Work Text:
He’s not really that surprised to open his door to see Alice Morgan, once again, sitting on his sofa as if she belongs there.
John Luther is bone tired. He isn’t sleeping well, and he can’t remember his last decent meal. His jaw aches from grinding his teeth together in an effort not to tell everyone he meets to go fuck themselves.
“How soon until the flashing lights are blinking outside my window? Eh, Alice? How long? You in trouble then? If I don’t turn you over now, it’ll be collusion, and there goes my career -- again.” John speaks without warmth. She knows well enough by now that his threats to turn her in are empty, unhappy things. He doesn’t know why he bothers.
“Your career,” she says with delight. “I like a good career man, you know. A good copper. Tenacious. Dogged, dog-like, you’re a good little doggie, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. They don’t think so just because I don’t operate on a leash. But I’m a damn good doggie.”
“Then come here and let me rub your belly,” Alice says, patting the space on the sofa next to her.
“Alice.”
“John?”
“What do you want?”
“What I always want, of late, to spend time with you.” Alice leans back into the leather of the sofa. She looks good on it, great even. Her red hair clashes with the brick red of the sofa, but it doesn’t matter. The blue jumper she is wearing is slim-fitting; it shows off the curves of her slender body, and her mouth is exactly as he remembers it. She smiles widely, her white teeth predatory and yet inviting.
“Time’s what I have a lot of right now.” Luther doesn’t know how much Alice knows about his status. Suspended, again, and not yet ready to quit it all and leave London. He’s not sure that he’ll be able to resist if she offers her whirlwind world tour again. He’s not sure he’ll be able to resist anything she offers.
“Then let’s spend it,” Alice says. She doesn’t move from the couch. Her eyes never leave him. Her smile is the same as it always is -- wicked. “I have such plans for you, John. And I really don’t think you should bother arguing.”
“Did you come here for sex?” It echoes the first time he visited her apartment, when he was intent on catching her. He hadn’t gone to her apartment for sex, not at all, but once she’d put that into the air, there was no bottling it back up. If he’s honest, which he is, always, with himself, that was when this whole thing started.
“I don’t like sex, John. But I’m willing to make exceptions. I can see how it could be good. I know the buttons to push, you see, but I just don’t bother. Like I said, I’m willing to make... exceptions.”
“Don’t go out of your way on my account,” John says. He can’t say the thought has never occurred to him. Alice is hypersexual, even if it’s just a game to her. Her throaty purr, the way she peers from beneath her lashes, it’s all calculated to titillate, arouse, distract and manipulate. He’s admired that about her, even as he can’t help being all of the above: titillated, aroused, distracted and manipulated. But he’s never been compliant, never straight away. He makes her work for it.
Alice goes to the window in lieu of further reply. She knows he knows the answer to his initial question. It’s much more complicated than sex. He’s not even sure he could. It’s been a long dry spell since Zoe, and he can’t even think about her now without a sharp stab of pain and a rush of guilt so hot and intense it’s dizzying. That’s what he shares with Mark, now. Mark keeps him connected to Zoe but shielded from the full brunt of the guilt. Guilt is better shared, he’s learned. It’s a form of collusion. They collude together to keep out the darkness.
“It’s always quite gray here,” Alice says. “Why is that, do you think?”
“It’s London. You haven’t been away that long, Alice, come on.”
“I meant in your flat. It’s overcast. There’s a humid sort of sadness. It’s as if you’re a corpse and this is your coffin.”
“I don’t need much,” Luther waves his hand around to indicate the flat, all of its sad, dilapidated smallness.
“I disagree,” Alice says. “I think you need so much more. Come here.”
Luther obeys. He can’t really think of a reason not to. They stand at the window, face to face, and she leans forward, closes her eyes and breathes him in. “You’ve hit a wall, John,” she says, quietly, like snow falling. “What do you do when that happens?”
“Change the game,” he answers. “Throw out the rule book, upset the status quo, challenge the state of play...” She taught him that.
She closes the space between them and kisses him.
There are lights behind his eyes, bright sparks where resistance meets lust and sheer exhaustion. He knows better. He doesn’t know any better. It feels now as if Alice is the only one with the key that can unlock the pressure in his chest and release the terrible, awful things inside.
He stops, pushes her away, but it’s too late. She takes control and shoves him down on the sofa. She won’t let him look away, but forces his face back toward hers with an iron grip. Most of his clothes are still on, but somehow his cock is free, and she straddles him gracefully. He’s surprised he’s hard, but even more surprised when she sinks down and rides him to climax. He’s barely blinked and it’s over.
“Next time, more leisurely, I promise,” Alice purrs. “First we had to get that out of the way, all that strangeness, all that baggage. Useless stuff. I’ve never seen the point.” Alice stands up now, slipping back into a pair of tights and pulling down an exquisitely tailored short skirt. Her blouse is still buttoned.
*
The next few days pass in a fever dream. Luther sleeps like the dead and wakes to an empty apartment. In the cold light of day, he comes to his senses and changes his locks. It doesn’t matter. Alice is there every evening anyway, seated on the cracked sofa or chopping onions in the kitchen. She just appears and then disappears in the same stealthy way. She’s a decent cook, and once they even cook together, side by side in the kitchen. Alice ruins the dinner later by sweeping it off the tiny table and pushing Luther down on it, biting off his buttons and sucking bruises onto his torso.
He spends his days getting updates from Justin. His reinstatement doesn’t look good. It seems everyone is reticent to welcome him back. He frightens them. Mark is still there for him; they spend more time over a chessboard than is strictly healthy for either of them.
He checks in with Jenny at the coffee shop where she works and marvels at how healthy she looks. Like a child again. She’s all smiles and smells of chocolate and coffee and sweet things.
He stops short of giving himself any credit.
Even though he’s having sex at least once a day, he continues to feel impotent. His attempts to insert himself into the latest mundane murder inquiries are stymied. He’s adrift. He’s well aware that Alice is fucking him and not the other way around. She thinks she’s giving him the release he needs, but it’s only half the equation. He has no power with Alice. He can make her come now, but he knows it’s nothing to do with him. It’s what she chooses to do in bed. She gives that to him because she cares, in her own twisted way. It’s akin to pity fucking, and it makes him feel like utter shit sometimes. Mostly, it’s the best he can do, the closest he can come to getting out of his own head, and in a strange way, it’s healing.
One night, in the second week of their strange relationship, Luther comes home to find Alice and Mark seated together near the window, a bottle of wine on the floor between them. It could be their second, as they both seem relaxed and a little drunk. On Alice, it’s an act. On Mark, it’s exposure. His face is naked, more than usual. His grief is carved there, roughly, permanently. But he’s also enjoying himself. Alice has her hand on his forearm, and Mark relaxes into her touch.
“Am I interrupting something?” Luther asks. If he were capable of regular emotions, it would be real petulance and not just the sound of it.
“She had you beaten. And threatened your life,” he reminds Mark.
“John, we cleared all that up a long time ago. Well, shortly after her escape from the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Mark smiles at Alice. It’s not a warm smile, but one that indicates collusion, or even a sort of mutual respect.
“You know how much I love detente,” Alice says.
“I know you go off half-cocked with beatings and death threats and needles and knives and then -- then decide you like someone and want to be friends.” John strides forward and stands above them. “What is he doing here?”
“Getting the grand tour,” Alice says. “Seeing as he’ll be spending some time here.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Mark and I meet in the diner. We’re perfectly happy there.”
“Oh, I don’t think perfectly,” Alice smirks. “Mark.” She leans into Mark’s space, and he’s too relaxed to recoil, like Luther thinks he ought to. “Don’t you wish sometimes that John would have you over for dinner and a beer? Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
Mark nods and grins. “Sure.” Luther hasn’t seen Mark grin. Not ever. He seems genuinely pleased by the idea that Luther would have him over for dinner and that Alice is paying him so much attention.
“Right. Mark, go home. Alice, we need to talk.”
“Oh, John, come on,” Alice says. “Don’t be like that. We were having so much fun. We could have even more fun.” The way she says it is exactly the way she speaks when she is seducing Luther. Each word enunciated to the point of breaking. Each look calculated for maximum impact. Each vowel uttered with the intent to travel straight to his groin. He recalls when she invited him to travel with her, the way she was so close, the way she whispered swim with sharks, see the Nazca lines, eat puffer fish. He couldn’t go then, and he can’t go now, but what exactly is keeping him?
Mark gets up and stumbles a bit as he does so. “Right, I’ll be off then.”
“Stay, Mark,” Alice says. “This is about you.”
“What are you playing at, Alice?” Luther has shed his coat and loosened his tie.
“Soon I’ll be off again, John. There’s so much to see and... you see... so much to do for a woman like me. You understand.” Alice moves toward him, and her hand trails back to Mark, and her fingertips brush his chest. “That’s why I’ve come to a decision. We’ve had such a lovely time, you and I. I don’t want it to end, but it must. But you need someone, and I can’t - I just can’t - leave you to your own devices.”
“I’m an adult, Alice.”
“Good, so we’re all adults here. That makes things much easier.”
“Things are never easy with you, though, are they?”
“You haven’t guessed this one yet?” Alice bats her eyes at him and shoots a sidelong glance at Mark. “I had thought about some sort of game to get you two together, but it’s a sign of my growing maturity that I’m simply presenting my case rather than resorting to delightfully wicked threats.”
“The two of us? What do you mean? Mark, what is she talking about?
“She thinks you and I ought to be in a relationship. For the common good, you see.” Mark has a wry smile on his lips and he’s perfectly calm. Perhaps, Luther thinks, Alice has drugged him. “She says there is love in the world. She’s just not capable of it. But we still are.” Mark runs a hand over his beard, a familiar gesture. “Debatable, I told her.”
“You’re both quite silly. Go on, give it a try.” She reaches for Luther, pulls him toward her, kisses him. “Now Mark.”
“I’m not going to kiss Mark for Christ’s sake. You’re mad.”
“You wound me, John,” Alice says.
Luther has had enough. Her idea disturbs him. He doesn’t want to do this now, he doesn’t want to do it at all, and he knows that once Alice has an idea between her teeth, she won’t let it go.
“Both of you. Get out. Now.”
They comply, but cast him reproachful looks as they leave.
*
Two days pass and there is no sign of Alice. Luther finds he’s thinking of her, but more than that, he’s thinking of Mark. Mark hasn’t called and hasn’t been at the diner with his splintered chess set.
Luther’s rickety table finally breaks and spills his papers and mugs onto the floor. A piece of plaster falls from the ceiling and wakes him in the middle of the night. The evidence that his life is crap is piling up with increasing intensity.
He calls Mark, invites him over. They drink several beers and talk about Zoe, about Alice, about the careers they’ve both buggered up. They sit side-by-side on the couch.
Finally, Mark says, “That thing Alice said.”
“Just forget it. It’s not worth breaking up... whatever this is.” He gestures between them. He doesn’t want to lose Mark, he can admit that.
“It’s just that I’ve been thinking about it. I want you to know, it doesn’t bother me as much as it should.”
Luther isn’t surprised. He should be. He should jump up and start shouting. He should throw Mark out of his flat. Instead, he says, “It doesn’t bother me, either.”
“It’s not the worst idea.” Mark is as pale as the sky outside, and Luther knows this is costing him.
Luther nods, once. Mark leans toward him, and he flinches.
“Okay,” Mark says, “okay. I’ll leave.” He gets up and looks both relieved and disappointed. Luther wants him to be neither, so he stands up, grips his arm and shakes his head. He has two choices, and neither one feels exactly right, so he throws out his damn rule book and pulls Mark flush against him and breathes heavily in his ear, waiting.
“We’re really going to try this.” It’s not a question. In response Mark begins to kiss his neck, shyly at first, then he’s inhaling as he kisses, open-mouthed and rough, teeth scraping against the stubble. Luther can’t be passive this time, though. Mark is not Alice. He can’t rely on Mark to do what Alice has done. They’re men. It won’t work unless they’re both present and accounted for.
Luther pulls him into the bedroom and then pushes him back. He’ll undress himself, thank you very much. Mark begins to strip, jerky, half-motions. Luther pulls his belt off and has a moment of temptation. He could whip Mark with the belt until this whole thing passes. He could tie up Mark’s hands and not let him touch. Both of those scenarios would allow him the outburst he needs.
He hears Alice’s voice in his head. Don’t indulge, dearest. Surprise me instead. Surprise yourself.
Mark is naked now. His cock hangs heavy between his legs. As Luther unzips his trousers, he’s surprised to find himself rock-hard, fully erect. It ought to be embarrassing. He’s never been with a man, after all. But their shared humiliation has been its own intimacy for so long, this is next to nothing. Once they’re both nude, Luther pushes Mark down on the bed and covers him with his body. Mark shudders beneath him, refuses to meet his eyes. But he lets Luther do whatever he wants and suddenly Luther wants this. He grinds his cock down into the cradle of Mark’s hips and puts his mouth to Mark’s.
Luther is clumsy, and Mark is too, but he remembers Mark told him that he slept with men at University. Luther’s hoping at some point that will come in handy. Mark’s legs spread open to accommodate Luther, and then they hit a rhythm, pre-come slicking the way, and Mark’s hand slides down between them.
Mark throws his head back. He sounds like he’s in agony. Luther knows the feeling. Intimacy is agony, and the first time with Alice - he’s ashamed to think of the noise he made. This is also an exorcism. Mark is letting go of Zoe. Luther doesn’t know when he started to feel his death grip on her memory ease, but somewhere along the line it did. It feels good. It feels good with Mark beneath him, and Luther loses himself in sheer animal pleasure.
*
When he wakes, he’s alone. Alice has left no trace of herself. She can’t, of course. It’s likely she’ll kill again, and her means of survival certainly aren’t aboveboard. She knows Luther too well to trust her fate to him.
A sound in the kitchen tells him he's not alone. Someone is here, and he’s relieved. He’s actually relieved that he doesn’t have to start another day alone, wondering what he’ll do, how he’ll cope, whether or not he’ll get out his gun.
Mark makes terrible eggs and worse tea. They don’t speak. It’s entirely comfortable and when Mark makes ready to leave, Luther surprises himself by plucking at his shirtsleeve until Mark moves to face him. They kiss, and it’s strange. “Come round to mine, tonight,” Mark says.
“Only if you promise not to cook,” Luther says.
“Yeah, okay.”
Later, Luther goes out with no apparent purpose. He’ll buy a new table, some plaster, maybe grab a drink with Justin and his new girl at the pub. Then he’ll buy groceries and head over to Mark’s. Should he buy condoms? Fuck, no.
He spies a flash of red hair on the roof opposite. You’ll be back, he thinks. We’ll be here. And you’ll be back.