In the Closet

In the Closet by Clare London

Red Rose Publishing www.redrosepublishing.com

Copyright ©2008 by Claire London First published in 2008-07-17, 2008 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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In the Closet by Clare London

CONTENTS Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four HOMEPAGE URL: www.darkpearldiva.com ****

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In the Closet by Clare London

In The Closet By Clare London ****

**** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. In the Closet by Clare London Red Rose™ Publishing Copyright© 2007 Clare London ISBN: 978-1-60435-170-5 ISBN: 1-60435-170-5 4

In the Closet by Clare London

Cover Artist: Celia Kyle Editor: Savannah Frierson All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away. Red Rose™ Publishing www.redrosepublishing.com Forestport, NY 13338 In The Closet By Clare London

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Chapter One As Doug stumbled into the room, the door swung shut swiftly behind him with a dull, heavy thud. For a few seconds, he was shocked by the utter darkness. He could feel the wall at his back and the wooden floor under his feet, but nothing else was clear. Something was damp underfoot; he could feel its tendrils licking at his ankles. A feather-light but oddly sticky object drifted past his nose, dragging across the tip and making him want to sneeze. Doug reached a hand back and pushed firmly against the closed door. It didn't budge. Fumbling down the edges, he couldn't find a handle or anything to open it from inside. He tutted; worry started to nag at him. Then there was a sudden scraping sound to the right of him, as if someone—or something—had suddenly realized he was there, heard him sigh, and turned towards him. "Wh ... what's that?" he muttered. The tone of his echo confirmed the size of the place. Small. Very small. He didn't expect any reply. But he got one all the same. "Harper? Is that you?" Doug bit his lip to hold back a gasp. "Patterson? What the hell are you doing in here?" Some of the utter darkness shifted at the corner of Doug's field of vision. Its shapeless mass might have been a bestial monstrosity, or just the shape of another, equally cramped young man. Doug's initial reaction had been to assume the 6

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first; but then, he had ongoing issues with Simon Patterson that probably had something to do with that. "Stupid question, Harper," Simon's voice snapped back. "And one I was just about to ask you. Why the hell didn't you keep the door open?" Nah, Doug thought wryly, whatever he personally thought of Simon Patterson, that was the voice of a mere man. An extremely annoyed man. He peered at the black blob, trying to distinguish Simon's features. He had to admit they were cute, arranged in a good-looking pattern; slim, straight nose and full mouth, with thick black hair that swept back off a strong forehead, exposing his bright, sharp eyes. And the good looks all seemed to come quite naturally, damn him! In fact, last time Simon had caught Doug twisting about in front of the restroom mirror to check if his new pants looked as sexy across his ass as the store assistant had promised him, Simon had looked disgusted at such a show of common vanity. Doug had never seen him wink into a mirror; or examine stray hairs up his nose; or anything normal guys did. Yet Doug knew for a fact Simon Patterson rarely had a personal hair out of place, because he often found himself staring—inexplicably—at said man. Whenever he caught Simon's unexpected gaze back on him, his breath would hitch quite painfully. But he wasn't going to waste time wondering what the hell that was all about, that was for sure, because Simon Patterson was also the most infuriating pain in the ass, wasn't he? Everything had to be perfect for him, everything by the book. Okay, so he, Doug, cut a few corners now and then, but 7

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didn't everyone? In the SupaWash Head Office (Midwest Division) where they both worked, Simon did that scornful peering thing that made teammates feel like worms trapped on a fishing hook, rattling orders out to them while he rummaged around mentally for their weaknesses and shortcomings. And he always seemed to be at Doug's elbow, waiting for him to trip up someplace or other. The guy made it a career choice. But surely this was taking that résumé a step too far? Following Doug into... The janitor's closet? Doug grunted. "I didn't have much choice in the matter, actually. It just slammed shut behind me. But how come your ass is stuck in here too?" Doug didn't have time for small talk, and he was damned sure he wasn't going to waste it on Patterson even if he did. Creeping up on him like that! Doug's skin prickled for several reasons that were obvious, and then maybe some that were less so. "An accident, that's all." Simon's voice sounded as sharp as usual. "I don't need to explain anything to you. Just open the door and get us out of here." Doug frowned. There was an odd tone to Simon's voice— the familiar sharpness and scorn was less ... sharp and scornful, if that were possible. Was the guy nervous about something? Nah, Doug thought again. Not Simon Patterson. "Sorry, no go," he answered. "I can't do that." Simon Patterson sighed. Doug's pale face was coming into focus as his eyes got used to the lack of lighting. Doug Harper—of all the people to be stuck in here with! 8

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"Don't mess about," he growled. Dammit, Harper was one of the more annoying, volatile, and argumentative members in the Midwest team, but surely he could understand a basic order when he heard one! "It was obviously your own stupid fault that you stumbled in here in the first place, but I definitely need to be out, and quickly. I have important reports to complete." He thought he saw Doug's eyes rolling up, though he might have been mistaken considering the darkness. "You're not the only guy with things to do, places to go," Doug snapped back. He sounded very uneasy and he kept kicking nervously at something around his ankles. "But I meant what I said; I can't. The door's stuck. I just tried it." Simon made a derisive noise through his nose—one many people in the office knew well from previous experience. He pushed awkwardly past, treading on Doug's left foot and catching the end of his necktie under his elbow. "Hey!" Doug protested, flattening himself against the wall to avoid any further damage. Simon leaned heavily against the door and pushed. Nothing moved for him, either. "It's just an internal door," Simon muttered. "It shouldn't be this difficult to shift. Have you jammed it or something?" "For God's sake!" spluttered Doug, sounding angry now. "Why the hell would I do that? Why the hell would I want to spend any imaginable amount of time with you, alone and mightily pissed, in an enclosed space, in the near-pitch dark, with some relative of the creature from the blue lagoon curling around my feet?" 9

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Simon's breath quickened. Harper was being insufferable, but then that was nothing new, was it? "The feeling's mutual, I can tell you," he fired back. "Be quiet; I have to think." But wasn't that the whole problem? Doug Harper was the single most significant hazard of Simon's working life. Being around Harper meant he never had enough time or peace to think sensibly. Actually, being around Harper made him angry and frustrated; and most of the time, Simon didn't know the exact reason why. Harper was one of the sharpest and brightest employees in the whole Midwest Division, and had, Simon suspected, a fine, analytical brain that'd be put to better use in Operations than Sales; but he hid the whole package behind flippancy and cynicism and constant confrontation. Simon had no time for such attention seeking. If he made a perfectly valid criticism, Doug would glare at him, his eyes full of challenge and a rich blueness that made Simon feel—most definitely against his will, you understand— that he was falling into something deep and strong, that would sweep his feet out from underneath him. He didn't dare spend any time analyzing that feeling. For now, he could feel a bucket or something digging into the back of his calf, and he could hear the other man's breathing next to his ear. It unsettled him and caused yet more feelings that he didn't want to contemplate. Simon felt his chest tighten with the tension. He was fully aware of how many e-mails were listed in his inbox that morning and how many product reviews he had to complete before the end of the week. He needed delays like the proverbial hole in the head! "It's a malfunction of the lock. I'll call Maintenance." 10

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Doug made a tutting sound again. His cell was already open, gleaming dully in his palm. "I just tried while you were doing your Hercules impression. No signal. There never has been, down here in the basement." Simon grimaced. In the light from the display, he could see a thin strand of cobweb in Doug's unruly shoulder-length curls. The man was always dressed just a little too carelessly; Simon had been known to call him a fashion mistake on legs. But there was no doubt he had a strong sense of style. He moved like an athlete, swift and determined, and he almost always had a grin on his face. He had what Simon recognized as charisma—without understanding the phenomenon itself— and an easy, tactile familiarity with people. Simon thought about the tactile tag and bit back a shudder. "This is ridiculous. I don't know what the hell Tom was thinking of when he said I'd find it down here—" He realized how indiscreet he was being, just that little bit too late, and he clamped his mouth shut. But he knew he'd already said too much. "Tom? Tom Gardner sent you down here?" Doug's tone was a mixture of amusement and frustration. Tom Gardner worked with them both, on the same floor, in the same team. "Susie Hendricks did the same to me, you know." Susie was also on the team and Tom's latest girlfriend. "She said the box of stuff I was looking for was down here and she'd come with me to get it. Funnily enough, she was right behind me, but only until I opened the door to go in..." "So was Tom." Simon had thought Doug was a moron for getting stuck in here, but this tale sounded ominously 11

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familiar. "He was in the elevator with me, and I remember him following me down the corridor. I called him over to give me a hand in case the box was too heavy for one person. Then..." He frowned. He remembered looking into the darkness of the room and then a firm, startling hand at his back. He glanced over at Doug. The remembrance of a hand touching him made him think, irrationally, of Doug. Always slapping a workmate's shoulder; always shaking hands; always running fingers through his hair ... He imagined how Doug's hand might feel on his spine, running down his back. He shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. He realized how close they were, how if it weren't for the dark, Doug would be able to see how he was blushing with embarrassment. Imagine falling for such a childish trick! "They trapped us in here. What the hell is the matter with them?" Doug shrugged, a graceful movement of his shoulders. How was he to know? "Some kind of joke? Something our colleagues cooked up in the staff canteen to while away a dull Monday morning?" Simon made another of the gruff noises that Doug had once spent a lunchtime cataloguing, much to the amusement of the rest of the table. "You think this is amusing?" Doug sighed. He stood as still as he could, listening to Simon's angry words. In these close quarters, the man's breath was hot on his cheek and smelled of dark coffee. He could imagine Simon's mouth sucking in breath, expelling it, the lips slightly moist and thickened with outrage, yet still so 12

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... Doug found he was leaning in towards the other man, and stopped himself just in time. "No way is it amusing," he said slowly, through gritted teeth. "In fact, I think we're both suffering a major sense of humor failure." He moved his foot, and something unseen toppled and fell with a clatter. He cried out in shock. Simon made an equally surprised, yelping sound. "Harper?" "What the hell was that?" gasped Doug. God, did he hate crawling things! "I told you there was something lurking in here. For God's sake, get it, kill it or something! There's bound to be rope in here, or something sharp, like a spear, like a knife—" Simon coughed, exaggeratedly. He lifted something up, something slim and tall with a head of snaky, slippery tendrils. Doug groaned. "Obviously, you can see it's the janitor's mop," Simon said, dryly. "How are your homicidal tendencies feeling now?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two Simon tried to stretch out his shoulders, one of the joints cracking loudly, and peered at his watch. "It's been an hour already," Doug complained. He sat hunched in a corner of the closet, his knees drawn up to his chest. He hugged the mop as if it were a long-lost brother, and he'd stopped combing the cobwebs out of his hair, obviously conceding a lost cause. "It's been much longer than that," Simon replied gruffly. "You have a very poor sense of time, as evidenced by your recent attendance record." He was hunched in the other corner in a similar pose. He had an old blanket folded up at the small of his back, trying to get more comfortable, and he plucked absentmindedly at an electric cable that kept wrapping itself around his knees. It uncurled itself, then sprang back, tangling itself around him with renewed vigor. Doug frowned. They were both used to the darkness now, picking out the familiar expressions on each other's face. "I know the time when I need to. This is time wasted, down time, dead time." Simon was thinking the very same thing, but it was novel to hear Doug Harper agree with him. "It's another few hours until the maintenance shift changes, so I doubt anyone will be down here before then. Of course, Gerald is likely to discover my absence before then." Doug coughed, and it wasn't just to keep the dust out of his throat. "On first-name terms are you, now?" Gerald 14

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Jarman was their Divisional Manager at SupaWash Appliances, Inc. and on the fast track to the top of the company. "Keeps your whereabouts in his diary, does he?" Simon flushed. Damned man had a way of talking that really got under his skin. "I had a meeting scheduled with him, and I'll be late for that. I'm never late, even though you always are." Doug shifted his body awkwardly. He felt unaccountably depressed, and it wasn't only from the residual cleaning fluid fumes in the tiny room. Simon's tone hadn't been malicious, just dismissive. That was what he really thought of Doug Harper; not that Doug was bright, good looking, excellent company, and made a damned good chocolate chip muffin. That he'd like to know more about Doug personally, date him, hug him, get all hot and naked with him ... Doug cleared his throat. No, all Simon thought of him was that he was always late. "I think the least you can be is civil. I'm not always late. Implies I don't care about the job." Simon grimaced. "That's the impression you give." Doug could feel anger curling around his throat, tightening it. "Damned wrong, Patterson. Maybe that's the impression you want to see. I care a hell of a lot about my job." He couldn't help wondering why he was letting Simon Patterson get to him like this. Why it mattered! Simon heard the passion in Doug's tone, and despite himself, he was impressed. Obviously, Doug wouldn't have gotten as far as he had unless he had both skill and commitment; he was currently head of Sales for the entire 15

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Midwest after all. Simon, on the other hand, had taken the alternate route of reliability and calm expertise, and was now Deputy Manager of the Operations Division. But, if he were honest, he knew there were other attitudes to life and work that he didn't always understand. Doug Harper was often like an alien to him; his vibrant voice jarred with Simon's quiet thoughts; his laughter interrupted Simon's dedicated work; his lithe body invaded Simon's personal space, time and again. And yet he found himself watching out for Doug every time he was in the office. It was astonishing. Simon discreetly loosened the top button of his jacket. If the man cared so much about his professionalism, why did he act completely in the opposite manner? "You're careless, Harper. Your behavior in the office is inappropriate; you're too informal. And yes, you are always late. Everyone knows it." "Everyone?" Doug scowled. "That's all you know, Patterson." Simon peered at him. "What do you mean? Only last week, you stumbled in halfway through that presentation I was giving on the relative merits of the hot and cold cycles in the SupaWash2000 in the context of ecologically sound water usage and future recycling strategies. You disturbed everyone." Doug chewed on his lip and was silent. Simon peered more closely. "You're smiling. What's the joke? That kind of inattention is damned rude, and it really—" "Pisses you off?" Doug smirked. 16

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There was a tense, shocked silence. "You do it deliberately, don't you?" Simon gasped, his eyes narrowing. Doug shrugged, but he was still smirking. "Had to sit in the lobby for an hour and a half to make sure I timed it right." "Why?" Simon could hear his voice climbing much higher than usual. "Why the hell do you do that to me?" Doug's eyebrows rose. Things seemed to be getting out of hand, and there was a strange churning feel in his gut. "Because I can. Because you rise to it, every time. Because you're such a tight-ass who looks down his nose at me and thinks I'm such a loser—" "I do not!" snapped Simon. "That's crap! I treat you as befits the way you behave, the same way I do all the other team members—" "What about that look you always give me?" interrupted Doug. The walls of the small closet suddenly seemed much closer; his temperature seemed much higher. "Just especially for me? It's contempt, Patterson; I know that. You try to catch me out, and you take pleasure in finding me just a fraction out of place. You sneer, and you scorn, and you peer at me as if I were lowest pond scum." Simon's mouth was wide open. Doug was enjoying wallowing in a sense of aggrievement, but it did cross his mind how ridiculous Simon looked Then he stared at the other man more carefully. Simon actually seemed rather ... shocked. "I don't ... peer," said Simon. His voice was hoarse. "Do I?" 17

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Doug frowned, puzzled. "Yeah. Right down that perfectly straight nose of yours. Like I stink of moldy socks." He felt uneasy. This didn't feel like one of their usual fights. "Shit," said Simon. Doug had been huddling up against the wall as far away as possible, like Simon was infected with plague. But it was so unlike Simon to sound worried, and the tone was so abject that Doug found himself shifting an inch or so towards him. "Look..." he began, but wasn't too sure what to say next. "It's not contempt. You're wrong." Simon sounded like he was gargling with marbles in the back of his throat. "Look, I have to explain something to you, but you can't tell anyone else." "What?" Doug knew it was dark in there, but he didn't remember signing up for the whole Twilight Zone thing. "Tell who what?" Simon gave a quiet groan. "It's my eyesight, you see. I need glasses really, but I didn't want ... well, I haven't started wearing them at work yet." "You...?" Doug gaped. "Wearing...?" Simon shifted his legs clumsily, rattling a couple of plastic containers of detergent. "Harper, just for once, keep your abuse to yourself." He made a sound that was definitely a groan. "It's a rather ridiculous personal vanity of mine. Anyway, I don't always see very clearly, especially when I'm tired. I have to look very carefully." "Peer," snapped Doug.

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Simon nodded. "Yes. Obviously I peer. I don't always see what your expression is until I'm close up. Don't always see whether it's welcoming, or—" "Not," Doug finished helpfully. He sighed. "That explains a lot." There was another tense, shocked silence, though a little more tentative than the last one. "Guess I should apologize or something," said Doug. Simon nodded, then shook his head, then grunted. "Me too." Doug grunted in reply. Simon looked flushed; Doug assumed he did too. "Of course, that doesn't excuse your childish behavior," Simon muttered. "Nor your stupid vanity," Doug grumbled. They were silent for another moment, a little sulkily this time. "So what shall we do now?" Simon asked, breaking the silence. "Maybe I could try hammering on the door again," said Doug. His tone was hesitant, almost conciliatory. "The other guys will have to come and let us out." Simon coughed self-consciously. "It won't do any good. You've tried it plenty already. They had something planned and we'll just have to wait until they inform us what that was." Doug stretched out a leg, sucking in a breath. "Seems pretty odd behavior to me. If they had some problem with me, they could have just come and told me." 19

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"Me too," Simon agreed. Then he caught the cynical look in Doug's eye and smiled ruefully. "Well, I'd like to think that was the case. I don't know why they lured us both down here, out of the way." Doug shrugged. "Maybe they're up to something," he speculated. "Maybe planning some sabotage of Jarman's office." His smile was creeping back. "Or some new, unofficial performance test of the SupaWash2000 involving a couple of pockets full of loose change; you know, that stuff that always gets washed inside your pants and ends up stuck in the drum, causing hideous shrieking like some kind of skewered wild animal every time it turns..." Simon watched the other man's eyes sparkle with mischief. They were very blue, even in the semi-darkness. "And you think they'd leave us out of that?" Doug pouted. "Hmm. That's true. Maybe they were worried you'd report them for such a mild prank." Simon frowned back. Was Doug implying he, Simon, didn't have a sense of humor? "Maybe they thought you'd get overexcited and forget to take the pants off first, let alone take out the loose change." Doug started to protest, then stopped and shrugged like it wasn't worth the effort. Simon couldn't help but remember the pranks the team had gotten up to in the past—including him, at least in the early days—and it was rather amusing. He started to smile. Doug was watching him. He was starting to smile too. "So maybe we'll just thrash them within an inch of their lives when we get out, right?" 20

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Simon nodded back. "Maybe that's the best suggestion you've had in a long time." They looked across at each other and, rather surprisingly, their grins were as wide as each other's. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three Doug yawned and stretched out as best he could. His thigh was going into spasms and his neck had a crick in it. His hip knocked against Simon's; during the last hour, they'd shifted around to sit together against the wall facing the door. He blew out his breath, watching a puff of dust catch in the air. "You want another round of I-Spy?" Simon grunted. Doug knew by now that meant, "No, thanks." Well, that was what he assumed. When they'd first been in here, it had meant hostilities were engaged. An hour or so after that, it sounded like, "Maybe there's more to you than I previously thought." By now, with both of them bored stiff and with various, awkward muscular cramps, Doug personally wished it meant, "I treated you like shit, Harper, but I'm really gonna grovel now to make it up to you." I can dream, he thought morosely. He wriggled up against Simon again. Might as well, right? He'd never been this close to Simon for such a long time without either wanting to swing at Simon, or wanting to duck from Simon swinging at him. It was good, Doug realized. It felt oddly ... right. He knew things were getting a bit warm in his pants and kind of swelling too. He frowned at himself and tried to concentrate on cooling down. Then Simon's shoulder brushed against his again, and Doug started worrying about whether the stress was making him stink of sweat; whether he had dirt all over his face; whether the cobwebs in his hair could be explained away as cute or just plain crappy... 22

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All a load of nonsense, he knew. He shouldn't be worrying about how he looked. He was pretty sure Simon wasn't bothered. He sighed deeply. Yeah, I can dream. Simon felt the pressure of Doug's body against his, but he neither protested nor moved away. He had to admit that the thought of a 79th round of I-Spy didn't fill him with joy, despite the eleven different brands of polish they'd found so far in the distinctly limited scope of the closet; but in a strange, unexpected way, he was enjoying just sitting here with Doug ... on their own ... feeling the other man wriggle against him, and especially the times when Doug gripped his shoulder as he moved in the confined space trying to get more comfortable. "Rock, paper, scissors?" he suggested a little tentatively. Doug frowned. "Nah. We've done hundreds of 'em. My fingers are going numb from it." Simon shrugged. "Your problem for going 'rock' every time." It was a ridiculous game, but he'd kept it up purely for the increasing pleasure he felt at touching Doug's hand. Good God, he thought, unnerved by the strength of his feelings. Maybe one could go mad from such a confinement, like a relentless dripping-water torture. He certainly felt less than stable at the moment... "Help!" Doug suddenly shouted, half in Simon's ear. The only thing that stopped Simon from leaping into the air with shock was the fact Doug had been doing the same thing every ten minutes for quite some time now. However, the 23

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volume and enthusiasm had decreased in proportion to the hours that had passed. Simon shook his head. "Pathetic. You know no one can hear us. Shouting's not going to do any good except wear you out." He assumed Doug was scooting closer now to benefit from another person's heat. That was the only reason, of course. Doug shrugged, sending another shiver through Simon's body. "If you'd remembered your damned keys, we could have opened the lock from inside." Simon frowned at him, though even his enthusiasm for that was waning by now. He was pretty sure Doug was jealous of Simon's position as Keyholder for the building. Maybe. "That's purely for security overnight. You know it's against company policy to hold them personally during working hours." He raised an eyebrow. "Despite any potential attacks from psychotic mops." Doug made a snorting sound that brushed Simon's ear. Simon smiled slightly and turned his head away. He'd been examining the cobwebs entangled in Doug's longer-thanregulations-allowed hair. Or maybe just the hair itself. Both were cute. He shuddered, hardly believing he'd thought such a word. Harper's vocabulary was obviously contagious. It had to be the tradeoff for the consolation of leaning up against Doug's broad shoulders. He stared over at the door and frowned at that instead. "HELP!" he shouted with twice the volume of Doug's last call. Doug started to laugh. "Okay, so now who's pathetic?" 24

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Simon scowled, about to protest, and then he paused. "I know," Doug said quickly. ". am. You don't have to say it." "Huh?" Simon hadn't been going to say anything of the sort. What was going on now? Doug leaned his head back against the wall, dislodging a nervous spider. Funny, he thought, how this situation seemed to spark off the mood for soul searching. "Just thinking about something Tom said. Last time I mouthed off in the office about another one of your damned seminars, probably that one about watching where the hell you put the waste pipe so you don't end up wading through the kitchen with a canoe under your arm..." "Installation Techniques for the Homeowner: Equipment Health and Safety Guidelines," muttered Simon. "Yeah. Like I said," Doug grunted. "Jarman shot a death glare at me every time I attempted to contribute some of my own, valuable experience to the group discussions—" He ignored Simon's cough, and continued. "But Tom just looked ... intrigued. He caught up with me afterwards, asked me why the hell I played up like that every time—and why I only did it in your sessions." "We already discussed this.... "Simon began, sounding worried. "No, we didn't, not like this." Doug shook his head. "Tom was ... grinning. Said he didn't need an answer; he'd just seen for himself exactly what Susie had told him months ago. That my bitching and disruption was just the other side of the 25

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frustration coin. That I needed to look at my behavior and be honest with myself about what kind of attention I was really seeking. Said if I'd just give it up and admit what I was really after, it'd open up a whole new world for me, and take some of the pressure off them, having to live with the melodrama of this tedious, ongoing feud of ours." "Feud...?" Simon was startled. "That's what Susie called it when she spoke to me." It was Doug's turn to go, "Huh?" Simon frowned. "She had the nerve to suggest that my behavior was less than professional where you were concerned. That I was perpetuating a senseless, wearisome feud. That I actually sought you out for censure—chased after confrontations with you just to keep it going. Then she smirked—" "Yeah," grunted Doug. He could imagine that. "She smirked and said that when I caught up with you, maybe I ought to admit that what I actually wanted to get my hands around wasn't your throat, but—" There was a sudden, pregnant pause, then Doug's turn to cough. "Well," Simon continued hurriedly, "she said it was time I gave them all a rest from the scowls and the sarcasm. That we both should. In fact, she said that what we needed was to be stuck together—alone—for as long as it took for us to work out our differences in a mature, constructive, and adult way." "She said that?" Doug sounded doubtful. Susie didn't tend to mince words like that, or, for that matter, overuse adjectives. 26

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Simon's face looked darker, as if he were blushing. Doug suspected that he'd been paraphrasing, and that Susie's words had been far more insulting, that she'd made a far more coarse suggestion than a mere discussion between them.... Doug sighed again. "So ... obviously that's their motive for trapping us in here." Simon grunted. "Nonsense. As if we don't already know how to behave in a mature, constructive, and adult way. As if we have any need to be forced together." "Yeah." Doug's throat felt tight. Goose bumps rose along the arm that he'd pressed against Simon's. "Bizarre behavior, even by my standards." There was another silence. "We must try to get out of here," Simon said, sounding panicked. Doug nodded, but his thoughts were distracted. "Take this up with the guys. Exactly. Tell 'em we're perfectly capable of organizing our own lives. Tell 'em to butt out. Right?" He felt panic too, and he didn't like it one bit. What was worse, he didn't know if it came from the thought of not being able to get out ... or from knowing eventually he would. Simon didn't trust himself to answer. Funny, he thought, how this situation seemed to spark off the mood for soulsearching. Doug was looking around at the various household items that were stored in the closet and sighing. "There's got to be something we could use as a tool to get out." He picked up a multi-pack of toilet tissue, then dropped it with resignation. 27

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"We've looked," Simon reminded him. Not that a search of this tiny space had taken very long. "Nothing sharper than a broom handle; nothing stronger than eighteen inches of electrical cable. No point frustrating ourselves even further." Pity, he thought. They had just about enough space to turn around in here, and searching the contents had been an awkward exercise with them bumping off each other's body and hands groping on each other more often than not. Yes, Simon mused; he wouldn't have minded repeating that experience. More than once, actually. He sighed as well. Doug sniffed. "Anyway, what were you looking for down here in the first place, important enough that you let yourself get trapped here?" Simon felt the heat of a blush on his cheeks again. "Nothing much." Doug snorted a laugh. "Jeez, Patterson, nothing you do is ever nothing much. A reason for everything, Mr. Purpose. Tell me." Simon took a deep breath. He felt like he was stepping off a narrow ledge into an unidentified and nerve-wracking place. It wasn't something he had ever experienced—but maybe it had to be done ... "Actually, it was for recycled spare parts. I heard you had some complaints from customers about the new 2000 model, that the switches weren't robust enough; but Operations wasn't particularly interested in your feedback. I thought some of the older parts might help you make your point more forcefully, might help you show Operations that some of the new specifications were actually causing deterioration in service levels." Doug was staring at 28

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him; he could feel it. Dammit, he could see it, out of the corner of his eye. "Tom said a box of parts from the SupaWash1900 series was stored down here. What's the matter with that?" "Nothing much," echoed Doug, sounding astonished. "I mean—that'd be great. Very useful. I just didn't think you'd be bothered with my problems, Operations being your area and all; and never having had much respect for Sales, or maybe just me..." Simon dropped his eyes, pretending to peer with concentration at a half-opened box of air fresheners in the shape of Jupiter and assorted moons. "Well, you've been doing some good promotional work on the 2000. And it's for the benefit of the company overall, you know; we're very proud of its performance to date." Then, when Doug didn't stop staring, he turned his head back around and glared. "So what about you? What were you down here for?" "Um..." Doug realized he was blushing also. Good God! "Guess that's fair. I got fooled too, right?" "Right." Doug took his courage in his hands. "Well, I was looking for one of those old manuals—the Installation and Operation ones. Some of these current complaints are coming up because my guys don't cover everything they should in their pitch to the customer. The new checklists they're using are pretty ... ah ... sketchy. I heard you were working on some product-development issues, but I'm not so sure all of them are necessary, depending on whether my guys are doing their 29

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job properly. Anyway, I had a feeling I'd seen an old copy somewhere, and Susie said a box of them was probably stored down here." It was Simon's turn to stare. "Old Operations manuals?" Doug shrugged. It was his turn to drop his gaze. "Yeah, I know, the ones you mentioned in last month's interdepartmental meeting, not that anyone was listening. The ones I carelessly called the tablets of Moses, and insisted their relevance went out with the Ark's weekly trash. But I thought again; and like you said, obviously it's for the good of the company and everything. Didn't want you Operations geeks wasting a load of time on developing things we don't need. You do pretty good work already on the things we do." He bit his lip. "Whatever." He was startled when Simon put a hand on his arm. "You were listening, though." Doug rolled his eyes and coughed. "Harper, this is ridiculous," Simon said quite sharply. Doug couldn't stop staring at the hand on his arm. He waited for Simon to extend some kind of poisoned fingernails and stab him, but it didn't happen. He nodded cautiously. "Yeah, I know it's ridiculous. You couldn't fit a box of matches in here, let alone an archive box of manuals. Susie is going to suffer the Wrath of Harper when I get out of here—" "No," Simon interrupted. "I mean this thing with us. We've been bickering and sneering at each other for months now, but that all seems to have been based on some misunderstandings." 30

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Doug nodded again slowly. There was a lump of anticipation in his throat. "Plenty, I'd say." He felt a little dizzy. "I've been thinking you're the class fool and obstructive to the efficiency of the company.... "Simon said. Doug coughed. "Yeah. And I've sort of judged you by the peering, sneering thing. But now I find you were willing to help me out with the marketing evaluation—" "And you me, with the product development," Simon finished. His voice was much gentler than before. Doug looked into Simon's dark, earnest eyes and sighed. His gut churned. That gentle half-smile of Simon's was really cute. Really, seriously, dangerously cute. Didn't they say, after all, that honesty was the best policy? "You're a damned good manager, Patterson. I've always had respect for you and your organizational skills and your super-efficiency—probably a bit jealous, to be honest. Hell, I can't actually remember how all this bitching started!" Simon nodded because, for heaven's sake, he couldn't remember, either! He felt a great sense of liberation. "I respect you, too, Harper. I admire your confidence and charisma in the field. I've just always worried that you're letting yourself down with the..." he paused, then continued, "with your volatility." "The fooling around, you mean?" Doug offered brightly. Simon smiled. "Yes. You're always so ... uninhibited in the things you say and do. So bold, whereas I think sometimes I have trouble expressing how I feel. What I really think of a person." He felt a bit hot under his collar, and it wasn't 31

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because a roll of bubble wrap was pressed against the back of his neck. He shifted his legs, suddenly needing to ease some lower-body pressure. "Shall we give it a rest?" Doug asked quietly. "The fooling around? The arguing? The feud?" Simon felt his heart skip with strange excitement. "That suits me. I just never really had the chance to discuss this sensibly with you before. I suppose I've always assumed that I'm not anything like you personality-wise; that we'd have little common ground outside of work matters. That you'd have no interest in anything like ... anyone like..." He paused, suddenly worried about where this conversation was going. His mouth seemed to have been hijacked by other, more stimulating parts of his body. Doug's soft words were both sensible and sensitive, and really rather ... cute. There was that word again. Doug shifted to avoid a stray toilet brush digging into his thigh, and the movement pushed him even closer to Simon. "Hell, I know how that is!" he said, not stopping to think where he was going with this. "You're so damned good at things, and never seem rattled, and cool as shit; well, not that shit is cold, except after a few hours, if you know what I mean.... "He drew a breath, wondering why his whole body felt flushed. "There I go, babbling on. I do that when I'm nervous, one of my many talents; like being contrary for the hell of it; picking fault with things that I really like; picking fights with people that I really like..." His voice trailed off. They stared at each other, eyes bright in the darkness. 32

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"Excuse the presumption..." Simon began, slowly, hesitantly. "I mean, you may still be being contrary, for all I know..." "No," said Doug quickly. "No way am I. Not after all this." Simon looked shaken, but the glint in his eyes could have been described as ... hungry. Cool, sexy, and definitely hungry. And not for his missed lunch. Nah, thought Doug, the excitement suddenly spiking in his belly. He wouldn't be. Interested. In me. Whatever. Would he? Then Simon pushed the bubble wrap away from him with rather more force than was needed, and Doug kicked the toilet brush into a corner as if it had personally offended him and most of his antecedents. They leant in even further against each other. And kissed. And again. And a few more times. There was silence in the closet apart from a soft, wet, kissing soundtrack. Simon slid a hand around the back of Doug's neck to get better purchase. Doug knelt up, resting on his heels, and tipped his head to fit against Simon's shoulder. They broke for a second, panting, their eyes like glittering fireflies in the dim light. Neither released his grip. They grinned. "If that's being contrary," Simon sighed, "you're welcome in any seminar of mine." "If that's peering," Doug whispered, "short-sightedness works for me." They kissed again. The room was getting a bit too hot. They started wriggling to get more comfortable. 33

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"All this time we've wasted," growled Simon. "Fighting. Annoying each other. Undermining each other." Doug's shirt had eased out of the pants' waistband. Simon slid his hand up underneath it, stroking the ripples of muscle under his fingers. "We could have been doing this instead." Doug sucked in a breath and nodded. His heart was beating very, very fast. He slid his hand slowly down from Simon's waist and cupped his right buttock. He sighed happily. "We could cut any more crap and dispense with the courting, then, couldn't we? I mean, since we know all this about each other already..." He paused. Had he gone too far? Too fast? But then Simon nipped at his lower lip and Simon's tongue thrust into his mouth; Simon seemed very keen to go just as fast. "Fuck," sighed Doug, totally happily. "Yes," hissed Simon. He didn't wait for Doug's startled response. "Please," he sighed into Doug's open mouth. They laughed together. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four Simon whimpered aloud, unable to keep his pleasure quiet any longer. "Doug..." "Dammit ... wait," Doug growled. Simon was pressed against Doug's back, his arms clasped around Doug's waist and holding him tightly. He paused, panting into Doug's neck, his body shivering as he spat out a couple of Doug's stray hairs that were stuck in his mouth. "Problem? Do you want me to stop—?" "Fuck, no!" Doug was still growling, but there was laughter in his voice. "It's just that damned mop again." He was standing facing the far wall, leaning his weight forwards and supporting himself on his outstretched hands. His legs were spread apart. The mop handle was wedged against his left thigh, perilously close to his family jewels. Every time he bent his legs and pushed out his ass, it stabbed him. He lifted his left foot and kicked it viciously away. Simon groaned at the sharp movement. Doug's hips jolted against his own, they were that close. It made Doug's muscles clench, too. All of them. Simon wasn't sure how much more of that he could bear. "Okay, now," panted Doug. "Hang on..." He moved his left hand up to grip the small key cabinet that was fixed at eye level. With his right hand, he braced himself more steadily against the wall. "I'm balanced. Go on." Simon drew a deep breath, but his heartbeat didn't slow in the slightest. His fingers were digging into Doug's flesh hard 35

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enough to bruise. His knee nudged forward, widening the spread of Doug's legs. He could feel the sweat on Doug's spine trickling down his own torso as he settled back down on to Doug's back, skin against skin. Their clothes were lying in a crumpled heap on top of the boxes of air fresheners, and next to a recently opened industrial-sized pot of Vaseline. They were both naked, but they definitely weren't feeling the cold. Simon sighed, bent his legs too, and pushed his cock back up into Doug's ass. He'd lost a little ground when Doug attacked the mop. Doug grunted and his head fell back. "God. That's ... so good." He was having trouble finding enough breath for speech. Simon drew back again, his belly peeling away from Doug's lower back with a soft, sucking sound, then he plunged back in. His foot knocked at a bucket and set its handle rattling. He tightened his grip on Doug's waist and his teeth grazed against Doug's bare shoulder. "Could ... do with some more space to maneuver back here..." he hissed. Doug grunted again. He released the hand on the wall to grasp his swollen cock, dislodging a bundle of cloths hanging from a rusty hook. They flapped over his hand, tickling his erection, then tumbled on down to the floor. He arched back against Simon's torso, clinging even more closely to him as Simon thrust. "No can do. You think this is comfortable for me?" Simon chuckled softly and thrust again. 36

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Doug jerked and gasped. "Yeah, sure, okay, compromises ... have to be made all around." He started to pump himself vigorously. Simon could feel himself swelling inside Doug, and the pulse in his arm throbbing against Doug's side. Climax was close for both of them—he knew the signs by now. After all, this'd be the second time around. So far. Doug heard the hammering in his head and thought it was the tension. He swallowed hard, confused. He was sure that the only pressure headaches he'd had in the past came from hangovers, not claustrophobic closets. He wriggled his hips again—which, incidentally, helped ease the recurring cramp in his thigh that had plagued him since they'd first fucked against the roll of bubble wrap—and savored the delicious twist around Simon's thick, full cock. "Doug—!" Simon cried out with delight, and Doug felt a shudder ripple through his belly. "Hush!" hissed Doug, suddenly more alert. "Did you hear that?" They paused their thrusts, still clutched together. Simon moaned softly; Doug thought he probably deserved a medal for his obedience at this stage of the proceedings. They both listened closely, panting as quietly as they could. The hammering was real—it was at the closet door. "Doug? Simon? Can you hear me?" The man's voice was outside and sounded worried. "Are they still in there?" came a second, female voice. "You don't think ... with the lack of oxygen and everything..." 37

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"It's a closet, not an airlock," the male voice said rather scornfully. "Get a grip, Susie." Doug and Simon peered at each other in the gloom. "That's Tom," Doug mouthed to Simon, rolling his eyes. "Should we get Security down here?" came Susie's mutter. "Probably more likely to need Waste Disposal. They may have killed each other in there. Whose stupid idea was this in the first place?" "Yours," Tom said sharply. "Though I don't remember agreeing to leave them for this long. You were going to let them out after an hour or so." "You mean you were," Susie replied. She sounded just as sharp. "You're the one who jammed the lock so tightly that we can't get it open it without tools!" hissed Tom. "You're the one who lied to Jarman about Simon's whereabouts," Susie shot back, obviously taking advantage of the fact her boss was well out of earshot. "How's that going to look on your appraisal report?" "My report—?" Tom began to protest, but Susie interrupted him. "I can't hear anything in there. Maybe we should call Security to release the door...." Doug twisted his head around to look fully at Simon. Simon's eyes were wide and glinting, and he shook his head violently. Doug felt Simon's cock throb up inside his ass, sending another shiver through both bodies. Damn, though Doug viciously. Interrupt this, and the Wrath of Harper will be of apocalyptic proportions! 38

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"We're here," he called out hoarsely. "We're fine. No thanks to you two, though." "What did he say?" came Susie's voice from some distance. "I'm not going all the way back up to Maintenance if they're not stuck in there...." Stuck in here, thought Simon ironically. How deliciously true! He looked down at where he was lodged inside Doug. He ran a gentle hand over Doug's buttocks and sighed. Sweat was drying rapidly on their skin. He pulled out a little way; but when Doug wriggled in protest, he slid back in. The visitors outside the room were distracting; but he was still hard enough, and near enough, to keep this going.... Doug swallowed heavily and clenched his ass muscles around Simon. "Get lost!" he called out to the others. "We'll see you later. We'll be fine." Simon started to slide in and out of him, almost lazily. Doug's fist tightened around his own cock. "Soon," he hissed to Simon. "Harder!" Simon hissed back, "When they've gone. You make too much noise when you come." Doug's eyes opened wide, obviously ready to take offense; but the pre-come leaking through his fingers merited more urgent attention. "He said they're fine," came Tom's voice. He was close to the door. "There's something odd going on here. Doug didn't sound right." "Not homicidal enough?" called Susie. Simon bit back a groan. Doug was gasping underneath him, jerking back and forth against the wall, his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the key cabinet to anchor himself. 39

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Simon tightened his hand at Doug's neck, pulling his head back, fucking him with long, strong strokes. Doug was muttering under his breath, alternating between telling the guys to "fuck off" and moaning to Simon to "fuck harder." Simon smiled to himself, his head racing with excitement. He'd always said life was full of difficult choices. "Maybe we should leave them," said Tom. He sounded nervous. "Doug doesn't have to sound homicidal to want to rip our limbs off. He's very volatile that way." "Volatile?" Doug's moan sounded a little hysterical. He clenched his fist on the cabinet, almost cutting his palm on the sharp edges. "Simon's not exactly Mr. Tolerant, either," Susie added. "We could lose some internal organs along with those limbs. And he has a rescheduled meeting with Jarman at six. That doesn't leave us much time to explain to them both this was just a harmless joke." Harmless joke? Simon felt a spike of anger, and his thrusting got faster. "Okay, I vote we leave them for a while longer," said Tom. His voice seemed to fade in and out, as if he were turning away from the door. "Then they'll either be okay like they say, or they won't be—in which case we'll all lose limbs and organs and probably our corporate pensions too. But I don't see what else we can do for the moment." "It'll take a while to get the tools from Maintenance," added Susie, obviously agreeing. "It gives me time to call my broker and update my accident coverage," Tom muttered, agreeing even more 40

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eagerly. Their voices were moving away gradually. The corridor outside was quieting down again. Simon drew a very full breath, and then thrust one last, deep time, his fingernails digging into Doug's neck and his thighs slamming against the back of Doug's legs. Doug gasped aloud. "Simon..." he groaned. "Can't..." Simon growled, almost incoherent. "Must..." "Already have!" cried Doug, his cock jerking in his fist and spitting hot come into his palm. "Omigod. Omigod—!" "So ... amazing," Simon ground out. His head went back and his cock sank more deeply than he thought was anatomically possible as he climaxed into Doug. His head swam with the delight and his knees started to buckle. Doug was shuddering and panting and laughing, grabbing back around his ass to hold Simon tight against him; but Simon still started to sag limply against him. "Doug..." he groaned, sucking breath back into his shocked body. "So much time wasted! If it hadn't been for the guys locking us in here—" Doug twisted around sharply to look his new lover in the eye. "You know what I think those guys deserve?" Simon never had the opportunity to answer. Instead, he watched—firstly with interest and then with horror—as the key cabinet started to peel away from the wall. Doug's fist was still clutched around it; their fierce, jolting activity had proved too much for its moorings. Doug jerked backwards, and Simon's cock slid out of him with a swift sucking sound, limp at last. Doug staggered, trying to keep his balance amongst the boxes and packaging on the floor. 41

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"Just a cabinet—" he gasped. "No," moaned Simon. They hadn't seen it properly in the dim light. "It's a junction box for the alarm." "Alarm?" Doug stared back at him. The Head of Sales (Midwest Division) looked comical, standing there stark naked, his hair awry and a damp trail of come dribbling down his left leg. Comical, Simon thought fondly. But very, very cute. He suspected he looked just the same, his usual neatness a tousled, sweaty, exhausted mess. It didn't seem to worry him any more. He smiled. Meanwhile, the alarm box hiccupped and suddenly the corridor was filled with a loud, rhythmic, cacophonous wail. Doug sank his head into his hands. "Response time was last logged at fifteen point three seconds," he groaned. "I know because I set it off by mistake last Tuesday, trying to hack into the vending machine." He looked around him wildly. He thought he could hear running footsteps in the corridor, the sound of people on their way to "rescue" them. He wondered idly how many items of clothing they could get back on before Security arrived with master keys, wrenches, fire extinguishers, and their sadly deficient sense of humor. "You look so cute," said Simon. "So good." He sounded dazed. Doug gazed back at his companion. Simon's eyes were fixated on Doug's belly, on the mess his come had left there. Doug grinned. Mischievously, he ran a finger through the 42

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sticky pool and lifted it to his mouth. "What was that other seminar of yours?" His tongue sneaked out, licking the come off his lips very deliberately. "Something about Cleanliness and Health in the Workplace, wasn't it?" Simon started to laugh. It was a genuinely happy sound. "I've also hosted 'Domestic Appliances: Maintenance and Repair—The Essential Toolbox'." "You mean the one I called 'Using the Right Wrench'?" Doug grimaced. Simon chuckled. His skin looked soft and warm; and when Doug turned around in front of him, he seemed to be enjoying the sight of Doug's rounded buttocks wobbling a bit... Doug bent down, picked up the discarded mop, and thrust it into Simon's hands. "Here you are, then," he said, still grinning. "An Essential Tool to hold them at bay while I find where the hell I slung our underwear!" The End [Back to Table of Contents]

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HOMEPAGE URL: www.darkpearldiva.com Clare's Blog : claredivatoo.livejournal.com/ SHORT AUTHOR BIO Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. She juggles fiction with a frantic family life and waits for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant. She's written in many genres and across many settings, with short stories published both online and in print anthologies. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama, with a healthy serving of erotica, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters. Clare currently has a fantasy novel published, two more in the pipeline and plenty of other projects in mind ... she just has to find out where she left them amongst the frantic family life. Clare's Blog : claredivatoo.livejournal.com/ Clare's website : www.darkpearldiva.com

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