TITLE:       OLD HABITS (revised version, 2008)
PAIRING:     Beech/Carver
DISCLAIMER:  This is a work of fiction.   The author claims no ownership
             of the characters, will make no money from it, and means no
             offence by it.
AUTHOR:      Beedekka
RATING:      NC17 for m/m sex.
WARNING:     Mild swearing and gratuitous smoking in public places.
SUMMARY:     Predatory Beech and Angsty Carver.
COMMENTS:    This is an updated version of a story I wrote about eight
             years ago, previously posted here under the pen name Achilles.
             Old Habits was one of my first slashfics and I think the poor
             grammar and clunky prose really demonstrated that.   Having got
             back into writing slash and being motivated to do a sequel, I felt
             embarrassed by the state of the original and went back and cleaned
             it up.   It's now (New)Old Habits, I suppose...
FEEDBACK:    Always appreciated :o)   To:   watchthewindow@yahoo.co.uk


OLD HABITS

Jim found himself, once again, sitting in the corner of a cruisey, West End,
basement bar. This particular spot was one with which he'd become very familiar
over the last few weeks.   It offered cheap doubles, late closing and
anonymity - perfect.   He could happily sit back and lose hour after hour communing
with the contents of his glass, with nothing more demanding on his agenda than
getting to that vague saturation point where he could actually stop thinking about the job.

Today had been another classic.   He'd spent the day feeling trapped in the office,
searching for a result in a pile of 'no-hope' cases.   As usual, he had been clearing
up all the shitty jobs.   While Lennox gloated over burglary, he had been sifting
through another backlog of statements about dangerous driving.   He was beginning
to get the impression that Meadows saved them up for him especially.

He could feel the sword over his head now, more clearly than ever; he knew that
time was running out for him.   He saw Kerry and Tom getting results and couldn't
remember the last time he had earned as much praise as they regularly did.   It made
him sick to compare himself with them.   It showed him up as tired and old and he
couldn't even pretend that the enthusiasm he used to feel when he stepped through
that security door every morning was still there.   Perhaps more depressingly, he couldn't
pretend to himself that the feeling of comfort and safety he used to feel when he
walked through that door was still there either.   He used to feel part of the team.
What team was that now?   Each man for himself in the new era of targets and
performance reviews.   As soon as he left each evening, Jim just wanted to get as far
away from Sun Hill as possible.   As far away from that oppressive atmosphere as possible.

But even here, in the packed-out bar, he couldn't shake the feeling of being
alone and unnoticed.   He was automatically passed over by the roving eyes of the
generally younger clientele.   Too old and too obviously skint to be a viable
proposition, he mused.   As the night progressed and the passes became more and more
frequent it became almost tempting to leave them all to it; just find an off-licence
and walk the streets back across London with better company.   Almost tempting... but it
was warmer inside.   Jim chuckled to himself - he was even too old for that.   The reality was
that he could no longer afford to wake up with a copper shining a torch in his face,
soaking wet and on his feet and running before the ghost of the torch beam had faded
from his eyes.   Memories like that made him smile, though.   He was just a kid then.
Looking back, everything seemed so much easier in the days before he'd got himself into
this mess of a career.   And that was precisely why he was trying not to think about it.

Jim tried to get his mind on to other things by getting up and going to get
another drink.   He started making his way across the room to the huge circular bar
in the centre of the club, negotiating his way around people and watching the floor
as far as possible.   He was suddenly self-conscious.   It felt as though anyone
who actually looked him in the face would see all the things he had just been
thinking about - that they would somehow be able to read off the word 'failure' as if
it were tattooed on his forehead.   By the time he reached the bar he was grateful to get
back to a position where there was a wooden surface between him and the person in front
of him.   He planted both hands firmly around the sticky edge and, for some reason, doing
that made it feel easier to look up again.   A barman turned to him and Jim ordered
a single vodka, mechanically downed it where he stood, and ordered a double with
the first breath after the swallow.

Suddenly he became aware of eyes catching his, very deliberately, from across
the smoky bar.   His knee-jerk reaction was to avoid them and he looked away fast
before he saw the other man properly.   He wasn't expecting any of the roving eyes to
actually settle on him, and he certainly didn't want to give anyone the impression that
he was prepared to talk to them before this next drink had a chance to do its job.
The gaze was insistent, though, coming to rest on the side of his face.   Jim could
almost feel the heat of the stare targeting him until it became impossible for him
not to turn and return it. Pale blue eyes turned to meet darker, glinting eyes through
a haze of nicotine and noise.

The shock must have shown on Jim's face as he realised who the eyes belonged to; he
could see the laughter lines around them twitch with amusement at his reaction.   Jim
quickly looked away again, with embarrassment this time, knowing he must have looked
like a guilty child caught with his hand inside the biscuit jar.   He could well imagine
Don hanging around in a place like this, but there was something vaguely disturbing
about actually seeing him there in the flesh, dressed young and casual and fitting
in better than Jim did himself.

He looked back slowly and found Don still watching him with that familiar trace of
amusement still in his eyes, smiling warmly, but making no attempt to move around the
bar towards him.   Jim could see that he was quietly flirting, but giving him room to
think. The sudden attention made him feel uneasy.   He was all too aware that the
other man habitually spent his nights with the power-wielders and playboys of CIB... this
was, at best, an unconvincing downshift - at worst, an absent-minded play for an easy lay.
That gave him a bitter taste in his mouth: he didn't like the reminder of what he
knew too many people thought about him.

Jim took a slug from his drink, chasing away the nasty taste with the vodka.   He considered
buying another drink and ignoring the eyes currently studying him so intently.   The offer
was certainly there, but alarm bells were ringing loud, telling him not to take it up.
Don was not a man he trusted; not on the job, and not here.   He tried to block out the
lone voice in his head that was asking him: "What if..."   "What if he turns out to be...?"
"What if this becomes...?"   But it was definitely still there, obstinately defending Don
and forcing Jim to listen.

The little spin the alcohol was putting on things was confusing his thoughts even more.
Jim took his cigarettes out and lit one, feeling incredibly stupid. He allowed his eyes
to dart a couple of glances back to the other man's face.   He couldn't help thinking
how much more handsome Don looked in this light, but he wished that he wasn't staring at
him quite so earnestly.   Jim wasn't used to being so blatantly and openly admired; he
didn't think he deserved it.   Minutes passed before he realised that the cigarette
had burnt down to his fingers and his last 'darting glance' had been playing over the
older man's features for longer than he'd been aware of.

Suddenly, with a last provocative wink, Don turned and walked away from the bar,
swinging his denim jacket on to his shoulder.   Jim lost sight of him as he disappeared
into the crowd, but he knew where he was heading.   He knew his cue, knew that in seconds
it would be too late to follow him and find him.   "What if...?" asked the lone voice
again and Jim made a snap decision, pushing past startled bodies as he made for the exit.
He ran up the stairs and on to the street.

Looking left and right, he couldn't see Don anywhere.   He cursed himself out loud and
was about to put it down to fate and go back inside when he heard gentle laughter
coming from behind him.   He turned to find Don leaning casually against the wall by the
door of the club. He felt strangely relieved - laughed as well; half at himself and half
to release the tension that had been building up within him inside the bar.   He found
himself falling into step with the other man as they set off towards... towards... he didn't
know where.   He felt the night air chasing the alcohol from his body and sharpening
his movements as they walked further, and he suddenly wondered if he looked
too hungry, too desperate.   Maybe his mercenary side was, but he still didn't
really know exactly why he was playing along.

He could feel the faint tang of excitement and adrenaline kicking in, cutting through
the mess in his mind like a painkiller.   Then, without warning; first words spoken:

"Why did you come with me?"

Jim felt almost powerless to answer.   He wasn't sure how to...   What reason?
No reason.   Simple reason:

"You asked me."

Without even speaking to me, you asked me.

They took a left into the tube station.   Jim cast a quick look at his watch, surprised
that they'd made the last train.   It felt like they'd been in the club for much longer.
He dug change out of his pocket and stuck it in the ticket machine.   He was about to
press for Sun Hill.

"Get Russell Square - there's a nice hotel.   Don't worry about the money," Don instructed.

Jim did what he was told, feeling out of his depth now, somehow.   He hadn't spent the
night in a man's hotel room for a good few years; didn't like the impersonality of it all.
Feelings of uneasiness were beginning to creep back in to his head.

The rest of the journey was a blur.   Sitting opposite each other on the train, they
were silent; Jim desperate for a cigarette, Don absent-mindedly watching a pair of
Goths sleep just up from them.   He kept looking back at Jim every so often, as if
he was about to say something - or ask something - and then not doing it.   At the hotel,
the girl on reception knew Don's name.   He called her 'gorgeous' and took the keys.
It made Jim wonder how many times he'd done this before.

Inside the hotel room, standing opposite each other, Jim was acutely aware of the heavy
weight of knowing yet not really knowing this man preying upon him.   He told himself
how easy it would be to walk away now, before anything happened... to claim
misunderstanding, confusion, risk, anything!   But he couldn't help asking himself
if he would sleep that night if he did.   He was getting that unsettling feeling again -
as though he was walking on a knife-edge, about to slip off, but with no idea on
which side he was going to fall.   He felt stupid, remembering the other times he had
been there and had somehow always chosen the wrong side.   He'd either been left with
the scars to prove it, or had walked away cursing the speed with which the cuts
healed and disappeared, as if they were mocking their own potential.   He just couldn't
get away from the suspicion that the style and the smile were offering him everything
and promising nothing.   Wrapped up in his own thoughts, it didn't occur to him that
this moment was also an emotive one for the other man.

Don studied the serious face before him, unsure of whether he had judged it correctly
earlier, when he had first sought that pale blue acknowledgment across the bar.   He
desperately wanted some sign of confirmation now; touch, movement… something physical.
He surprised himself with an uncharacteristic strength of feeling that seemed to calm him
down and impel him to concentrate on making sure that Jim was with him on this one.
He'd waited a long time for the right moment to do this and he felt almost shy about it
for some reason.   He didn't want to think about why and he definitely didn't want to mess it up.
Hesitantly stepping closer, he reached into Jim's breast pocket and removed the pack of
cigarettes, letting his fingers brush lightly over Jim's chest as he withdrew them.
Carefully watching the other man's face again, he casually selected a cigarette and put it to
his lips.   He lit it and drew the smoke deep inside him, held his breath and waited.

Jim recognised what was expected of him and was a little taken by it, remembering how many
times he had initiated the same trick in his youth.   Odd to see it again now; comforting
almost, certainly disarming.   With only a little time before Don would have to exhale, he
knew he had to use the moment or lose it.   He stood motionless, eyes fixed hypnotically
on the older man's eyes, trying to read them.   He was searching for any sign that this
was for real - failing - but noticing for the first time that they were too dark to
make out the pupils clearly... elusive.   He was running out of time to act.

Shit!

He blanked his mind and began to move, bringing their lips until they were almost
touching, steadying his hands on the other man's hips as he inhaled the blowback,
concentrating on nothing except the movement of the smoke and the feeling of soft
cotton and firm skin under his hands.  The warm breath and gentle headrush felt suddenly
calming to Jim.   It was as though the smoke was slowing time in his mind and recreating
intimate moments of his past.   As he tilted his head and exhaled slowly towards a
point somewhere over Don's shoulder, old ghosts replaced his face, making a decision for
him and wordlessly agreeing to anything.

As he stepped away slowly, half because he had to extinguish the cigarette and half to
hide the relief on his face that Jim was actually interested, Don smiled privately
to himself.   There was something endearingly romantic about Jim falling for such a sweet
old move; he liked that, knowing that he would've too if it had been the other way around.
Turning back, he reached out a rough palm, letting it rest on the side of Jim's face.
He couldn't help marvelling at how long he had wanted to do that.   Bringing the other
hand up to mirror its partner, he began a lazy appreciation of his features.

He started by sweeping and circling his fingertips across each cheekbone, then down into
the hollow below, then across eyelids, lips, and the line of his jaw.   All the time, he
concentrated on making his touch as light as possible.    The tenderness was surprising to Jim.
It meant he had to concentrate hard to feel every little movement, eyes closed and
body motionless.   He was unsure of his next move, unsure of how he wanted to react
(and secretly, more than a little thrilled by that).

Jim was forced to tip his head back once more as the other man traced ever-moving
fingertips down to his neck, lightly scratching nails across his throat and making
Jim's breath catch as he swallowed involuntarily under the touch.   He was surprised
again at a murmured apology and the feeling of kind lips quietly kissing the same,
tingling patch of skin on his throat.   This was definitely not how he would ever
have imagined Don to act; every brush of that mouth against his hot skin seemed
to dispel another misapprehension he had harboured about this handsome man.

Jim felt powerless to move, as though if he did he would upset the delicate pattern
of movements being executed upon his skin, then suddenly upon his lips... a deep kiss,
messy and passionate.   Don was running his tongue over every ridge and arch of Jim's
mouth, almost as though he was trying to form a map in his mind in order to remember
the detail at some point in the future, Jim thought.   Or as though he were kissing an
old lover after many years; eager to reassure himself that everything that was once so
familiar to him was still intact, as he remembered it.

This painstaking attention to detail felt refreshing to Jim. He'd become too
accustomed to harsh strangers, selfish and fast moving.   Maintaining the rhythm of
their tongues, he brought his hands up between them towards the collar of Don's shirt.
His fingers eased the first fastened button undone, then the next one, and on until
his chest was exposed.   Jim's palms, placed flat on the breast, could feel the heart
beat beneath them as fast as his own. Breaking the kiss to see better what he was doing,
he slid his hands around to Don's shoulder blades, helping him to shrug off the shirt.
As the other man deftly removed his watch and tossed it on to the bed, Jim dispensed
with his own shirt, discarding it with its partner on the floor. Taking things slowly,
but no less urgently, Don snaked his hands around Jim's hips onto the firm, denimed
backside, pulling their bodies closer.   He lowered his face to the smooth skin of
his shoulder, kissing and whispering words Jim couldn't make out.

The hands on his Jim's backside were wandering, kneading and stroking the flesh
through his jeans.   His own hands found the base of Don's neck, fingers curling
through the short dark hair, just beginning to silver.   He was rewarded with
another searching kiss, their tongues winding around each other as he felt a warm hand
slide down the back of his jeans.   First it slipped between the denim and the cotton
of his boxers, then up and back in again, palm against skin this time.   Don's fingers slid
up and down along the cleft of his arse, fingers occasionally sweeping between the cheeks.
Jim hazily noted that Don was certainly well practised.

Well, if he's going to show what he knows, then I'm damn well going to.

Jim pushed his hands into the space between their flies, rubbing his hand against
the other man's crotch.   He could feel the hard outline against his hands.   The touch sent blood
pulsing to Don's cock, like electricity sparking a slow burn in the pit of his stomach.
He planted one last gentle kiss on Jim's lips before retaliating, making good use of the palm
on his backside to force Jim's hips forward, bringing his hard-on against his own hands.
They moved together slowly, Jim biting back a gasp as he felt a split second of pain as
Don's fingers pinched the flesh on his arse.

Their eyes were locked together, each watching the reactions of the other.   Don's face
showed supreme concentration, composure just going ragged at the edges with the friction
between their bodies.   Jim's breath was a little harsher, hairline a little damper, but
there was no less concentration in his eyes.

Struggling with his hands between them, Jim found the buttons on his own fly.   He forced
them undone, then set upon Don's.   It gave him a task, taking his mind off Don's wandering
fingers while he still could.   He was determined to fragment that composure even further.
He pushed the other man's jeans down to his thighs, innocently delighted to find Don hadn't
bothered with the complication of underwear.   He felt the fingers disappear from behind him
as Don stepped back slightly, giving him room as he began to lick and kiss his way down
the smooth chest.   The hand that had been behind him reappeared on Jim's shoulder -
half supporting him, half pushing him lower.

As his knees touched the carpet, Jim took Don's cock in his mouth.   He could hear the sound
of drunken women laughing and shushing each other as they stumbled down the corridor outside
the room.   He felt strangely excited at the reminder that half of London was on its feet,
dancing and drinking and oblivious to the fact that he was up here, performing oral sex
on his immediate superior.   The deepened breathing, interspersed with murmured encouragements
told him his showing off was working.   As he circled his tongue slowly around the slick head
and ran his lips leisurely up and down the shaft, he could feel the little veins pulsing
under his tongue.   They were like tiny heartbeats defying the unhurried movements he
was effecting.   Jim felt more triumphant than he had in a long time.

It took all of Don's willpower to pull himself back; to tear himself away from those
accomplished lips.   He could feel it getting to him, and he had other plans for Jim before
he reached that stage.   Looking down, he saw the expression on Jim's face.   He was obviously
surprised at Don's sudden withdrawal.   The older man made a move to spell it out for him;
drawing him onto his feet and into his arms, he whispered conspiratorially:

"You nearly had me there, Jimmy.   Christ, I'd pay you for doing that... you could
make millions.   But I want you to know something - I've been watching you.   And not
just tonight.   There's something I want to say to..."

He broke off laughing as Jim's fingers found his spine, nails tickling as they traced it
up and down.

"You're not taking me seriously D.C. Carver!"

Jim was smiling now, he knew what was coming; something else he hadn't heard in a long time.

"I want to fuck you... I want to fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

Don surprised himself with how easily it came out, considering how long it had taken him
to admit it.   He turned Jim's face towards his own and looked him straight in the eyes.
He was about to speak again when Jim stopped his mouth with a finger on his lips.   He spoke instead:

"What are you waiting for?"

Don didn't need asking twice; in seconds they were on the bed, kissing with renewed
urgency, hot and passionate.   They lost shoes and jeans and boxers onto the floor,
sliding over each other as sweat slicked the places where skin was touching skin.   The
springs in the mattress groaned and creaked in the way that only hotel furniture ever
could as Jim worked his way backwards up the bed.   He could feel the pillows under his
back, cool and dry.   Don leant over the side of the bed and reached into the pocket
of his jeans.   He came back up with a sachet of lube, tearing it into his hand and
running it over his cock as he shifted himself up the bed.

Jim watched Don's rough hands as he moved them to run the inside of Jim's thighs,
stopping tantalisingly short of where he really wanted them to go.   Don caught the
frustrated look on his face and moved one hand that little bit further, fingers finally
touching his engorged cock.   Jim shuddered and closed his eyes as the fingers encircled
him and started working the flesh between them slowly, pulling gently as the ball of the
thumb played teasingly over the head.

Don kept it up until he felt the tip really moisten under his touch.   Then, keeping his
fingers working as best as he could, he shifted himself forward and under, easing his way
inside him.    As the muscles around him relaxed he buried himself deeper and elicited
an involuntary moan.

Nice...

He started slowly, moving rhythmically and matching the movement of his hand on Jim's
cock to the push of his hips, everything working in sync.   Don was making the effort
to keep it just slow enough to draw out every feeling and it was heightening his own
sensation as much as anything else.   Jim moaned again - softly this time, consciously.
Don felt intensely gratified.   There was something voyeuristically intriguing about
listening to another man losing control... and knowing it was all because of him.

He stepped up the momentum slightly, experimentally, focusing everything on the little
sounds Jim was making.   Gaining the desired response sent a shiver through him.
Involuntarily, he speeded up again, the pressure of his hand on Jim's cock increasingly
hard and more urgent.   Jim was moving with him now, helping him.   Don flicked his eyes
open at the sudden connection of hands around his thighs, feeling the firm pressure on
his skin as Jim used this new contact to force himself further forward, drawing Don
deeper into him.

Every movement started to register harder than before and the sounds in Jim's throat
came lower and more indulgent now.    With every jolt, he felt the anger and the tension
he'd been nursing in his stomach earlier that evening being drawn out of him.   With
every stroke, he was losing the resentment and the bitterness that stayed with him long
after he left the office.   And in a way, it no longer mattered whether it was Don he
was fucking, or a stranger, or any number of faces from his past... to lose it
to another person was all he really wanted.

Don was forced to lean back to balance himself.   He could hear his own breathing
breaking up with every jar of his body and he had to concentrate on holding himself
back until Jim was with him.  He focused on finishing the job, kneading and stroking
Jim's cock as forcefully as his aching wrist would allow.   He growled with relief
as he felt the muscles finally give in, bucking and twitching under his fingers as
the hot wetness burst into his hand.   Giving one last hard push, he let go himself,
coming to a climax of ragged breath, sweat, and elation.

A minute passed as they lay there, panting and wordless.   Then:

"Jesus, Jim... I should've done that a long time ago!"

Don rolled off the bed and on to his feet, crossing to the bathroom and grabbing a towel
to wipe his hands.   Having done so, he shook the towel out and wound it loosely
around his waist.

"You put the younger guys to shame.   Well, they do say that it's stamina and experience
that wins the race, don't they?"

Jim didn't answer.   He always hated this part - the awkward conversation afterwards.
He got up and retrieved the cigarettes from where Don had dropped them instead, lit one
and dragged in the smoke until he could feel it burning inside his chest.   He exhaled,
tasting the smoke in his mouth and, almost as an afterthought, proffered the packet to Don.
He was surprised as the other man reached for his wrist rather than the box, gently
clasping his arm.

"Jim…"

Don began, but faltered straight away.

"I don't know what I'm going to say."

He paused, looking into the other man's eyes, just as he had in the bar earlier.

"Yes I do.   Jim, I hope you're feeling better."

Jim turned his head away quickly, he hadn't realised he'd been so obvious.

"Er, yeah," he mumbled.

"Good."

Don let go of his arm and his hand hovered briefly over the cigarettes before he cracked
a grin and grabbed the packet.   He threw it away from them across the room.

"I'd rather share yours."

Jim turned back to him and forced a smile, recognising what was expected of him.   He
casually moved the cigarette from his other hand to his lips, took another drag, and
held his breath.   A thin trail of smoke curled up around his face as he closed his
eyes and waited for Don's lips to meet his.


-fin-

***************