Sunday 29 August 1999 8:15 am
For the second time, Charlie woke up to find Rory McManus wrapped around him like a blanket. It was comfortable and warm and, like the last time, Charlie wondered what Rory would do if he woke up and found himself in this position.
This morning, however, Charlie was less worried about Rory's possible reactions - which weren't likely to be violent, after all - and more concerned with lying absolutely still and just enjoying the feel of Rory's face against his shoulder. Rory was warm and smooth and smelled sexy and sweaty and wonderful. Charlie would be quite happy to lie there all day as long as his bladder held out.
Rory stirred, and Charlie twisted his neck, trying to look into Rory's face. He brushed his lips against the domed forehead as he moved. It's not a kiss, he told himself, it's just an accidental touch. Perfectly understandable. He found that a bit more difficult to believe after he did it for the third time, of course, but he told his conscience firmly that it didn't count if Rory was asleep. Yeah, right.
He reached for his watch on the bedside table - a quarter past eight – and wondered if Rory would allow him to visit his parents for lunch. He knew his Mum would be expecting him, especially since he'd missed the last lunch before they left for Ireland . On the other hand... there'd be lots of Sunday lunches with his family after the first of September, but there'd be no more Rory, ever again, so really he ought to make the most of every second they were together for the next few days. There was a small roast in the fridge, after all, which he could cook with some potatoes and vegetables, or there was salad left over from yesterday evening, and the remainder of the ice-cream cake... Yes, he'd see what Rory wanted to do today, he'd offer to cook lunch, and with any luck it would be another fantastic day. The family could wait.
His arm tightened around Rory's shoulders and he smiled slightly as he let himself return to the daydream of what life might have been like if they'd met in a club and done the boyfriend thing. He'd admitted it to himself at last... he wanted to be Rory's boyfriend. He wanted more than just the shagging. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up with him, to laugh and cry and fight and make up with him. He wanted to plan holidays and birthdays and Christmas with him. He wanted to go to gigs with him, play for him, come home with him and shag him senseless. He wanted to be able to take him home, to meet his family - he'd have to come out to them, but it would be all right, they'd be OK with it.
And the moon's made of green cheese , he muttered, as he hauled himself back to reality. Romantic fantasy it might be, but coming out to his family was going to be hard enough in itself, without presenting them with someone like Rory for a boyfriend - Scottish, protestant and a criminal. Oh yes, that was going to go down really well with Mum and Dad. Might as well disown himself now and be done with it.
He must have tightened his arm a bit too much, because Rory snuffled a bit and woke up. Charlie immediately closed his eyes, cursing himself for his cowardice, but he really didn't want to see Rory's reaction to waking up so intimately entwined with his rent-boy.
To his surprise, Rory didn't immediately fling himself over to the other side of the bed, nor did he swear or try to wake Charlie up. Instead, he went very still for several seconds, then slowly sat up. Charlie just knew that Rory was watching him and kept his eyes closed and his body relaxed - well, all the parts of his body that he could control. The morning erection he was sporting was, he hoped, sufficiently familiar that Rory would ignore it, even if it was moving a little in reaction to Charlie's nervousness.
He barely suppressed a twitch as Rory's hand ran gently up his stomach and chest, then to his face. He felt fingertips exploring his features - his eyes, his nose, his lips. He wanted to open his mouth and take Rory's fingers in, but that would give himself away. Instead he gave a realistic imitation of someone stirring in their sleep and let his head fall to the side.
Rory let his hand trail downwards, back over his chest and abdomen, until - oh, God, what was he going to do? - he hand closed around Charlie's cock.
He couldn't help it. He gasped and opened his eyes.
"Thought that would wake you up," said Rory, with a smug expression, and started to squeeze and pull.
Charlie felt as if he were falling from a plane. Everything seemed to be spinning around him, the solid foundations of the world had disappeared and all he was left with was the tight, hot touch of Rory's hand around his prick.
He groaned, and Rory smiled down at him, his teeth looking pointed and sharp from this angle.
"You look good like that," he said, his voice soft and husky. "So open, so ready." His hand moved a little faster, and then he paused to run a finger over the glans, looking at the drop of fluid that stuck to his fingertip. He touched the finger to his tongue, tasting Charlie, and smiled that beautiful, dangerous smile again. "You don't taste so bad. Perhaps I should taste you properly, eh? You'd like that. You’d like me to go down on you, wouldn't you?"
Charlie, to his horror, found himself begging and pleading. "Yes, please, just - with your mouth - yes -" It was more than he'd ever imagined possible, he couldn't believe that Rory was offering to suck him off, it was turning him on like nothing ever before. He thrust into Rory's fist, getting close, so close...
But Rory let go, and pulled his hand away. "Not yet, lad. My turn now."
Fuck! Charlie gasped and just managed to stop himself from cursing out loud. He watched as Rory took Charlie's left hand and placed it on his own gleaming, rigid length. As the fog cleared from his brain, Charlie had to admit that it felt lovely - the flesh so hard, the skin so soft, a little moisture already at the tip - even if it wasn't quite as good as having Rory's hand around his own shaft. But he was here to please Rory - he had to remember that. Rory was what counted, and any pleasure of his own was purely a bonus.
He was both surprised and pleased, then, when he felt Rory's hand return to his cock. He looked up, but Rory's gaze was firmly fixed on Charlie's groin. Probably for the best - it would be far too embarrassing for them to look into each other's eyes. They had to move together at this angle, but it was easy to look past each other - at the wall, at the furniture, at anything – and pretend that this was something normal, something that happened every morning. Charlie wished it were true.
They moved faster and faster, their breath becoming irregular, harsh, with grunts and soft, involuntary cries as they got closer to climax.
Charlie felt it starting, gathering momentum and then pouring out of him. He shuddered, spilling over Rory's hand and leg. He wanted to slump down and relax, but he didn't have time - Rory hadn't come yet. He reached for Rory's cock and started a firm, rapid, movement that soon saw Rory arch back and shoot hard, spraying all over Charlie's chest and stomach.
Rory rolled over onto his back, his eyes still closed, and Charlie took a moment to regain his breath before going to the bathroom to clean up. He brought back a wet face flannel and wiped Rory's cock and his hand, which still held his own release. Rory murmured something that might have been a thank you, and dozed off.
Charlie took it as a good omen for the day, and started thinking about breakfast.
Tuesday 31 August
The golden evening light was fading as they went up the stairs. Charlie followed Rory into the bedroom and pulled off his T-shirt.
"So, how are you going to fuck me tonight?" he asked.
Rory paused to consider that a moment, then a slow, sly smile spread over his face. "I'm not," he answered.
Charlie was confused. Not fuck him? But ... no, surely not? Rory couldn't really want him to...
"And don't get too excited. You're not fucking me, either."
Charlie was both disappointed and relieved at that, but it still didn’t tell him what Rory had planned. "So what are we doing?"
"You are going to stand over there, by the door, and I am going to get comfortable on the bed and then I'm going to watch you wank yourself."
"What?"
"Wank, Charlie. You know, when you bring yourself off with your hand?"
"You want me to...?"
"I want to watch you do it."
And oh, that was the hottest thing Charlie had heard in ages. The tone in Rory's voice and the kinky prospect of being watched was getting him hard in his trousers. He wondered if Rory would want to fuck him afterwards, or if he'd prefer to be sucked off - but it didn't really matter. He was going to enjoy it either way.
Charlie undid his trousers, slowly, thinking of how he was going to do this. It wasn't as if he didn't know what to do. And it wouldn't even be the first time he'd done it in front of an audience. He'd done it for Richard a couple of times, and one weekend, years ago, he'd had a contest with some school mates over who could shoot highest on the brick wall around the back of the school gym. This, though, was a little different. There was always the delicious little thrill he got when Rory told him to do something - it twisted his gut and made everything more intense.
He pulled off his trainers and socks, then took off his trousers and briefs, throwing them on the bed. He leaned back against the door jamb, suppressing a shiver at the cold metal's impact on his skin. He locked eyes with Rory and put a hand on his cock.
Three slow pulls and he was hard, two more and he was really hard, the head emerging from its shroud of soft skin and gleaming with moisture. He touched the tip with his fingers and smeared the pre-come around the head, licking his lips at the sensation.
He could almost feeling Rory's gaze covering him like a blanket, making his skin tingle and his nerves buzz. He drew his hand up and down the shaft, just the way he liked it, remembering the way Rory had done it yesterday.
That had been good, touching each other like that. It had felt odd, yes, but somehow nice too. He wanted that again - wanted them to touch each other, gently, firmly, painfully tight, anything that would bring them off together. He'd do it again, anytime Rory wanted it, anytime Rory wanted him.
He brought his other hand down to cradle his balls, brushing his fingertips over the soft wrinkled skin, reaching behind to stroke the sensitive patch there. He wished it was Rory touching him there, but this was good enough, and he could see that Rory was enjoying the show. He stroked a little faster, tightening his fingers at the head of his cock and adding a little twist.
All too soon he was spurting into his hand, and he looked over at Rory, who was sitting with flushed cheeks and a glitter in his eyes that made Charlie wish he was fifteen again and ready to go as soon as he'd caught his breath. For now, he walked into the bathroom and washed his hands before returning to the bedroom and crawling onto the bed.
He gripped Rory's ankles and pulled the man down the bed, spreading his legs wide. Rory's cock was thick and hard, and he ran a slow tongue stroke from base to tip. Rory gave a groan and let his head fall back onto the pillow as Charlie licked another wet stripe up the shaft, following it with a swirl of his tongue around the head.
Charlie ran his hands up the insides of the pale thighs, slowing down as he approached the groin. He dipped one finger down to brush the perineum - he'd seen Rory's reaction when Charlie had done it to himself, and he wanted to see what Rory would do when it was his own skin that was touched. The outcome was gratifying - Rory bucked and panted, and more fluid appeared at the tip. Charlie let his finger draw small circles on the skin, gradually moving further and further back. He wasn't sure how Rory would react when he touched - ah, there - but it seemed that he'd hypnotised the man with his skill, and Rory made no protest as Charlie ran his fingertip over the puckered skin. Should he try to insert a finger? He knew how good it felt, but would Rory take it as a threat? On balance, he decided not to push it further and withdrew his finger back over the perineum.
He put his mouth to work again, licking the fresh fluid away, running the tip of his tongue in random swirls over the head, until Rory's hand pushed his head down. He took the hint, opened his mouth and swallowed as much of the cock as he could, noting the musky, bittersweet taste of precome on his tongue. He started out slowly, just moving quietly up and down, then increased his speed, adding a bit of tongue-work and moving his other hand around the base. His right hand was still moving over Rory's balls and perineum, and all too soon he felt Rory jerk and his mouth was filled with thick pungent fluid.
He swallowed, convulsively, then relaxed and withdrew, but gave the softening cock one last pull with a tight fist, smiling when Rory jerked as he crossed the divide between pleasure and pain.
Rory lay there, motionless, with his eyes closed. Sleeping already, or just taking a momentary rest? – Charlie didn't know and he was too exhausted to care. He crawled up the bed and lay down beside the supine form, tugging at his pillow until it was comfortable.
He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to waste a minute of their last night. He wanted to lie awake and watch Rory sleep, watch him breathe, watch him dream...
* * *
He woke in the early hours of the morning, when Rory spread his legs, trailing an already-slick finger between his buttocks. He sighed appreciatively, and let his knees fall out, opening himself up. Rory smiled and teased him some more before inserting two fingers, his hand reaching deep inside. Charlie couldn't suppress a shiver, and murmured "That's good." Rory answered by probing even deeper, starting a rhythmic stroking of his prostate that had Charlie squirming and panting very soon.
"Fuck me," he begged, wanting desperately to feel Rory's cock inside him, feel Rory's body draped over his own, feel Rory's strong arms around him. "Please, Rory, fuck me. I need it."
"Aye, lad, I will," answered Rory at last.
Charlie caught his breath as he watched Rory put a condom on and apply more lubricant. He almost told him to take it off, so they could shag bareback, but he couldn't risk it, not even tonight. He looked at Rory and waited for his next move, spreading his legs wide and running a hand up and down his inner thigh.
"Over you go, lad," ordered Rory.
Charlie frowned. "Can't I stay like this?"
"No. Turn over."
Charlie complied, grumbling to himself. Why didn't Rory want to look at him? This was almost certainly the last time they'd shag, and Charlie wanted to see Rory's face when he came. Rory obviously didn't feel the same way. Probably wants to imagine I'm someone else. Just a rent-boy, remember?
But when Charlie felt warm smooth hands on his skin once more, he obligingly lifted his arse, spreading his knees and putting his weight on his elbows. Rory took his time, running his hands over Charlie's legs, hips, waist and stomach. It was as if he wanted to learn Charlie, wanted to remember every contour, every curve, every plane of his body. No, whatever Rory was thinking, Charlie knew that he wasn't imagining himself to be with anyone else – he'd swear to that.
Charlie held still for as long as he could, but when Rory's hand reached around to cup his balls he couldn't help but move and groan.
"Fuck me," he begged again. "Fuck me now."
He heard a soft chuckle behind him. He felt two hands spreading his buttocks and the blunt head of Rory's cock sliding into him. He felt the familiar stretch as he was filled, revelling in it, trying to register every movement, every tiny sensation.
He heard Rory exhale as his cock was fully ensheathed, and felt him drop forward to rest on Charlie's back. They stayed like that for a few seconds, and Charlie wondered what Rory was thinking. He noted the warmth of Rory's chest against his skin, the way that his arms enclosed him, the touch of the man's cheek and lips against his neck. Then Rory straightened up, pulled back, and started a slow, sensuous movement in and out of Charlie's body, driving him delirious.
This was the slowest, most deliberate pace that he'd ever set, and it was clear that Rory wanted to prolong it as much as possible. He paused frequently, letting his hands run over Charlie's back and stomach, changing his angle, letting his cock scrape over Charlie's prostate, teasing him, taunting him, mastering him.
Charlie's fists were gripping the sheets hard, and his mouth was wide open as he gasped for air. He tried to push forward, wanting his cock to rub on the sheets, but was hauled back up to his knees. He couldn't think clearly any more. All his world had shrunk to this room, this bed, this man who was showing him just how well he could take control, and Charlie loved it. He groaned, pleading wordlessly for release, but Rory ignored him and continued to fuck him into madness.
Aeons later, when Charlie was sobbing in desperation, Rory pulled him back for the last time and started a frantic thrusting, one hand reaching around to take Charlie's cock and pump it brutally. Charlie almost screamed as he came, shooting hard into the sheets, jerking forward with each pulse. Rory came too, and they trembled and shuddered together.
Intense as it was, his climax was over all too soon, and he sank, exhausted, onto the mattress, not even caring that he was lying right on the wet patch. As conscious thought returned, he had a vague feeling that he ought to do get up, to clean them both, but he just couldn't move - his limbs were leaden and his eyes were welded shut. He felt Rory moving out of his body and dropping to the bed beside him.
His last thought before falling into sleep was that this was one of the best nights he'd ever had.
Wednesday 01 September 7:30 am
Charlie felt cold when he woke. He’d got used to waking up with Rory close beside him (if not actually draped over him), and he couldn’t feel that warmth. He stretched his hand out, but encountered only bare sheets. Opening his eyes, he looked to the right, but Rory had obviously got up some time ago. Charlie concentrated, trying to hear where he might be, but there was nothing.
He checked his watch: 7:40. Well, at least it was too early for Rory to have gone off to work and left Charlie behind.
He sat up, slowly, feeling the tingling in his arse. Last night had been... well, indescribable. He couldn't remember the last time he'd come that hard, or fallen asleep straight away, for that matter. And he wasn't sure if he'd dreamed Rory cleaning him up, but he certainly wasn't as sticky as he'd expected to be, so maybe it had been real.
He swivelled around and dropped his legs to the floor, then stretched his arms up high, feeling his muscles protest but ignoring them.
“It lives,” came a sardonic voice from the door.
Charlie jumped, then flushed. He hated being taken by surprise, and he hadn’t even heard Rory come up the stairs.
Rory was leaning against the door jamb, his face set and hard, revealing nothing. “Better hurry up, lad. I want to leave by eight.”
Fuck! “You could have woken me earlier!”
“I’m not your nanny,” was Rory’s reply. He stood there, watching, as Charlie scrambled up and walked, naked, around the bed to the en suite. Whether he enjoyed the view was impossible to tell.
Charlie emptied his bladder and then dove into the shower – no time for a shave this morning – completing his ablutions as fast as possible. Twenty minutes wasn’t much time at all, and he still had to pack his clothes. Hurriedly drying himself, he grabbed the shirt he'd worn the day before, frowning at the creases and marks, but it couldn't be helped. He nearly fell over himself trying to get his socks on and his trousers zipped at the same time, and forced himself to sit down on the bed and take things a little more slowly. The last thing he wanted was to knock himself out.
At five minutes to eight he looked at his bulging backpack and cursed. It was more than full already and he still hadn't retrieved the clothes from the laundry he'd done the day before. He'd have to ask Rory for a carrier bag. He was going to look a right wally walking home with all his worldly possessions in a couple of bags, but that couldn't be helped.
He ran down the stairs, dropping the backpack by the front door, and pushed past Rory to get to the laundry basket.
"Watch where you're going, boy" snarled Rory.
"Fuck off, I don't have time for this, he replied, pawing through the basket of clothes, picking out a shirt, then some briefs, then another shirt.
He was wrenched around by a firm grip on his shoulder and came face to face with an angry Rory, wearing his Loan Shark face. "Don't you speak to me like that."
"I'll speak how I bloody well like. The month's up and I don’t owe you a thing any more." He shook off Rory's hand and returned to the pile of clothing.
"It's not over yet, boy."
"It is as far as I'm concerned."
"Not until six o'clock tonight, it's not."
Charlie looked up at that. "What? You're not serious?"
"I am."
Charlie thought back a month, to the day of the original agreement. He couldn't remember any specific time being mentioned. In fact he could have sworn that the agreement finished on 31st August, not 1st September, which meant that he should already be free to go. "I don't believe you," he said.
He didn't even see Rory move. The next thing he knew he was pressed up against the wall, his face against the tiles, arms pulled up painfully behind him and Rory leaning in with all his weight. Fuck!
"You're mine until six tonight. Got it?" The words were growled into his ear, and, heaven help him, going straight to his cock.
He struggled, but Rory pulled his arm up higher, and the pain intensified. He was trapped, and he knew it. He managed a tiny nod and a "Yes," which came out as more of a squeak than a real word, but it wasn't easy to make any other sort of sound when he couldn't even breathe.
The pressure eased, and he felt Rory standing back. His arms were released and he straightened up, rubbing his shoulder. When he turned around, Rory had moved over to the table and was calmly finishing the last of his mug of tea. He was looking at Charlie intently, but as usual Charlie had no idea what the man was thinking.
Sod it. And Charlie hadn't even had a coffee this morning.
He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could control his temper for ten more hours. He could shield his heart for ten more hours. It was only one more day. He felt his self-control reassert itself and his heartbeat slowed. He looked at Rory and spoke in a calm, pleasant voice. "In that case, do you have a carrier bag I could use? My backpack's full."
Rory seemed mildly surprised by Charlie's abrupt change in attitude and subject, but nodded in the direction of the sink. "Aye, there's a pile in the bottom drawer over there."
"Thanks." Charlie went over and grabbed the topmost bag. Ironically, it was from Debenham's - the same one he'd used to carry the clothes that Rory had bought him. Which reminded him... He took the two button down shirts and folded them neatly, placing them on top of the washing machine. "I'll get the other shirt and the trousers cleaned and I'll drop them off at the office next week."
"What?" Rory was confused again.
"The clothes. The stuff you bought me. I'll return them once they're clean."
"Don't be so fucking daft. They're yours. Just don't tell anyone where you got them."
Charlie snorted. "Fuck, no. All I want to do is forget about this entire month and everything that happened." It wasn't true, but it sounded good, and he was rewarded by the tightening of Rory's face and the ice in his voice as he replied, "Likewise."
Well, that was that, then.
Charlie placed the shirts, socks and briefs in the bag, and walked past Rory with a muttered "Excuse me." He went through to the living room, but a brief survey showed nothing of his apart from his shoes, kicked off and dropped beside the sofa last night. He sat down and pulled them on, taking his time over the laces as looked around the room. No, nothing to leave behind... even if he wanted to.
He stood up and returned to the hall, picking up his backpack and the carrier bag. "Well, I'm ready," he said, cheerily, as if he were about to leave on holiday. "Let's go."
He could have sworn that he saw a stricken look on Rory's face, just for a split second, but then the man closed up again, his face stern and looking much older than usual.
"Aye, let's go," Rory echoed, and opened the door.
They were silent in the car on the way in to the city. Rory kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road, while Charlie picked at his fingernails. He wondered, idly, if he ought to try painting them - black, maybe, or dark blue. Not red or pink - nothing girly. Black would be stylish. Maybe he could try matching nail polish and plectrum - a fashion statement. He wondered if anyone had done that before. Probably.
All too soon they reached Rory's office, and the car snaked its way down to the car park. Charlie got out and waited for Rory to lock the car. Neither of them spoke, and Charlie followed Rory up the stairs as meekly as a choirboy.
Once in the office, Charlie threw his bags onto one of the chairs. "So what to you want me to do?"
"For now, sit down, shut up and let me work."
Charlie gritted his teeth. Rory was going to milk every last penny's-worth of humiliation from him today, he just knew it. Perhaps he shouldn't have answered him back this morning. Still, he reminded himself, it was better this way - better to end it on a sour note than risk giving himself away.
He sat down and closed his eyes. He wasn't even going to attempt the World's Most Boring Magazines, and he'd finished the book he was reading the day before. There was nothing to do but meditate, and Charlie, unfortunately, had never been particularly good at that.
Chris came in about ten minutes later, and if he was surprised to find his boss and Charlie there already he hid it well.
"Morning," Charlie greeted him. "He's in his office."
Chris replied with a nod and walked calmly into Rory's office, closing the door behind him. Charlie could just make out the low buzz of their voices, but he hadn't a hope of hearing what they were saying. He wondered if they were talking about him.
He looked at the faint cracks in the ceiling, mostly around the edges. It was obviously a good building - not too old, not too much settling. The proportions of the room weren't bad, it just needed a bit of brightening. He smiled when he remembered how frightened he'd been the first time he'd been here. That Charlie seemed to be so far away, so different from what he was now.
His reverie was interrupted by Chris, who emerged from the inner office and sat down at his computer. He didn't speak, and Charlie wasn't game to try starting up a conversation. He glanced at the clock - twenty past nine.
It was going to be a very long day.
* * *
Twelve o'clock came and went without any reappearance of Rory from his office. Charlie had given up on reading, on talking to Chris (who didn't talk back) and had even given up thinking. For the last half hour he had been stretched out on the floor, his head pillowed on his bulging backpack, trying to convince himself that the floor was a perfectly reasonable and comfortable place to sleep. Unfortunately his back didn't believe him, and every few minutes he would twist around, trying to ease the pressure on his bones.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" It was Rory, who had come out from his office and was standing there, looking at Charlie.
"Umm..." Charlie scrambled to his feet. "I was just resting."
"Not in my office, you don't. Now sit down - on a chair - and keep quiet."
Charlie complied, with an ill-grace. He was tired, and bored, and hungry, and feeling more resentful by the minute. It was nearly half past twelve and he wanted lunch. Unfortunately, with Rory in such a snit, he didn't dare ask if he could get something to eat in case he stirred up more trouble.
He told himself that it was all for the best in the long run. The worse things went today, the easier it would be to let go, and the less chance there would be that Rory would find out Charlie's secret. He had to keep telling himself that it was better this way.
He sat in silence, almost motionless, for another twenty minutes. Ken came in, carrying a briefcase and looking rather annoyed. He gave Charlie an odd look, part curiosity and part disgust, and went into the inner office, closing the door behind him. As before, Charlie could hear the low tone of voices, but no words.
Ken came out after a further ten minutes and spoke bluntly to Chris. "He says we've to take it to the bank."
Chris said nothing, but locked the computer and got up from the desk. The two big men went out into the corridor, leaving Charlie alone with Rory.
He wondered what Ken had in the briefcase. Money? Guns? Drugs? It could be anything. He was still pondering when Rory appeared at the door.
"Where's Chris?"
Charlie shrugged. "He went out with Ken. I think Ken said something about the bank."
"Oh, for Christ's sake, it's only a block away. He doesn't need his bloody hand held. Useless git."
Charlie didn't know what to say. It sounded as if Rory didn't like Ken at all. So why did he keep him around?
He was given no time to think on this new question, as Rory pulled a twenty-pound note from his pocket and held it out, saying "Go down the road and get us a couple of rolls. Ham, cheese and tomato, none of that fancy rubbish."
"OK," Charlie got up from his seat and took the money. "May I...?"
Rory nodded, brusquely. "Aye, get yourself something, too."
"What about Ken and Chris?"
"They'll fend for themselves."
* * *
It was nearly half an hour later when Charlie got back. Neither Ken nor Chris had returned, so Charlie presumed they had taken advantage of the trip to the bank to have a break for themselves.
He knocked on the inner door and waited until Rory looked up before proffering the roll and the change. Rory took the change first, dropping it into his pocket, and then reached for the roll. He gestured to the door and Charlie returned to the waiting room, and another hour or two of complete boredom.
The phone rang a couple of times, but Rory picked up the calls from his office. Charlie sat and started looking at the cracks in the ceiling, staring at the lines until his mind made them into pictures - faces, animals, maps of imaginary countries.
He was diverted from this pursuit when footsteps in the corridor heralded the return of Chris and Ken. Ken dropped the briefcase casually on the desk, before disappearing into the inner office, leaving Charlie to suppose that whatever it had held before lunch, it was probably empty now.
The door closed and he heard Rory's voice berating them for taking so long. He couldn't help smiling as he pictured them both being told off by someone half their size.
Chris came back out and sat at the computer, unperturbed and unreadable. Ken, on the other hand, was clearly annoyed, and sat down on the far side of the room, picking at his nails.
Rory sent both men away a little after five thirty, telling them he'd lock up. Chris nodded at Charlie as he left; Ken gave him a venomous glance. Charlie waited.
He didn't have to wait for long. A couple of minutes later, Rory strode over to the door and locked it, then walked back into his office, beckoning Charlie to follow. "Strip," he ordered.
Charlie stared at him. "One last fuck before I go, is it?" He managed to sound disgusted rather than eager. "You just have to get your money's worth, don't you?"
"Be thankful I wanted my money's-worth, as you call it," Rory snarled. "I could have broken your fingers instead – I've done it before, and for less money owing."
Charlie had no difficulty in believing him. He reached down for his T-shirt, resigned to the inevitable, but was stalled by the sound of the phone ringing. Rory's face hardened and he stood still for a few seconds, as if debating whether or not to answer it.
"You'd better answer it. It might be important."
Rory grimaced but turned to answer it. "McManus and Son... Aye, Da, but I'm a bit busy..." He paused, then his whole body seemed to slump as he continued, "Aye, I can spare a moment." He sat down at the desk, tucking the phone under his ear and reaching for a pen.
Charlie turned and looked out of the window. It was a little overcast, not nearly as pleasant as last Friday. Safe in the knowledge that Rory couldn't see his expression, he allowed himself a smile as he remembered being fucked against this window. That had been hot. He touched a finger to the glass, wondering if anyone had seen him, wondering if they'd been horrified or aroused.
There was the sound of someone at the door – a slight rattling of the doorknob, then a quiet jangling as a key went into the lock and turned. Rory didn't appear to have heard it, so Charlie walked through to see who it was. He was expecting an office cleaner, but it turned out to be Ken, who looked as surprised to see Charlie as Charlie was to see Ken.
There was only one reason that Ken would sneak back into the office after having been dismissed for the weekend, and Charlie realised it at once – he wanted to catch Rory in flagrante delicto. For all that Rory was a criminal and a complete tosser to boot, Charlie was absurdly glad that Ken had failed. The last thing Rory needed was another beating.
"Forget something, did you?" he asked, smiling sweetly. "Mr McManus is just on the phone. I'm sure he won't be long."
Ken scowled. He made a pretence of searching Chris's desk for something, then stalked out, his face as black as thunder. Charlie grinned.
Rory was still on the phone, talking to his father a thick burr that Charlie could barely understand. Charlie stood in the doorway for a while, but Rory didn't even acknowledge his presence. He checked his watch: five to six. He wandered back to the outer office and looked at the wall clock, watching as the hands ticked closer to six.
Finally, at one minute to six, he picked up his backpack and the carrier bag and walked quietly out of the door, taking care not to slam it behind him.