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Adrenaline Rush
by Lianne Burwell
April 2004
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As the feds took away the dismantled bomb, Carl Lyons 
breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. It wasn't the closest 
he'd ever been to death -- his rescue by Bolan near Las 
Vegas when he'd been captured by the mob and on his way to 
his execution in the desert still held that distinction -- 
but it had been pretty damned close. If the panicked 
hostages on the other side of the door had been able to 
push just a little harder, they would have forced the doors 
open before Blancanales was able to disarm the bomb 
attached to the doors.

Maybe that's why Vegas had been worse. In Vegas, he'd been 
caught out during his undercover mission, beaten, then 
tossed into a van for the long drive out of town. It had 
given him too much time to dwell on his impending death. 
This time, failure would have meant one brief flash, then 
nothing. When he went, that was the way he wanted to go; 
quick and relatively painless.

"Shit," the man next to him said. "That was way to close."

Carl turned his head and finally took a long look at the 
man. Blancanales had  left to go help Gadgets finish 
cleaning up on the roof, looking for any other booby traps. 
The cops had already taken away the hysterical hostages, 
and were collecting evidence inside the boardroom. Why, 
Carl wasn't sure. After all, all of the terrorists were 
dead, and there was no way they were going to be able to 
tie Davis directly to this, so who did they think they were 
going to be prosecuting?

Which basically left him still sitting in the hallway, back 
against the wall, with Charlie Green. The man didn't look 
like he'd expected. In an army man turned financial wizard 
and executive, the sloppy sweatpants and sweatshirt that 
did little to disguise the hard body underneath was a 
surprise. He was also younger than Carl had thought, 
hearing about the man when they were outside the building. 
He was more than a decade older than Carl, but still in the 
prime of his life.

"Nice work, Mr. Green," Carl said, not moving. For the 
moment, Carl was completely exhausted. It wouldn't last 
long, of course. He knew from past experience that in an 
hour he would be jittery and wired, completely unable to 
sleep. Only one thing would let him get any sleep that 
night, and it was the one thing he wasn't likely get 
anytime soon.

"Thanks, officer," the man replied.

Carl laughed. "Sorry, no officers here. We work for a 
living."

"Then... who are you?"

That was the one question he hadn't had to deal with yet. 
"Justice Department," he told the man, using the cover 
story that Brognola had come up for them. Considering the 
fact that Brognola worked for the Justice Department, at 
least nominally, it was a cover that would hold up to 
examination.

"Uh huh, right." The man's voice said that he didn't buy 
it, but he was willing to let it slide.

Carl's radio cracked to life. "Hey, Ironman. The bombs are 
dealt with and the cops are cleaning up what's left of the 
bad guys. That's our cue to make like the wind and blow."

Carl pressed the reply button. "Careful Pol or I might 
consider that an offer," he teased. The truth was, 
Blancanales was very definitely straight, but he'd been 
cool on finding out that his new team leader was bisexual, 
as had Gadgets. Neither of them had given in to his charms 
yet, but Carl figured it was just a matter of time.

There was the brief sound of laughter. "In your dreams, 
boy. See you back at the safe house."

"Over," Carl said, then slipped the radio back on his belt. 
That was when he remembered that he wasn't alone. Green had 
one eyebrow up, and for a moment Carl thought he was going 
to turn beet-red with embarrassment under the man's gaze. 
"Time for me to go," he said, considering the different 
routes out of the building.

The corner of the other man's mouth quirked up. "I thought 
you were supposed to blow."

Now it was Carl's turn to eye the other man. "That too."

Green pushed away from the wall. "You know, it has been a 
bitch of a day. I could use a drink."

Carl hesitated, wondering for a moment if he was reading 
too much into what the man was saying. Screw that. There 
was no way the man *wasn't* saying what he seemed to be 
saying. "Sounds about right to me. Can you recommend any 
place in particular?"

"You got a piece of paper?"

Carl had a lot of things tucked into the pockets of his 
Kevlar vest, and pen and paper were just two of them. Green 
jotted down a name and address, then handed them back to 
Carl. "I've got to go check on my people," he said.

Carl nodded. The mark of a good leader, as far as he was 
concerned. And he didn't think it was just that Charlie 
Green was ex-military; it was something that was born in a 
man -- or woman -- not trained.

He headed for the stairwell, moving slowly and deliberately 
as he headed down to the ground-level. He had to show 
identification five times to get out of the building, but 
that was fine. It meant that the cops were doing their job.

>>>~~~<<<

Carl paused in the doorway of O'Dooley's, a little 
nonplussed by what he saw.

From the name, he'd expected your basic Irish style pub, 
perhaps with a live band. Good beer, good whiskey, and 
maybe some pub-style food. What he saw...

O'Dooley's was a leather bar. A *gay* leather bar.

Well, that settled the question of whether or not he'd been 
reading Green right, Carl thought as he started moving 
again.

He didn't see Green yet, although he would bet that the man 
was going to be there. Joke or serious, he wouldn't have 
sent Carl to the bar unless he intended to be there to at 
least find out if he was going to show up.

At the bar, he ordered himself a pint of Guinness -- it may 
have been a leather bar, but from the bottles behind the 
bar, it actually was an *Irish* gay leather bar. Carl shook 
his head as he lifted his glass, still trying to wrap his 
mind around the combination.

"Hey there, daddy, you looking for some company?"

Carl glared at the twink, although he was actually a little 
amused. The kid looked like he was barely twenty; slim 
built with blond hair so pale it was almost white. A gay 
Nazi's wet dream. He was reasonably attractive, but did 
nothing for Carl. "Not your kind, kid," he said gently.

The kid looked disappointed, but moved on quickly. When 
Carl checked a minute later, the kid had found himself a 
muscleman who returned his interest to play with. Carl eyed 
the new mark for a moment, but it didn't look like the 
twink was in any danger. The bartended was also keeping an 
eye on the kid, he noted. It was none of his business, but 
he was glad to see it. The kid was closer to his son in age 
than himself, and since he rarely got to see his own kid 
these days, he found himself worrying about other people's 
kids.

"Hey there, Captain Justice."

Carl grinned over his shoulder at Green, quickly dismissing 
the kid from his mind. He had better things to think about. 
Possibilities for the night, since he and the others would 
be heading home in the morning. "Hey yourself. And how 
about you call me Earl?"

"The Duke of Earl?" Green said wryly. He obviously knew 
that the name was a fake, just like the Justice Department 
ID, but wasn't going to say anything. He was ex-military, 
according to his file, so he understood 'need to know.'

The bartender put a beer in front of Green, which answered 
Carl's question of whether the bar had been chosen for 
shock factor -- Carl had seen too much in his life to be 
easily shocked -- or whether he was a regular. Green 
reached for his wallet, but the bartended waved him off. 
"On the house, Charlie. What happened is all over the news. 
Not often one of us gets to be a hero."

"Thanks," Green said, looking a little uncomfortable with 
the accolade. At least he didn't try to share it with Carl. 
By now Green had been briefed that there were no mysterious 
men in black at the site. That was the way that the Farm 
wanted it: It was hard to be a top-secret commando team if 
everyone knew about you.

"You deserve more than just a drink," Carl said in a low 
voice, leaning close enough that they wouldn't be 
overheard. "You kept your people safe, you got that window 
open, saving us from having to take a more dangerous route 
into the building, and you kept those people from battering 
down the wired door until we got there. So drink up, army, 
you earned it."

Green drank, but he was shaking his head at the same time.  
That didn't really surprise Carl. Real heroes didn't want 
or need to be cheered for their actions. Unfortunately, the 
press, denied the true story, had already latched onto him 
as the man of the hour, making it sound like he'd single-
handedly stopped the bad guys. And considering the fact 
that their company president had been tied to the 
terrorists, his bosses were ready to fuel the media circus 
to distract people from that fact.

The man operated well under pressure, Carl thought to 
himself. He was tempted to recommend that Brognola consider 
recruiting the man, even if he was currently just a desk 
jockey. According to his jacket, he was a financial wiz, 
currently working the Eastern European market. Potentially 
very useful.

The silence was beginning to stretch. "So, sailor, come 
here often?" Carl asked, shooting a lop-sided grin at the 
other man. Green snorted into his beer, and Carl considered 
the somber mood officially broken. Another successful 
mission completed. Here was hoping that the next mission, 
'Operation Get Carl Laid,' would be just as successful.

"As often I need to," Green finally said, smiling back.

That smile transformed his face. The gray hair and 
weathered skin showed his age, but he had the body of a man 
half his age, and based on the events of the WorldFiCor 
Tower, the wits and determination to match. All in all, 
Carl liked what he saw.

The bartender brought them both fresh drinks, still 
refusing to take Green's money, and Green nodded towards 
one of the high-backed booths that ran along the opposite 
wall. The place was busy, but there were still a couple of 
booths that weren't taken. Probably not public enough for 
most of the patrons, Carl thought, looking around. The 
tables out of the floor were occupied by men doing things 
that would get them arrested anywhere else, and those that 
weren't doing were watching.

He was particularly amused by the birthday party at one 
table where a young man in a rather conservative gray suit 
was being serenaded by a group of muscular men in bondage 
gear. Most people outside of the bar would be appalled. 
Carl was delighted.

He was also hornier than a rhinoceros, looking around at 
activities that were less virtuous than simply singing. 
Hopefully Green would oblige him in that regard.

They slid into the booth, facing each other, and lapsed 
into a comfortable silence. The adrenaline rush of the last 
couple of days -- tracking the terrorists to New York, then 
taking them out -- had finally begun to wind down, and Carl 
was beginning to miss it. His ex-wife had once accused him 
of being an adrenaline junkie, and while he'd denied it at 
the time, it was true.

"So, what can you tell me?" Green asked. "How did you get 
into your line of work?"

Carl toyed with his glass for a moment, deciding just how 
much he could tell the man. Based on short exposure, he 
already liked Green a lot -- he wouldn't be with him in a 
bar otherwise -- and thought he would make a great recruit, 
but he sure as hell wasn't going to tell him everything.

Finally, he decided to stick to the very basics. "I was a 
cop. I got the attention of the right people, and got 
recruited to the team."

"The team that doesn't exist," Green said wryly.

Carl grinned into his beer. "What team?" His expression was 
pure innocence, but at least he stopped short of batting 
his eyelashes at the other man.

Green laughed. "Exactly. So, 'Earl'... what do you do when 
you aren't running around shooting bad guys?"

Carl considered replying 'what bad guys?' but decided that 
the joke had been taken far enough. And Green looked 
honestly interested "For the most part, the job is my life. 
When we aren't working, we're training. Other than that?" 
He shrugged. "I like rock climbing and target shooting. 
Martial arts. That sort of thing."

"Anything that doesn't relate to work in some way?"

Carl thought about it for a moment and realized that 
really, just about everything he did in his spare time 
*was* a form of training for his job in some way. If he 
didn't like his job so much, it would be almost depressing.

Of course, there was one exception. "Does sex count?" he 
asked with a grin.

Green nearly choked on his beer, then laughed. "Well, it 
all depends on what kind of sex," he shot back.

"Oh, I'm easy," Carl said, sparking another round of 
choking. "As long as it's fun, mutual, and no one gets 
hurt, I'm... up... for just about anything."

"Sounds promising," Green said.

Carl toed off his shoes and found Green's lap with his 
right foot. Green jumped slightly at the first touch, then 
relaxed again, spreading his legs slightly. That, and the 
very definite bulge in the man's pants, was all the 
invitation that Carl needed.

"Pull it out," he said in a low voice, almost tingling with 
anticipation.

Green hesitated for a moment, making him wonder if he'd 
moved a little too fast or if the location was too public. 
Then Green's hands disappeared from view and he heard the 
sound of a zipper being undone over the piped-in music.

This time, Carl used both feet. He wasn't wearing any 
socks, so the contact was flesh on flesh, and almost 
electrical.

Green caught his breath, then relaxed again, his eyes 
closing partway. Carl took the chance to do some measuring, 
and he liked what he found. Green wasn't overly long, but 
his girth was impressive. It was a nice fit for the man's 
physique, and Carl knew that he was going to be feeling it 
for days if he had his way.

Carl kept his eyes fixed on Green's face as he gave the man 
what was probably his first 'foot-job.' His feet weren't 
exactly petal-soft. Years of martial arts training had left 
calluses and hard ridges. But it also gave him a great deal 
of control over every part of his body, and he was using 
that control do slowly drive Green out of his mind.

And then, before they could pass the point of no return, 
Carl pulled his feet away and slipped them back into his 
shoes. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, tossing the 
last of his beer back and standing up. Green looked 
outraged, but Carl just winked and headed for the sign 
indicating the washroom.

The washroom was thankfully empty, other than some groaning 
coming from one stall that did nothing for his own state. 
It had been nearly three months since his farewell fuck 
from Mack, and he hadn't had time since then to find any 
other sexual outlets, other than his own hand. Now that he 
finally had the chance to do something about it, he wasn't 
going to turn it down. He didn't even care what Brognola or 
April Rose might say. They were his bosses, but as far as 
he was concerned, he was off the clock. Even Pol and 
Gadgets had given him their blessings on the way out the 
door, along with a handful of condoms and the silent 
promise of much teasing to come.

The washroom door swung open behind him as he relieved 
himself of the beer -- not easy with a hard on -- and he 
grinned over his shoulder at Green. He shook off, but 
before he could tuck himself back into his pants, Green 
grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the other 
bathroom stall. He could have broken the man's arm easily, 
but that would have spoiled the fun.

He was pleasantly surprised when Green kissed him hard. A 
lot of guys didn't like to kiss. Personally, Carl enjoyed 
it a lot, at least with the right guy.

And the knee between his legs, the thigh pressed against 
his groin, those were even better. Carl started rubbing 
like an alley cat, not caring if he made a mess of the 
other man's denim pants.

Green pulled away from the kiss, then bit into the side of 
his neck, right on the tendon. Carl nearly choked, trying 
not to shout. Moving blindly, he started working at Green's 
pants. Green wasn't cooperating, but Carl was very, very 
motivated.

Oh, yeah. Green was a handful. Hard and almost dripping, he 
was so ready. Carl's mouth watered, but he didn't think he 
could wait for Green to get it up a second time for the 
main event. He shoved the man away, and pulled one of the 
condoms his partners had given him out of his pocket and 
handed it to the other man. Then he turned around and 
pushed his own pants down around his ankles.

There was a hawking sound, and two fingers were pushed up 
his ass without ceremony. Carl groaned and leaned back into 
the rough caress. It wasn't gentle, but he didn't 
particularly want gentle right then. Neither did Green, it 
seemed.

After a brief prep, he heard the sound of the small packet 
being ripped open, and latex being rolled on. Then a thick 
bulk pressed against, then into him.

"Fuck!" Carl said, in spite of his determination to stay 
quiet.

"Yes," Green said back before biting again.

Gentle, it was not. As soon as he was firmly seated, Green 
started up a punishing rhythm that said as clear as 
anything before that he was no virgin to this. He worried 
at Carl's neck with his teeth, and one hand kept Carl in 
place, while the other jerked him so roughly that he might 
have wondered if Green was going to tear his dick off if he 
wasn't halfway to heaven already. He wanted to push back 
into the thrusts, but Green wasn't giving him any room to 
move. He didn't even have to worry about his knees giving 
out. All he could do was stand there and take it.

And take it, he did. In too short a length of time, Carl 
was adding to the slight stickiness on the wall of the 
cubicle, and Green froze behind him, pulsing inside of him. 
The man climaxed in almost complete silence. They just 
stood there, panting for a moment. Then Green pulled out. 
Carl winced slightly at the withdrawal. Well, he had wanted 
to feel it for days, and he was going to get his wish.

Green pulled off the condom and tossed it in the toilet and 
flushed. He started to tuck himself away, but Carl reached 
out to stop him. He nuzzled the man's neck, and nipped 
lightly, before lowering to his knees, managing to pull his 
pants up far enough to protect those knees.

Green's groin smelled of musk and cum and sweat: a heady 
combination. Carl breathed deeply, then started licking. 
Green gasped, and leaned back against the wall. He had 
started to soften, but quickly firmed up again. Carl moved 
up and down his length, using teeth and tongue and hands to 
tease the man, then slowly swallowed him down.

For the first time, Carl had found a cock too big for his 
throat, but that didn't stop him from trying. Before Mack, 
he would have been disgusted by the thought of doing this, 
but Mack had taught him a lot of things about himself. The 
fact that he could enjoy every part of sex with a man was 
just one of those things.

After round one, it took a while to bring Green off again, 
but that was fine by Carl. He enjoyed every minute of it, 
even if his jaw *was* starting to ache. He pulled away at 
the last moment, letting Green add his own mark to the 
space. Then he stood and pulled up his own pants. He zipped 
Green up first, then himself. His own jeans were a little 
stained at the knees, but they would come clean. "So, how 
about another drink?" he suggested.

Green looked a little dazed, then smiled. "I could do with 
a beer."

"Great," Carl said, opening the door. "So, all your people 
get out okay afterwards?"

>>>~~~<<<

It was nearly morning by the time Carl got back to the 
hotel room he was sharing with his two partners. He and 
Green had talked until the bar closed, then had gone back 
to Green's place for another round. His libido was 
definitely well-satisfied

But now he and his partners were expected at the airfield 
in three hours for the flight back to the Farm, so he 
wasn't expecting to get any sleep. That was fine by him. At 
that moment he felt so good that he didn't even need sleep. 
That could wait until they got home.

He opened the door as quietly as he could, but two sets of 
eyes gleamed in the light from the hallway. The bedside 
table lamp clicked on, and he was confronted from identical 
grins from Pol and Gadgets. "Looks like someone had fun," 
Gadgets said.

"I don't know," Pol replied, glancing at his old friend. 
"He looks like he got mauled. Maybe he got mugged."

"Now, who would dare take on our Ironman."

"Probably a little old lady."

"With a very sharp umbrella."

"Very funny," Carl said, taking the teasing in stride. He 
pulled off his shirt and tossed it at Pol, not caring about 
the fresh bruises and bite marks he was sporting. "Just for 
that, I'm going to use all the hot water. See you in an 
hour."

He locked the bathroom door behind himself, ignoring the 
shouts of outrage.

THE END