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The first time Mark saw him was at a party in Dubai, opening night at some fancy new hotel. The man was standing on his own, wearing a well-cut, dark grey suit and nursing a glass of something, an over-it expression on his face. Mark didn’t know his name, but he’d seen his picture, knew that he would have the rest of the documents that Mark’s current employers were angling to acquire. He was hot, at least, Mark noted. Fucking hot, as it happened, which made it easier. Sometimes you’d have to sweet talk some leery old bastard with the ego to match, which was never fun. Mark tried to make eye contact with the guy, but he steadfastly refused to meet Mark’s gaze.
Oh well, Mark thought to himself. In for a penny and all that. He made his way across the room, sidling up next to the guy, looking vaguely over his shoulder before turning to address him. “Sorry if I was staring just then,” he said.
"Were you?" said the guy, not even facing him, scanning the crowd. "I didn’t notice."
"It’s just that…" Mark hesitated, counted to three inside his head before he went on. "I don’t usually do this kind of thing, but you’re…" he stepped closer, making his message clear, "you’re someone I think I’d like to get to know better."
"Really?"
"Come on, mate," said Mark, laughing, "don’t make me work for it. Yes or no?"
The guy sipped his drink, shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Yes.”
*
"How about another drink?" Fernando offered. "I’ll get it." They were in the Australian guy’s hotel room, and Fernando couldn’t help but be pleased with how easy it all had been. Playing hard to get was always his favorite game and this time it had worked like a charm.
He knew he probably should have drugged the guy first, not bothered to actually have sex with him, but Fernando got the feeling he’d be worth it, and as it turned out, he was. Fernando felt as fucked out as he’d ever been, his ass pleasingly sore and his cock so spent it felt raw.
He smiled to himself as he poured out two glasses of scotch at the mini-bar, slipping the clear, tasteless liquid into one. “Cheers,” he said, walking back across the room, holding out the glass.
"Cheers," the guy said. He was sitting on the bed as he took one drink, then another. He swayed a little, shaking his head, then looked up at Fernando. "You fucker,” he slurred as he fell backwards, passed out cold before he even hit the mattress.
Fernando carefully checked his pulse. The drug was only a harmless tranquilizer, one that he’d used on people many times before, but he wanted to be certain. The envelope containing the documents was taped to the underside of the bed, just as he’d been told.
He dressed and then turned to leave, but looked back at the man. He was sprawled on the bed, his head at an uncomfortable looking angle. Fernando didn’t want him to have a sore neck when he woke, so he gently cradled the back of his skull, lifting it and placing a pillow underneath.
Impulsively, he bent down and kissed the man’s mouth. “Sorry,” he murmured as he closed the door of the room.
*
It wasn’t until two years later in Rome that Mark finally ran into him. He’d spent a fair part of those years trying to track the slippery bastard down, but with no luck. But then one day, Mark was sitting at an outdoor cafe doing his best to chat up some pretty little twink who worked at one of his employer’s rivals when there he was, strolling past like he was some fucking tourist enjoying the sights.
He was wearing dark glasses, and his hair was longer, but it was him. That face was imprinted on Mark’s memory forever. Not to mention that arse, but Mark wasn’t going to think about that now.
"Excuse me," he said to the twink and leaped up, following the guy across the piazza. He headed into an alleyway, and for a second Mark thought he’d lost him, but he doubled back
"Remember me?" he said.
"No, sorry," the guy replied, making to walk on, but Mark blocked his path.
"Oh," he said, "I’m pretty sure you do remember me, mate. I almost lost my job because of your thieving little ways."
The guy looked at Mark, totally impassive. It was impossible to tell whether or not he was lying, which only made Mark even more intrigued. “I don’t think so,” he said.
"Well, maybe I’ve just got one of those forgettable faces," Mark conceded.
"Maybe."
"But my dick," Mark went on, "now that’s pretty fucking memorable."
The corner of the guy’s mouth turned up in a smirk, and yeah, Mark thought, he remembered all right. “My hotel’s just around the corner?” he said, and the guy smiled.
"I’m Fernando," he said.
"Mark," Mark replied.
They didn’t bother shaking hands.
*
Fernando woke, squinting as the sunlight hit his eyes. “What day is it?” he asked. He knew they’d been in here a while… at least two days, it would have to be, fucking and sleeping and ordering room service and then fucking some more.
"It’s Tuesday," Mark answered.
Fernando sat up like a shot. “Tuesday? What time is it?”
"Just after two," said Mark, rolling over in bed and checking his phone. "Why?"
“Shit,” Fernando swore. He was supposed to be on a plane two hours ago, on his way to London for a meeting so huge it could make or break his whole future. He jumped out of bed, grabbing his pants off the floor and pulling them on hurriedly. “I booked an alarm call yesterday when you were in the shower, why didn’t they fucking call?”
"Must have been a mistake," replied Mark. "There was definitely no call."
"Are you sure?" He stared around frantically, looking for his shirt. He’d been asleep earlier, but the phone would have woken him up, he was certain. But then again… he stopped. "Did you cancel the call?"
"Why would I do that?" Mark asked, the picture of innocence. Way, way too much innocence, Fernando suddenly realized.
"You cancelled my fucking call!" he spat out. "You made me miss my flight."
Mark only grinned back lazily. “Sorry,” he said. “I hope it wasn’t anything important.”
Fernando glared at him. “What was that? Revenge? For Dubai?”
"Maybe," Mark replied. "Or maybe I just wanted to fuck you again."
"Maybe this time I should fuck you,” said Fernando.
"Maybe you should." Mark turned on to his stomach, lifting his hips enough that his ass was raised temptingly in the air, so firm and ripe-looking that Fernando felt his cock stir immediately.
He’d missed his flight already, so what could it hurt, he thought, as he took off his pants.
*
Eight months later, they met up in New York.
They went back to Mark’s hotel room and after, Fernando said, “I think we should work together.”
"What?" Mark replied, surprised. "Why would we do that?"
"Because we’re good together."
"I don’t trust you," said Mark.
"I don’t trust you either." Fernando smiled. "But we don’t have to trust each other."
"Hmm," Mark mused, unconvinced. "So what’s the job?"
"I’ve put in six months undercover in high-level security at the Ferrari Conglomerate," Fernando said.
"And who are you really working for?"
"Their rivals, McLaren."
"What are you after?"
"Ferrari are working on something big, so big I don’t even know what it is."
"Some kind of product?" Mark asked, curious now.
"It’s a formula," Fernando said. "For what, I don’t know. They call it formula 1."
"How original," replied Mark. "Where would I come in?"
"I need a new handler at McLaren. You’ve got enough contacts to get the job, we work together and steal formula 1 for ourselves instead of McLaren, and sell it to the highest bidder."
"And then what?"
Fernando leaned over, kissing Mark’s chest. “Then you and I retire and get to know each other better.”
"You’d want that?"
"Maybe."
"I don’t believe you," said Mark. He tugged on Fernando’s hair, pulling him up to kiss him on the mouth.
"You don’t have to," Fernando whispered against his lips.
*
The team at McLaren introduced them. “Fernando, this is Mark,” said their boss, Martin. “And Mark, this is Fernando.”
Fernando nodded as they shook hands. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he said.
"I doubt it," Mark replied coolly.
"Dubai, wasn’t it?"
"I’ve never been to Dubai."
"What a shame," Fernando replied.
*
"Do you think they bought it?" he asked Mark later that night at their safe house. They couldn’t risk meeting too often, but they had to compare notes, make sure they were on the same page.
"Hook, line and sinker," said Mark.
"We need to be careful," Fernando warned. "Anyone could be tailing us, watching."
"No one’s watching now."
"No, they’re not."
*
"I’ve identified an in for us," Mark told Martin. "Ferrari’s main building is like Fort fucking Knox, we’ve got no chance. But their corporate travel department is housed in another building, much less secure."
"And the computers are all connected to the Ferrari mainframe?" Martin asked.
"Oh yeah," said Mark.
"Then find a way to get in there."
*
Back at Ferrari the next day, Luca called Fernando into his office. “I want to talk to you,” he said. His face was regal and impassive as he sat behind his huge desk.
"Yes?" Fernando replied. "Anything at all I can do for you, sir."
"It’s about the formula," Luca said. "I need to tell you about formula 1."
Fernando couldn’t help leaning forward in his seat. “I’m listening, sir.”
*
"Come on, mate," Mark said into his phone as he stood at the bar. "Please, I have to be on this flight, I just have to.” He pretended to listen for a minute then went on. “It’s a matter of life and death, I…” He let his voice trail off. “No, I understand.”
He made certain to elbow the man standing next to him as he ended the call. “Oh god, sorry,” he said, noting that he’d managed to spill some of the man’s drink. “Let me buy you another one?”
"It’s okay," the man said. He was plain, but not bad-looking. Kind of nerdy and awkward, with glasses and a cheap suit.
"No, let me." Mark gestured at the bartender. "I’m Bruce," he said, holding out his hand.
"Patrick," said the guy, shaking Mark’s hand. "Travel problems?" he asked. "I couldn’t stop myself from overhearing…"
"Yeah," Mark said. "I’m need to get back to Australia urgently. I’m a vet, I work in animal rescue, and there’s a orphaned baby koala waiting who needs emergency surgery…" he sighed melodramatically.
"Oh no," said Patrick, gasping, his eyes wide. "I love koalas."
Mark shook his head. “Poor little bugger’s only got a few days left if he doesn’t have this operation.”
"Can’t someone else do it?"
"I’m the only one who works in this specialty." Mark sipped his drink, dabbed at the corner of one eye. "I just can’t bear to think of him fading away while I’m sitting here, helpless."
Patrick glanced around them, then said, “I shouldn’t be doing this, but I work in a corporate travel department, just around the corner from here.”
"No way," said Mark, feigning surprise. "Can you help me?"
"I think I can." Patrick grabbed Mark’s hand, standing up. "Come on, I’ll take you to my office."
"Wow," Mark said, "I would owe you big time, mate, if you could get me on a flight."
Patrick looked at him seriously. “Just save that koala,” he said.
"I promise I will," Mark replied solemnly. He picked up his bag. "Let’s go."
*
Fernando watched the footage from the travel office with his team at Ferrari, his teeth gritted. They all sat in silence, eyes glued to the screen as the video showed Mark kissing Patrick, then turning him around, bending him over one of the desks. The quality of the video was slightly grainy but Fernando could still see the muscles in Mark’s ass flexing as he thrust into the other man. And he knew Mark well enough to be able to tell it wasn’t any kind of half-hearted fuck, that he was giving the guy everything he had.
Fernando breathed in, knowing he had to remain calm.
"Well, he’s definitely committed,” one of the team said mildly as the footage came to an end. “He’s obviously working for McLaren, but do we know who he is?”
"No," one of the others answered. "He must be new."
"We’ll track him down," Fernando assured them. "Don’t you worry about that."
*
It was after midnight when Mark crept through the door of the safe house. There was something going on, he knew it. Fernando wouldn’t return his calls, Martin seemed strangely on edge. Something wasn’t right.
He checked their hiding place behind the kitchen cupboards, and could see that Fernando’s emergency passport and travel money were gone. That piece of shit, Mark thought. He’d done a fucking runner, hadn’t he?
He stood up, and someone grabbed him, shoving him face first up against the nearest wall with an unnecessary amount of violence. Mark was about to fight back, gut reactions taking over, but he stilled himself for a second. He knew that grip, and he was right. It was Fernando.
"What was that shit with the guy from the travel office?" he hissed, mouth pressed to Mark’s ear.
"Enjoyed the show, did you?" Mark said, a deliberate leer in his voice.
"You certainly seemed to," Fernando replied, the words low and dangerous.
"Well, I had to make it convincing, didn’t I?" Fernando released him, but Mark didn’t turn around. "You jealous, mate?"
"No," Fernando said.
"Really? Because it seems like you are."
"I’m not."
Mark laughed, shoving his arse back into Fernando’s groin, moving against him until he started to moan. “How about I make it up to you?” Mark offered.
Fernando didn’t argue.
*
"Tonight," Luca told Fernando and his team. "We won’t risk sending the formula electronically, so it will be split into two hardcopies and delivered discreetly to our laboratory." He smiled benevolently. "I don’t need to remind you of the importance of our task, do I?"
"Of course not, sir," they all murmured, Fernando joining in.
*
Mark decrypted the message on his secure phone. Tonight, it said, followed by the details. Two deliveries. One that he would have to intercept, and the other Fernando. Working as one, but still separate. Always separate.
Understood, he texted back, adrenaline already humming through his veins. He loved this part of the job, the rush of pulling everything together, making it all come down to the wire with barely a second to spare. But somehow this time it felt almost empty, a hollow victory.
Perhaps he was getting too old for this game. Maybe it was time to settle down.
*
Got it, Fernando texted from a taxi on his way to the airport, the document sitting safely beside him.
*
Done, Mark messaged in reply, walking down a dark alleyway, checking behind him. It had all been too easy, he thought, but then sometimes the most difficult jobs were.
Best not to overthink it.
*
Fernando waited at the airport in Zurich, slowing drinking a coffee. Mark was late, and Fernando knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t show up, would take his half of the formula and get what he could for it, but Fernando wasn’t giving up.
He glanced idly at a newspaper, stared out the airport window at the fading light. It was almost dark when Mark sat down in front of him.
"You got it?" Mark asked.
"Have you?" Fernando asked back.
"You show me first."
"No, you show me."
"On three?" said Mark.
Fernando nodded. “One,” he said.
"Two," Mark continued.
"Three," they both said. Neither of them moved a muscle.
"God," muttered Fernando. "You’re ridiculous." He took the document out of his bag, laid it out on the table.
Mark smiled at him, then did the same. Both halves of the formula united, completed to make up formula 1.
Fernando exhaled with relief. This thing was worth a not-small fortune. “We’re meeting the buyers in an hour.”
"Then what?" Mark asked.
"I don’t know," answered Fernando.
"How about we buy an island, lie on the beach all day?"
"Sounds boring," Fernando said.
"What about if I fuck you through the mattress every night?"
Fernando made a show of thinking. “Well,” he replied, “that would be less boring.”
Mark grinned.
*
The meet was in a very expensive suite at a nearby hotel, and there was a whole group waiting for them, the buyers sitting lined up along one side of a large table, regarding Mark and Fernando with prim, sneering faces.
They slid the documents across the surface, and the buyers quickly passed the paper to their technical advisers standing waiting behind them. They examined the formula for a few minutes, then handed it back, shaking their heads. One whispered in the main buyer’s ear, who then turned calmly to look at Fernando and Mark.
"This is not formula 1," he said witheringly. "This is a formula for a low budget car polish."
"What?" Fernando and Mark said in unison.
The buyers stood up as one, exiting the room in single file as Mark and Fernando sat there, stunned into disbelief.
*
They were in the bar of the hotel with their luggage, both staring straight ahead. “We got played.” Mark shook his head. “Well fucking played.”
"Which one do you think it was?" said Fernando, sighing. "McLaren or Ferrari?"
"Neither, I reckon," replied Mark. "This was bigger than both of them."
"Then who has the real formula 1?" Fernando asked.
"No bloody clue." Mark looked up as a waiter approached them with a tray, on which rested two champagne flutes and a bottle of Dom Perignon.
He stopped in front of them. “Mr. Webber and Mr. Alonso?” he asked. Mark and Fernando nodded. “Compliments of Mr. Ecclestone,” the waiter said, pouring them each a glass.
Mark groaned and Fernando put his head in his hands. “Who else?” he said ruefully.
"Fucking Bernie,” Mark added. “Oh well.” He held up his glass. “Cheers.”
"Cheers," Fernando said, and they both drank.
Mark guzzled the champagne in one gulp. “You do realize we’re completely broke.”
"I know," replied Fernando. He nudged Mark with his elbow. "But we’re together, yes?"
Mark smiled at him, and he suddenly realized that was all that mattered. They were together, they were a team, and they could conquer anything.
"Come on," he said, standing up and holding out his hand, dragging Fernando to his feet.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To find our next job," Mark replied confidently.
"Lead the way," Fernando said, laughing.