Paranoid

Title: Paranoid
Author: raven
Email: ravens_slavegirl@yahoo.co.uk
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All events depicted herein are totally the invention of my twisted little mind. There’s absolutely no point in suing me – I’m so poor all you’d get is a battered copy of LotR and a collection of my trashy fanfic.
Summary: Alec has a feeling that he’s being followed.

***

Alec had the distinct impression that someone was following him. He'd had it for a while now, and if he were honest with himself - which, honestly, he wasn't often - he'd felt like it all bloody day. Ever since he'd arrived airoairo, come to think of it.

For what it was worth he was supposed to be on leave, relaxing or resting or 'detoxing' or whatever the hell M's new buzzword happened to be for that particular week. As it turned out, the trip had so far been substantially less than relaxing; he'd found the thought of getting away from the monotony of blowing shit up and going incommunicado for a couple of weeks rather appealing when M had first suggested it, but now? At least when he was on the job he generally knew who it was that was stalking him. Strange as it seemed, he couldn't wait to get back to London, the office and maybe even Q's ludicrous gadget explanations.

And what made it even more unbearable was that following a couple of furtive phone calls made from the secure line in M's office, he'd headed off to the last place he'd thought that anyone would think to look for him. He'd hopped onto the Eurostar, to Paris. Then onto a train for Bern and from there a train to Rome, a hire car for Naples, a pain-in-the-arse public bus service into the far south of Italy, a quick and sickness-inducing boat trip across the Mediterranean, followed by an appalling train service to Alexandria then a shifty boat service down the Nile to Cairo. He'd been careful; years at MI6 had him looking over his shoulder on automatic. He hadn't thought anyone could've followed him without him having some idea. Apparently he'd been wrong. Unless, of course, he was just being paranoid.

Because from the second he'd stepped out of the taxi and into the centre of Cairo, he'd had the nagging feeling that someone was following him. But if there'd been anyone there, after all the silly little military evasion techniques he'd played with just to make sure, he would've seen something. *Anything*. But there wasn't a single shred of proof unless his paranoia counted.

The apartment was large and spacious, airy, with huge windows that opened out onto a balcony with a fantastic view out across the city, and almost translucent drapes that fluttered in the wind, almost the exact colour of sand. Alec lay back on the king-size bed and spread his limbs, sighing. He should have felt calm. After all, the only person who had any idea where to find him was Amir, the London-based Egyptian diplomat friend of his who'd lent him the apartment. But he felt watched, tense, the muscles in his shouldeunchunching as if on some subconscious level his body knew he'd have to leg it at any second.

"This is fucking ridiculous!" he growled, grabbing handfuls of his slightly over-long blonde hair, pulling it almost painfully. Then again, the pain was the point; he vainly hoped it would bring him to his non-paranoid senses. Unfortunately, it had no effect whatsoever. "Oh for fuck's sake, there's no one here!"

"Now that's where you're wrong, Alec".

Alec froze. Just for a second, and just because of the sound of that voice - he was sure he recognised it, but... He looked around and just as before there was no one in sight. He even got up from the bed and wandered around the apartment with his PPK drawn before he gave up, put on the safety and tossed it onto the bed with a sigh. That was it. There was no other earthly explanation. He was going insane.

***

Somehow, eventually, Alec drifted off to sleep. It was a tormented night, however - hot and sticky and not in the least bit as relaxing as he'd stupidly dared to hope it might be. He woke shortly after 6am feeling like he hadn't slept at all, or if he had, that judging by the pain in his back, he'd been magically teleported onto the floor during the night. He sighed and got up. So much for the relaxing break.

The hours melted together as Alec strolled around Cairo. He had lunch in a small café he knew and browsed in the markets; usually there was nothing he liked more than a peaceful day out in the city, but he was still feeling inexplicably haunted. Everywhere he went he felt an uncontrollable urge to glance back over his shoulder, and he couldn't say that it was his training running on auto-pilot, much as he would've liked to have been able to put it all down to that. There was something else.

But in the crowded city streets it was hard enough to distinguish face from face, let alone spy that elusive one person who was causing his uneasiness. Men and women in long robes, turbans, an exotic swirl of fabrics and smells and tastes and words was all around him and he longed to be lost in it as he'd imagined back in London. But there was something there, some*one*, he was sure of it. He thought he caught glimpses of a hazy shimmer out of the corner of his eye, like the waves of heat from the desert distorting his view. He thought he heard a whisper in his ear, a familiar voice, a familiar smell, a tang of musk and aftershave amidst the roar and the spices of the heaving Cairo streets. The sense of someone unseen but so very close grated on his nerves. He spent the whole day on edge.

Then he ran into an old friend. Literally. Turning a corner, a little too consumed by his compulsion to keep glancing back over his shoulder, he walked straight into Lena Omasova, formerly an agent of the Russian government and a sometime lover of his. She looked magnificent as always, blonde hair caught up in a long ponytail, dress cut just low enough to catch his interest but not so low as to prevent him wanting more. She smiled and asked him to dinner. He found himself smiling back, and accepting.

So maybe that was it, he thought, as he walked back to the apartment. Maybe Lena had been following him. God knows she was always a good little spy, and so much more skilled in the delicate art of surveillance than he. Alec was the first to acknowledge that he was more of a smash-and-grab man than that other breed of tactful-invisible agent, but that usually worked to his advantage; he got the really meaty missions while the intelli-spies were fobbed off with pilfering plans or surveilling mobsters. That had to be it. Lena had somehow found out he was in town - she had ways of doing that, he knew - and decided to spook him a little before crawling out of the woodwork and surprising him with dinner. It couldn't be anything else.

***

Dinner was a roaring success. Lena and he caught up on old times, tiptoed around the subject of their current employment situations and literally danced the night away. She looked stunning, twirling around in her airy blue ball gown, and he'd dressed accordingly - he always loved the opportunity to dig out the dinner jacket and dress up like a fine English gent.

They drank martinis and had a fabulous meal in the restaurant of Lena's rather grand hotel, famous for its dinner and dancing. The band was a little out of tune in places but that hardly mattered, and the other guests seemed just as exuberant, laughing and smiling, all adding to the incredibly happy-go-lucky atmosphere of the place. The maitre d’ was apparently an old friend of Lena's and secured them a fantastic table, not too far from the dance floor but tucked away out of the general line of sight... It was perfect. He doubted he could've planned a night like that.

Alec couldn't think of a better way to have spent an evening. Lena seemed to agree; at about midnight when the band was winding down, she leant over the table with her martini in her hand, smiled that incredible smile with those ruby-red lips what he knew had been the undoing of so many of his colleagues in the intelligence community, and asked him to come up to her room. The perfect end to a perfect evening, she said.

And Alec said no.

He'd said it before he could stop himself, and he couldn't honestly say why. Part of him - and he was well aware of which part it was - screamed at him, telling him what an indescribable fool he was to turn down an offer like that. It wasn't exactly often that beautiful Russian agents offered him nights of hot sex with no strings attached, after all. But no. It seemed his damned subconscious had other plans for him, like sitting alone in his friend's apartment, beating his head against the wall, wondering why on earth he wasn't currently lying between Lena Omasova's welcoming thighs.

Lena, to her credit, took the knock-back well; she just shrugged and smiled and walked away, her perfect legs and her perfect arse and her perfect hair and arms and neck taunting him as he watched her leave. She looked back over her shoulder just once, as she reached the maitre d’, trailing her hand over his shoulder. He guessed he didn't have to worry about her bed being empty that night. He doubted it ever was, except by choice.

So he left. He downed what remained of his martini and fetched his coat, then left. Alone. Again. But he really couldn't complain. The evening had been relaxing, at least.

***

He walked back to the apartment. It was miles away and he wasn't entirely convinced that the shiny new dress shoes he was wearing were the best choice for a cross-city trek, but he was just drunk enough not to care. It took him just over an hour. Not that he was timing - he'd purposely left his company-issue wristwatch sitting on his bedside cabinet so that he *couldn't* time himself.

He slipped in through the back door and climbed the stairs to Amir's apartment. The full moon up in the sky provided just enough light through the open windows; he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks and stretched out on the bed without switching on the light, and lay there, spread eagle, eyes closed, just listening to the sound of his breath. He couldn't decide if the evening had been a success or not, in some respects. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel.

Except that he was feeling watched. Again. It made his skin crawl.

Perhaps it was the alcohol still in his blood or perhaps the frustration of having inexplicably turned down a night of hot sex, but either way Alec's hand still reached for the waistband of his trousers as if possessed of a mind of its own. He fumbled with the buckle on his belt, then with the zip on the trousers, his usually sure hands strangely unsteady. He tried to convince himself that it didn't matter that he felt like he was being watched, and failed miserably. The thought just made it that much hotter. He indulged himself. What if there was someone there, watching him, looking right at him as his hand dipped down past his waistband, his fingers went around his cock... What if there was someone watching as he lifted his hips and pushed down his trousers, pulled off his shirt and tie, lay there naked on the bed with his eyes closed and his mouth lolling open... someone at the foot of the bed now, eyes wide as he rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock, squeezed his balls, arched his back, jerked himself ever so slowly...

He could almost feel the hot breath of his watcher on his skin, almost feel the dip of the mattress as he lowered himself onto the bed. As the blood pulsed into his temples he could almost hear the whispers, feel the touches, hear the words. It was incredible. He bit his lip to keep from moaning out loud then realised it didn't matter if he did. So he did. And he could have sworn he heard an answering moan from out of the moonlight.

There was a hot hand on his stomach. His eyes snapped open and looked down but there was nothing there. All he saw was his own hand, wrapped around his cock, and a slight shimmer in the air that he guessed was just the alcohol warping his vision. He sighed and lay back, closed his eyes, but the hand was still there, resting lightly, the touch almost burning. He couldn't seem to make himself care.

Then it moved. It took his hand, pulled it away from his cock, laid it down on the cool sheets. Alec's mind was already reeling when he felt the mouth go about his cock. Afterwards he was incoherent.

Hands teased at his nipples, over his thighs, fingertips danced over his stomach, making the muscles there quiver. When he forced his eyes open there was nothing there, just his cock, hard, and the moonlit air about it. But there *was* something there. He felt it, licking, sucking, teasing with its tongue and teeth, making him writhe and buck on the bed. And then it was gone.

He heard a rustle, and the next thing he knew there was a pile of khaki clothing sitting in the chair by the bed. Alec frowned. The mattress dipped. Hands moved over his torso, he was kissed and he kissed back but even with his eyes open, feeling what he felt, hands on his neck, body astride his thighs, lips pressed hotly against his own, he saw nothing. His cock twitched. He'd had no idea just how ic tic this was.

He moaned. He felt his knees nudged and parted them willingly, admitting a comfortable weight down against his chest, between his thighs. A kiss was pressed to the underside of his jaw, and he felt the rasp of stubble against his throat. He sighed.

The lube from the nightstand seemed to float in mid air, coating an unseen hand and then an unseen cock. It was only another moment 'til that cock was inside him, hot, tight, and Alec was gasping. A hand went about his cock, jerked him roughly. It didn't take long, Alec's eyes wide, staring up into that unearthly shimmer as he came, hard, shaking. It was over almost too soon.

A weight settled down above him, pressing his body down into the sheets. A mouth nuzzled at his throat, licked a path from his Adam’s apple up to his jaw and pressed a rough kiss to his lips.

"You're beautiful like this, Alec", said a low, smooth voice. A very familiar voice.

Alec smirked. "I should've known this had something to do with you, James".

A strange click sounded and out of the shimmer emerged a damp-haired, warm-skinned and rather dishevelled-looking James Bond, something resembling a standard-issue company wristwatch snapped around his wrist. Except it was rather a funny shape for a watch, and was glowing a rather strange shade of blue.

"And I suppose I have Q-branch to thanks for this invisible wonder?"

James smiled. "Ah, the invisibility cloak - Q thoughtfully gave it to me to test-drive. I thought I'd share the discovery. It's really only fair, after all".

James rolled to the side, stretching out beside Alec. They both turned their heads and simultaneously smirked at each other.

"I don't suppose Q thought to give you two of those?"

A moment of fishing in the back pocket of his khakis later, an identical device was deposited on Alec's chest.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Alec snapped on the device around his wrist, then looked up at James with a familiar mischievous glint in his eye.

"I think so, Brain, but I'm not sure M would appreciate us using her desk like that", he said.

***
End
***