to do this again," he said with a smile.

"Brock!"

Brock pressed the mute button on the interview window and turned toward the speaker. "Yes, Aidan?"

"We just received a dip note from the MFA. I gave a copy to Gosha to officially translate. The KGB detained a British citizen."

Brock took the note from his boss and quickly scanned the letter. "Fuck," he breathed. There weren't more than ten Brits in the entire country and now one of them had been arrested on drug charges. Looking over at his interview, he hit the mute button once more and quickly told her that she would have to reschedule. Not waiting to see if she actually complied, Brock made his way back to his desk, Aidan following.

"It says he was found with cocaine on him. Do we know where he's being detained?" Brock asked before calling out, "Tanya!"

"Not yet. He was working with the UN on trafficking in persons. The head of the UN mission called me." Aidan replied sitting down across from Brock.

Brock nodded, filing that away for future reference. "Tanya, I need you to call the KGB and find out when we can see this, Mr. Jeffrey Swift. Today would be best." She nodded, and hurried back to her desk and immediately set to work.

Brock glanced at the door and then turned to Aidan. "Do we know if he actually had any drugs on him? The KGB doesn't usually detain people for drug charges."

Aidan shook his head. "I know about as much as you do, Brock"

Brock took a deep breath, "I apologize, Aidan. This has me rattled. I didn't even know he was 'in country', which bothers me. He's UN, he should know better."

"Aye, he should." Aidan nodded.

It took four phone calls and two faxes before Brock finally had his appointment with the detained Brit. He took Tanya with him to translate. Not because he needed it, but because of the image he wanted to portray. If the KGB thought he couldn't speak much Russian then they might let something slip during the interview. For he had no doubt that they would be there while he determined what happened to Mr. Swift.

Brock looked up at the building in front of him. It was an ugly puke yellow with cream-colored roman columns. It was also huge, easily taking up one of the large soviet style blocks. The prison where he thought they were holding the Brit was behind and kitty-corner to the main KGB building. He thought that was mildly convenient really.

At least Mr. Swift had already retained a barrister. Brock thought that was rather quick and again wondered exactly what this idiot was doing in Belarus. He nodded to the guard and let Tanya translate to him the exact procedure of the visit. He was going to be able to see and speak to Mr. Swift, but under no circumstances was he to ask about the charges against him.

Brock nodded that he understood and was shown into a small room. It was brightly lit, but had no windows and only one door. Already there was the stupid Brit he was to interview. He sat down across from him and glanced around. There were the typical guards and also a man in a suit standing near the door.

"Are you all right?" Brock asked, getting started.

"Yes, I'm being treated well," the man answered.

Brock looked him over, not trusting the man at his word. He was wearing the stripped suit of an inmate here in Belarus. The suit, unfortunately, covered him from wrists to ankles, prohibiting Brock from seeing if the KGB had beaten the man between when he'd been arrested and now. His sandy blond hair was spiky and his blue eyes were dulled, from pain or drugs, Brock wasn't sure. He wouldn't meet Brock's gaze, which probably meant that the KGB had already started in on him, but again he couldn't say that without evidence. "Have you contacted your barrister?"

"Yes, he's going to meet with me in the morning."

Brock nodded. "Do you want me to contact anyone for you?"

The man violently shook his head, "No! I'll be fine, but thank you."

Brock wanted to remind him that this was Belarus, not the United Kingdom. Things were more than likely not going to be fine, but it wasn't his place to tell the man that. There wasn't much he could do as things stood; it wasn't his job to get Brits out of jail, just insure that they weren't mistreated and unduly prosecuted. "Do you want us to talk to the press?"

Again the man shook his head. "No. No press."

Brock stayed for another half hour before he was shown out of the building. He let Tanya talk with the guards and officials, making another appointment in a few days to see Mr. Swift again. Pulling out his cell phone, he saw that he had a message. Reading it, he groaned. He'd completely forgotten about his dinner date with Ben. Quickly he dialed Ben's phone.

"Are you all right?" was the first thing out of Ben's mouth when he answered.

"Yes. I apologize, I got caught up at work," Brock said.

"It's all right. Do you want to meet up later, or are you not finished yet?"

Brock sighed. "It's too late for dinner and I have another hour before I'll be completely finished."

"That's all right. I wasn't thinking of dinner. You sound like you could use some excitement. Call me when you're done and I'll pick you up," Ben replied, the tone in his voice suggesting he had something planned.

Thirty minutes later Brock walked out of the British Embassy to find Ben leaning against a motorcycle with a smug grin on his face. As Ben swaggered forward, Brock couldn't help but notice the tight leather pants and especially the bulge between Ben's legs.

"Did I interrupt something?" Brock asked, when Ben stopped in front of him.

Ben simply smiled, pulled the other man in for a kiss before leading him back to the bike. "Get on."

"Don't I always?" Brock chuckled.

Ben looked over his shoulder. "Do you want to change before we go?'

Brock adjusted the helmet, "Since I don't know where we're going how can I make sure to dress properly?"

Ben shook his head. "There is no way they aren't going to think you're my pimp."

Fifteen minutes later Ben rumbled up to an old airfield that looked as if it was no longer in use. Or, Brock thought as he got off the bike, was no longer used for its original purpose. Scattered in groups were bikers, all of them dressed in racing gear and talking to each other. He turned to Ben and found him shaking hands and grinning with another young man. This one was tall and lanky with black shaggy hair and a gray-colored racing suit. He spoke quickly to Ben, who smiled and nodded.

Brock sidled over after the man left, "I thought you said you didn't speak Russian?"

Ben turned to him. "I don't. Street racing is the same in Russian as in English. I forfeited my race when I went to pick you up, so he told me I could be in the last race." He grinned over at Brock. "And Victor speaks English."

"Do you do this often?" He surveyed the group, most were young, in their early twenties and he thought Ben's bike was the only BMW.

Ben shrugged. "Depends on my social life. Lately, I've been rather preoccupied. I had Victor put me in for a scavenger race, if you want to race with me. It's not technically a speed race but I thought you'd like to come along as my finder."

"Do I have to hold on tight?" Brock smirked.

Ben rolled his eyes even as a grin spread across his lips. It didn't escape Brock that this was probably the most relaxed he'd ever seen Ben in their almost four month courtship. This was something Ben understood and could do, despite the language barrier. You didn't need Russian to have a large, rumbling machine between your legs.

"We're up," Ben said, pulling Brock out of his ruminations. He shoved the helmet on his head and threw a leg over the machine. Ben turned back and looked at him. "Ready?"

Brock nodded, his hands going around Ben's waist. He was going to enjoy this. He felt the rumble between his legs as Ben started the bike and pulled them up alongside the other bikers. Brock noticed that a young woman with curly black hair dressed in all leather was making her way through the throng, passing out little slips of paper. She grinned at Ben as she handed it to him. Ben promptly gave it to Brock to read.

"It's in Russian," Ben explained over the roar of the engine. "We need to find that spot and then find someone that will give us our next clue. First one to the finish line wins."

Brock nodded, quickly read over the note and stuffed it in his pocket as the starter let his hand drop. He wrapped his arms around Ben's waist again and plastered himself to Ben's back. He could feel the muscles in Ben's back through the leather bomber jacket he wore as they wound through the streets of Minsk.

The leather felt soft and smooth, almost the same feel as Ben's skin. He'd always loved the feel of leather under his fingers. Holding tight with one hand, he let the other slide over the front of the jacket and down to Ben's thigh. Beneath him, he could feel Ben stiffen for a moment and he waited for Ben to relax once more. Slowly he caressed the butter-soft leather stretched tight over the well-muscled thigh. His fingers grazed Ben's inner thigh, along the seam of the trousers. Gently, he reached around and cupped Ben's growing erection. He thought he heard a squeak come from his partner and Brock felt Ben stiffen completely.

"Relax," he breathed, knowing Ben wouldn't be able to hear him. He realized that his sister really would think he had some perverted type of death wish. Groping the driver of a motorcycle going about 65 miles per hour in traffic wasn't exactly his best idea. But it sure as hell was fun.

Ben blinked as the morning sun splashed across his eyes. A small sound escaped as he stretched. Turning onto his side he glanced down at his lover. The bleached blond hair was tousled with sleep. Ben reached out to try and smooth it back, only to find the soft strands resistant to his efforts. Ben's hand traced Brock's hairline to ghost lightly over the olive-colored skin. He leaned over and brushed his lips over Brock's eyelids. He'd been surprised the first time he'd seen Brock with glasses on. His natural eye color was brown not the bright blue he'd first seen.

His mouth followed his fingers as they brushed over his neck and over the muscles of his chest. Brock shifted in his sleep, arching into Ben's touch, a soft moan escaping Brock's lips. Reaching back up Ben kissed the full lips before going back to his exploration. His fingers traced the hard muscles in Brock's arms and shoulders. He wondered briefly how Brock kept in shape before letting himself be diverted to more pleasurable pursuits. He licked his way down Brock's chest, his hand already finding Brock's prominent erection. As he laved Brock's navel, his hand started a slow rhythm. Brock arched against him again and said sleepily, "tease."

Ben grinned and kissed down to Brock's crotch and then down the crease between the hip and leg. Looking up, he gently blew across the heated flesh as his free hand trailed across Brock's perineum. With one last puff of air, Ben simultaneously swallowed Brock's cock and penetrated his ass with a finger.

Brock arched up off the bed, an inarticulate groan pulled from his lips. Ben grinned around the meat in his mouth, before hollowing out his cheeks and sucking hard. His finger matched his rhythm as he bobbed up and down. His other hand kept a tight ring around Brock's cock. Brock grunted, his hands fisting in the sheets as he fought not to thrust. He quivered and finally grunted, "I'm close."

Ben's finger massaged Brock's prostate as he released Brock's cock from his mouth and began using his fist to roughly stroke it. Brock arched and spurted cum over the two of them, dislodging Ben's finger. Ben slid back up Brock's body and kissed him.

"That's the way to start a morning," Brock declared after a few moments. He leaned over and kissed Ben, "but you didn't come."

Ben shrugged, "It's all right, there's always next time."

"Like hell," Brock replied, "Just give me a few moments and I'll do something about that."

Ben smiled and nodded to the Marine on duty as he walked into work. It had been a nice morning. He and Bruck ended up having sex in the shower, which was why he was now twenty minutes late to work. Annette shouldn't mind, they didn't have anything major planned this week, just to finish cleaning out the storeroom which is why he was wearing his oldest sweater and a pair of ratty cords.

"Hey, man, the Ambassador's looking for you," Brad called out from inside his box.

Ben stopped in front of the main door to the building and walked back over to the Marine guard booth. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"The Ambassador's been looking for you for about twenty minutes. He called down to see if you'd gotten into work yet."

Ben frowned at the Marine. This wasn't Greg, the notorious Marine that thought it fun to start things at eight-thirty in the morning. This was Brad, the new guy, which really didn't help him to decide if this was truth or fiction. "What did he want to see me about?" he finally asked.

"Don't know. Just wanted to know if you'd come in yet."

Ben bit back a sigh and nodded. It was just his luck. While he and 'Nette rarely wore suits, they both at least tried to look professional in the office. Unless, like today, they were planning on getting dirty and staying out of sight while they did it. He trudged up the stairs to the top floor of the building and hoped it was simply that the Ambassador had blown up his computer. It wasn't all that likely, Ambassador Kursk was quite technically savvy, often getting into things he really shouldn't have access to. Standing outside the door, he straightened his clothes and plastered a smile on his face before entering the office.

Leslie, the ambassador's secretary, was an older woman on her retirement tour. She shook her head at him and wagged her finger. "He's been waiting for you," she told the younger man.

"Do you know what it's about?" Ben asked, quietly wondering how long it would take the man to track him down if he simply went into the server room and hid behind the server rack.

"Nope, but he's grumpy today. Of course, some of that's my fault. I brought up Spongebob again," she smiled gently at Ben before nodding toward the door. "You better get in there. The longer you make him wait the grouchier he's going to be."

"Thanks," Ben said. He took a deep breath and walked into the inner office.

Ambassador Emil Karsk was in his early fifties, with steel gray hair and sharp brown eyes. The man had done ten years in the military as a fighter pilot before joining the Department. He was dressed in a black suit and white dress shirt, a navy blue tie at his throat. He was sitting behind the dark cherry wood desk, looking over some papers. To the right of him, the television was on, a bouncing DVD emblem on the screen.

Ben looked down at his own clothes and straightened his shoulders. He hadn't done anything wrong. "Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador. You wanted to see me?"

The ambassador looked up from his desk, "Yes, Mr. Ferguson, I did. Would you please shut the door?"

Ben turned and with a final grim smile to Leslie, shut the door with a dull thud. Kursk gestured to one of the chairs opposite the desk and Ben gingerly sat down.

"I received an interesting package this morning. It arrived by courier and the message read, 'do you know what American boys are doing?'" He paused and looked intently at Ben. "Do you know what was inside?"

Ben frowned; this wasn't at all what he was expecting. An investigation was more the Security Office's purview than his and Annette's. He was about to respond when the other man continued.

"There was a pornographic DVD inside. Would you care to tell me why a member of the United States Government had a starring role in a homosexual pornographic film?" The words dropped like stones between them.

Ben felt the blood drain from his face. No, it couldn't be, he thought. He hadn't made a porno flick. Maybe, the ambassador was being literal. It didn't necessarily mean that it was him, did it? "I wouldn't know, Mr. Ambassador," he finally managed to force past his numb lips.

"No? Then can you perhaps explain this to me?" the older man replied as he hit play on the remote control.

Instantly an image of two men fucking came on the screen. After a moment, the camera tightened on the bottom man, and Ben saw his own face staring back at him. He stared at the image, the only thought that managed to get through his head was, I really look like that during sex? The camera panned out once more and he was laying on the couch, his ass hanging off the edge, while a man with bleached blond hair pounded into him. Ben blinked and he knew exactly what had happened. "Mr. Ambassador I can assure you, that I never--"

"That's not you in the video?" The older man demanded as he flicked off the DVD player.

"It is sir, but I did not make a video," Ben started again. He wondered if he'd be going home and packing his bags for an afternoon flight back to the States. He hoped the other man would at least let him fly out tomorrow. "Mr. Ambassador it was taped without my knowledge, it must have been," Ben forced out.

"Are you homosexual, Mr. Ferguson?"

Ben took a deep breath. This was it; this is what it all came down to. "With all due respect, Mr. Ambassador, I don't think that's any of your business."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Ferguson. This video was sent to me; that makes it my business."

"Mr. Ambassador, if the video had shown me in a compromising position with a woman, would you still be as upset?" Deciding he probably didn't want the answer, he quickly added, "What would you have me do, sir?"

The Ambassador frowned at Ben, his brow furrowing in concentration. There was dead silence in the office, and then the man shook his head. "What do you want to happen?"

"Sir?"

"Are you looking to be punished for this?" Kursk replied. "Did you do this thinking I would send you back to the US?"

Ben blinked, where had the man gotten that impression? "No sir. I like it here. The last thing I want is to be PNG'ed from the country."

Kursk smiled, "I can't PNG you, Ben. Only the host government can declare you personna non-grata. If I send you home is called 'loss of confidence.'"

"Oh."

"I would suggest you be much more discreet in your liaisons, Ben. Homosexuality, while no longer illegal, is still not widely accepted."

"Yes, Mr. Ambassador," Ben replied, thinking tell me something I don't know.

"I did turn over the film to the Security Office for screening before I saw it. They will be investigating to determine who made the tape."

The air left Ben's lungs in a rush. He was going to get off with just a warning. "Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Ambassador." When the Ambassador turned back to his work, Ben slid out the door.

"So?" Leslie asked, as Ben reappeared in front of her desk.

Ben felt his heart hammering and he gave the older woman a weary smile. "Not bad. Just told not to do it again."

Leslie grinned at him. "I knew you'd be all right. No one wants poor Annette to be here by herself again."

Ben nodded and trudged back down the two flights of stairs to the basement office he shared with Annette.

"There you are. Listen, the ambassador--" Annette trailed off as she looked up from the computer they shared. "Oh. You've seen him."

Ben nodded and dropped into the chair next to her, "Yes. Did you know what it was about?"

"Yeah. I was here when he got the package." There was a moment of silence before Annette added, "you know, you're really submissive during sex. Which surprises me because you're not that submissive in real life. I've seen you go three rounds with Serge when he starts demanding new computers."

Ben stared at her, before it finally sunk in. "You saw the video?!"

"Of course I did. I'm technically your supervisor. The Ambassador violated my office space and demanded to know what kind of perverted filth you were up to." Annette frowned at him.

"He didn't honestly say that did he?" Ben asked as he glared at her.

"Well, no but the sentiment was definitely there. At which point I had to ask what in the world he was talking about and he showed me the DVD. I wonder if I went to Sixth Floor they would have it there? It was hot, even if you were completely submissive." He swatted at her and she ducked, laughter glittering in her eyes. "Come on, we have a storeroom to empty out."

"What's wrong?"

Ben looked up from his plate of cheese shashlik and stared at the other man for a moment before returning to his poking. The silence hung between them.

"I was called into the Ambassador's office today."

More silence as Brock waited for Ben to continue. "He wasn't very happy; seems one of his officers had engaged in a homosexual pornography film."

"Sorry?"

Ben finally looked up at him. "He received a DVD of you and I fucking on your couch. He wanted to know if I was gay and why I had decided to star in a porn flick. I had no idea what he was talking about until he showed it to me," he paused for a moment. "It was the time on your couch, when you tied me up with my tie."

"So that's what they did with it," Brock muttered.

"What?"

Brock shrugged. "That night when we came home I noticed the KGB was watching the apartment. I decided to give him a show he wouldn't forget. I certainly didn't expect them to market it as pornography."

Ben stared at him, the cheese shashlik forgotten for the moment. "You knew they were there and deliberately had sex in front of them? And you didn't even tell me?"

"Would you have done it if I had told you?" Brock replied, meeting Ben's challenging stare with a matching one.

"That's not the point. The point is that you did it deliberately. You didn't tell me because you knew I wouldn't do it."

Brock shook his head. "But it is the point. I wanted them to get a message: that I knew damn well they were watching me, and it wasn't going to change my life any. I'm not sorry that I didn't tell you. You wouldn't have understood."

"Wouldn't have understood what? That you seem to get off on doing it in public places? That you don't seem to realize the situation you put me in?" Ben shoved the takeout food onto the coffee table. "Fuck, Brock. I told the ambassador it was filmed without my knowledge and now I found out you fucking did it on purpose!"

"Fuck yes, I did it on purpose. The KGB doesn't run my life. I run my own life. I'll decide who to fuck and when and I'll be damned if I'm going to be scared of those fucking wankers." He took a deep breath and looked over at Ben.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. As soon as he realized I didn't do on purpose, I was fine. He assumed that it was done by the surveillance in the apartment." Ben ground out.

"What are you upset about then?" Brock told him. "What's the problem?"

"This is the problem. From day one it's always been like this. I have a concern and you just brush it off. You don't understand, you don't listen and you never will."

"Then why are you still with me?" Brock demanded.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Ben said softly, the tirade draining out of him like water in a sink. "I don't know what your foreign service is like or what you had to do to get in and be accepted as yourself, but I can't do that. I'm not strong enough. If I tried, State would crush me. If you can't accept that, then maybe it's better if we stopped this now before something else happens."

Ben sat back down on the couch. He wouldn't look at Brock, too afraid to see the truth reflected in his eyes; the truth that they were simply too different to stay together; the truth that while they both had the same title, their worlds were too far apart to ever bridge successfully.

"Maybe you're right," came the equally soft whisper, "but I don't need you to be David to the US government's Goliath. I want you to be open about yourself to yourself. I can't be with someone that refuses to see who they really are." Brock crouched down in front of Ben, "you are so terrified that you might get fired for what you are that you don't see who you are. You're a man with needs and they have to be taken care of before something vital in you dies. I love you but it's not State that will crush you, Ben. You'll do that on your own."

"So where does that leave us," Ben asked quietly after the moment stretched out.

"Where you do want to be?" Brock replied.

Ben shook his head, "I don't think I can be the man you want me to be. I'm not even sure I want to be that man."

Brock heaved a sigh and then kissed Ben's forehead, "I guess you have your answer then." He picked up the rest of his own lamb shashlik and dumped it into trash.

Ben heard the door click shut and wondered if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

"So he just left?" Annette asked taking a sip from her coffee and rubbing her eyes. It was about seven on a Saturday morning when Ben pounded on her door and demanded entrance. While she made coffee, Ben graciously offered to take out her mutt, Joe so she didn't have to bundle up in her heavy winter coat without caffeine in her system.

At Ben's nod, she proclaimed, "You're an idiot."

"What? Aren't you supposed to commiserate with me?" Ben demanded, causing the mutt to whimper from his bed across the room.

"Not when you're being an idiot. And for the record, you're both idiots," Annette replied.

"He's the one that got me in trouble. He didn't even care; he liked doing it in public places."

"So? And he didn't get you in trouble. The KGB did. He simply didn't use wise judgment in not telling you so you'd be forewarned," Annette corrected.

"You're defending him? I thought you were my friend," Ben snapped.

Annette got up from the table, "Go home, we're done. I'll see you on Monday."

"You're kicking me out?" Ben asked as he was shooed to the door.

"Ben, it's seven am. You demanded that I wake up and be coherent so you could have someone to complain to about your failed relationship. I was trying to be helpful and considerate, but really you get no sympathy from me as you ran at the first sign of trouble. Am I saying that Brock was all that and a bag of chips? Hell no. The man is the cockiest man I've ever met and remember I have military in my family. But you didn't even try to work it out. You got scared and he got mad and you both ended it. So yes, you're both idiots from where I'm standing," she shoved him out the door and leaned against it.

"Thank you for taking Joe out," she said as she closed the door in his face.

Brock glared at the clock. This day didn't seem to want to ever end. He'd already done twenty interviews and he still had to visit Mr. Swift before he could consider calling it a day. It had been four weeks since Ben had broken it off with him and he was fucking frustrated. It hadn't been this bad since he was in college and he'd visited his family on holiday. They still were uncomfortable with his newfound sexuality and he'd promised not to disgrace his father. By the end of the month he was so horny he would have seriously considered jumping a woman.

He needed release and his hand wasn't what he wanted. It was Friday; Babylon would be hopping tonight. He'd trawl for men there. He'd show Ben exactly the kind of man he was looking for.

Hours and a quick nap later, Brock found himself inside Babylon. It was packed and the air conditioning, which never really worked to begin with, was hard pressed to keep up with the sheer heat pouring off the male bodies that were packed into the room.

Pushing his way to the bar, Brock ordered a russian beer and surveyed the dance floor. The techno beat preferred by the Belarusian dance clubs throbbed in his chest and he found himself drawn back to a man writhing on the floor. He was tall, easily over six feet tall, with bright blond hair and a stocky, muscular build. Brock licked his lips and moved out onto the dance floor. While the place attracted straights as well, he had a good shot of fucking this man into oblivion. Which was exactly what he wanted at the moment.

Brock smiled at the other man and received a smile back. A good first start. He didn't seem to be dancing with anyone in particular either, so he breached the other man's personal space and let a hand drape over one brawn shoulder. The blond grinned and moved even closer, moving in time with Brock's swaying hips. The blond put his hand on Brock's hip, pulling them together so he could grind their pelvises together. Sliding his free hand up the other man's arm, Brock tangled his fingers into the longish blond hair and pulled the man forward into a bruising kiss.

Brock fought for dominance and moaned into the other's mouth. This is what he'd been missing with Ben. This fight for dominance, for control. Ben had always had control of the relationship. He was always telling Brock when he could and couldn't do things. Fuck him then; he was going to prove that there was nothing wrong with a quick fuck in an alley with a total stranger. The man's hand had moved lower to knead Brock's ass and he grunted in reply. "Wanna go somewhere and fuck?" Brock whispered in russian to the other man.

The blond's eyes burned with lust and he nodded, groping Brock on the dance floor before leading him out of the club. They turned down the side street and the blond grabbed Brock, shoving him against the wall and cracking his head against the cement. His vision blurred and he wondered when the man's twin showed up. "You're a sick and perverted man," the brawny man snarled. "You should want beautiful Belarusian girls, not men. I will show you how we deal with your kind."

The blond grabbed Brock's balls, tightening his grip until Brock gasped in pain before twisting the delicate organs. Brock bit back a scream of pain and his vision darkened dangerously for a moment. He felt the hand twisting his balls release and he sobbed in a breath before a fist connected with his face. His head snapped back and he sagged against the wall before he was hit once more and fell, gasping to the ground. His breath left him in a rush as a foot connected with his midsection. Spittle ran down the side of his face as another kick connected this one aimed at his already injured genitals. He curled over his injured body and waited for the next blow to fall. Vaguely he heard footsteps move away. He took a cautious breath, wincing at the pain in his side.

Carefully, Brock managed to get his feet under him and grabbed onto the wall for support, his other arm going around his middle. Lurching back toward the street, he managed to hail a cab and without even haggling told the man his address. He just wanted to be home.

Ben stared at the screen in front of him. There it was, his way out of this hellhole that until last month had been his dream job. Everyone seemed to know he was gay and he wasn't surprised. With little more than thirty permanently assigned Americans at the Embassy it tended to remind him quite a bit of high school. He hated high school. The thing he hated most about it had been the rumors; the whispers that stopped as soon as he came into the room. The Embassy was freakishly similar. Thankfully, it was so incredibly tiny that there were no cliques. Otherwise no one could socialize at all.

Ben readily admitted that he was more paranoid than usual, but with good reason. Embassy personnel talked, there wasn't much else to do except gossip. He still wasn't positive that the damn DVD wasn't being sold in back alleys, fodder for women and gay men's fantasies. And since he didn't know, he couldn't prepare for it. He kept waiting for the day when one of the guys would ask, or the Marines would refuse him entrance to their house.

Staring back at him was a request for a volunteer computer specialist. For Baghdad. He could go; he could do this. In Baghdad he wouldn't have to worry about his sexuality, he'd have to worry about saving his skin. Even better, Secretary Powell said that if personnel wished to go, there was nothing post could do to stop them. This was it. This was his way out.

A click of the door brought his attention back to the present. 'Nette dropped into the second seat and frowned as she looked over his shoulder at the screen. "What are you looking at?"

Ben shrugged. "A request for volunteer."

"Where?"

"Baghdad." The silence smothered him as he waited for Annette's response. If he decided to go, there was nothing she could do to stop him, however, he'd rather not burn bridges behind him.

"You can't run away from your problems," 'Nette finally said, leaning back in her chair. "And Baghdad isn't a place you want to run to."

"Who said I'm running away?" Ben replied, crossing his arms across his chest.

Annette said nothing, just looked at him the same way she looked at a particularly stupid computer user. "They're not talking about you. Security can't talk about the DVD without compromising themselves and I'm certainly not saying anything."

"That just leaves the Ambassador," Ben replied.

Annette snorted. "You think he's going to be saying that one of his officers made a homoerotic porn flick--"

"I didn't--"

"--I know but still. The man never socializes with the rest of the embassy staff. He's not going to say anything. Trust me on this," Annette said gently. "So what are you really running from?"

Ben frowned. "I'm not running. I'm doing this for my career." The words came unconvincingly from his lips.

Annette quirked a smile at him. "keep repeating that to yourself and maybe you'll actually start to believe it." It was something Annette said to everyone all the time. It was probably her signature line and often came out when someone was being particularly dense. "Is this about Brock?"

Ben glared at her, letting the silence speak for itself. He didn't want to talk about Brock or about what he might be saying or doing. He sure as hell didn't want to discuss it with Annette. He'd done that enough the last few weeks. "Why does everything lately have to be about Brock?"

"Because you make everything about Brock," she shot back. "Look, you've been paranoid and freaked out ever since you two got together. Yeah, he's not perfect, but neither are you. You're so freaked that you're seriously considering taking a position in a war zone. You're gay; deal with it. I'm not saying you need to be the next Ru Paul, but not everyone on the face the planet is going to be an ass to you just because you fuck men. By all means be discreet but not to the point of hiding. Don't give the asshole bigots out there that kind of power over you. Let them think what they want to think about you. They're going to anyway and there be nothing you can do about it. You're not Obi-Wan Kenobi, you can't do mind tricks, so why stress?

"Besides," she continued, "if you think I'm going to let you leave me and get yourself killed, you've got another think coming. You're stuck with me; you know damn well, Frankfurt will come back and ask if I give my approval, which I'm not going to do. If Secretary Powell wants to come here and berate me in person, he's welcome to it. And while he's here I'll show him the abysmal state of our server room and equipment and demanded to know why we're always the red-headed step-child of Russia."

Ben laughed. The thought of Annette demanding answers from the Secretary of State was hilarious. Simply because he figured Secretary Powell would end up backing down and agreeing to anything she demanded, if only to stop her from yelling at him anymore. "Are you going to Wesley's party on Sunday?" He asked.

Annette nodded. "Yeah, I got nothing else to do and drinking Wesley's booze is significantly better than drinking by myself. Do you need a ride?"

"It'd be nice. That way I don't have to get my bike out in the cold."

Brock entered Wesley's apartment, extremely conscious of the fact that half of his face was embarrassingly blue and purple. He grabbed a Guinness out of the fridge and decided he was tired of hiding. He'd been doing little else since Friday night. The Embassy doctor, who proclaimed that he would live, had seen him on Saturday. It was the only time he'd left the apartment all weekend, until tonight. He was tired of hiding, tired of brooding about the attack and decided he needed to rejoin the world before work on Monday.

Stepping into the living room Brock realized that this was possibly the worst place to attempt to rejoin the world. There, across the room, was Ben talking with Wesley. He froze, not wanting to see his ex. Ben would rub it in his face that he was right; that Brock had been stupid to pick up a perfect stranger and did he understand now why Ben hated public displays of affection? Too late he saw Ben look over and frown at him before excusing himself and wandering over.

"What happened?" Ben asked quietly.

"Nothing," Brock mumbled ducking his head.

Ben quirked a smile and gently touched his face. "That doesn't look like nothing to me. What happened?"

Brock chuffed out a laugh. "I was beaten up outside of Babylon." His face twisted up in a sneer. "I picked up the wrong guy."

There was a moment of silence, then. "Why don't we get out of here."

Brock looked up in surprise and found a pair of concerned gray eyes. "All right."

Fifteen minutes later found them sitting on the couch in Ben's apartment. "I'm sorry," Brock said quietly.

Ben frowned at him. "For what?"

Brock looked over at him. "For not taking your warnings seriously. For being an ass and trying to make you change who you are. How about just for everything?"

Ben leaned forward and ghosted a hand over the bruise on Brock's face. "Apology accepted, but I wasn't all right, you know. You had a point about me eventually self-destructing. I tend to be more paranoid than I need to be and make assumptions about people that aren't necessarily correct." Ben let out a quiet breath. "May I kiss you now?"

"You don't have to ask," Brock answered as Ben's lips gently touched his own. As Ben pulled back Brock winced. "Ow."

Ben laughed gently. "Looks like you're in need of some tender loving care."

Brock attempted a smirk, but winced when his split lip was pulled painfully. "Are you up to the job?"

In answer Ben kissed Brock once again, his lips caressing Brock's split one, his tongue gently pressing for admittance. Brock opened his mouth with a soft moan and let Ben pull him on top.

Keeping the kissing slow and gentle, Ben let his fingers dance along Brock's back until he reached the hemline of his polo shirt. Sliding his hands underneath the fabric, he sighed into Brock's mouth as he ran his hands up and down Brock's back.

Brock's hands slid down from Ben's neck to the collar of his shirt, keeping his fingers light. Ben shifted impatiently underneath him and one thigh brushed against his bruised cock. White-hot pain flared along Brock's spine and he gasped and pulled away.

"Are you ok?" Ben asked urgently.

"My face isn't the only thing that's black and blue," Brock replied gasping against the pain.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Ben said, hesitantly.

"So much for you being up for the job," Brock mumbled.

Ben laughed. "Oh I'm up all right, but you're a different story."

Brock shrugged and had to admit that Ben was probably right. The thought of his poor abused cock springing into action made him wince. He felt his head being turned and his lips were captured in a surprisingly firm kiss. "Just wait until your better and I'll prove to you just how masterful and up for the job I am," Ben added, tugging on Brock's hand.

"Where are we going?" Brock asked, as he let himself be led.

"The bed is much more comfortable, even if we just sleep in it," Ben replied with a crooked smile.

"And if I don't want to sleep?" Brock demanded.

"It's good for just about anything we want to do in it. It's probably my most comfortable piece of furniture." Ben said as he guided Brock down onto the bed and carefully curled up next to him. He put his arms around him and sighed softly. "I missed this. I missed you."

Brock settled his head in the hollow between Ben's shoulder and torso and breathed in the distinct smell of Ben. "Me too, me too."

The End.