Chapter Text
Gotcha
by Scribe
Adam Klaus was noticing Jonathan Creek's ass. Naturally it wasn't the first time he'd seen said ass. After all, it WAS attatched to Jonathan, and the young man had been working with him for going on two years now. But before it had just been there, and now, there it was--and very nice, too.
If Adam had bothered to consider why he was suddenly aware of just how good Jonathan's bum looked in that pair of barely-too-tight workpants as he inserted himself halfway into his newest gimic box (to be used in one of Adam's future illusions), he'd have probably come up with the right answer. Adam had been without a sexual liason for going on two weeks, and the last eight or ten interactions had all been with females--more or less. It had been quite a while since he'd had a good, hearty, male-on-male bit of cuddling, and he was just in the mood to start looking for a candidate.
And there was Jonathan and his ass.
Hallelujah. Had to be Fate. "Jonathan?"
Jonathan jerked, banging his head on the top of the box. There were a few muffled sounds that weren't quite swears (Jonathan was a polite lad). "Who is it? I thought I locked the door."
"You did, but you told me about the key on the underside of the left hand flowerbox ages ago."
"Oh." The voice relaxed a little. "It's you, Adam. I told you this won't be near ready for at least another two days. What d'you want?"
"I'm dropping off that set of clothes. What do you need them for?"
"Mostly to test to see how they show up against different backgrounds. Just drop them on the sofa."
Adam did so. In the meantime Jonathan went back to doing whatever it was he was doing in the box. Whatever it was seemed to involve a good bit of wiggling. Adam didn't quite start salivating, but he wasn't far from it. "I didn't bring any underwear."
"What? Don't worry about that." There was a soft snort. "It isn't as if you're going to be performing in your pants."
"Not at the rate they're paying me, anyway. They'd have to up it considerably. Was that all you needed?"
"Yeah, thanks." Another wiggle. "Bloody screws never come out the way you put them in."
"In more ways than one."
"What was that?"
"Nothing." A pause. Wiggle. "Jonathan?"
There was a sigh. "What?"
"What type of underwear have you got on?" *BANG!* "Oo, I bet that smarts."
"Adam, what the bloody hell kind of a question is that?"
"A simple one. What part of it didn't you understand? I think I can manage it in French if that will help."
Adam was treated to the sight of the smooth flex of Jonathan's buttocks as the younger man backed out of the box. He didn't stand, but just sat and looked up at Adam with an expression composed of irritation, confusion, and surprise. His long, curly brown hair was in an even messier state than usual, and he peered suspiciously through the strands. "Say it in Swahili if you like. I'm not answering that sort of cheek."
"As you wish." Adam started for the door. "I'll just have to imagine, then." He paused and glanced back. "Though I'm warning you--I'm liable to put you in something truly trashy or kinky if I don't have the proper reference." He left.
Johathan just sat, staring after him. After a moment he got up and rummaged till he found the newspaper, then checked the date. No, it was April 20th, all right, not the first. He sat on the sofa and raked a hand through his hair, tossing aside the paper. It landed on the small, neat pile of clothing. Jonathan brushed it off, then picked up the first item--a plain white shirt. He turned it this way and that. Nothing unusual, except that it probably cost more than half his wardrobe put together. A faint scent teased his nostrils, and he held it to his nose, sniffing. It was the sandlewoodsy cologne Adam Klaus favored. *Oh, don't tell me he brought me his clothes without running them through the laundry.* He tossed aside the shirt and picked up the dark trousers, shaking them out. No wrinkles, only creases. Maybe these had been washed. He gave them the sniff test...
...and suddenly realized he had his nose pressed to the fly. And there WAS a hint of cologne. Jonathan, face flaming, dropped the trousers as if they'd bitten him.
He stood up and paced back and forth several times, disarranging his hair into a wild tangle as he ran his hands through it. Finally he stopped, expression relaxing. "Just a joke," he muttered. *Adam was just yanking my crank...* Ooo. *Need another expression for that. He was pulling my leg? Not quite as bad. He was having me on? WORSE.* Jonathan closed his eyes and said slowly. "Adam was just playing with my mind." *Yeah, that'll do.*
Of course he was forgetting that other, much more crude, term for such activities**, but he managed to avoid thinking about that.
In any case, he'd forget it. And if he didn't... Maybe he ought to warn Lucinda that Adam seemed about ready to go off the tracks again.
end part 1