TITLE:            A Night in Cambridge
AUTHOR:           Claire (AKA: The Grieg Pioneer...!)
CATEGORY:         Alistair Challenge!!
X - OVER:         The Bill / Silent Witness
PAIRING:          Alistair Grieg / Michael Connor
RATING:           NC-17
DISCLAIMERS:      Honestly!, not mine.  Think one has something to do with
                  Thames Television and the other has ties with the BBC.
COMMENTS:         The blame for this falls entirely on the throw away comment
                  that Alistair was *unslashable*...
THANKS TO:        Kel...for the aforementioned comment! and the tireless help...
FEEDBACK:         Would be delightful!  Charlton@cobweb.com.au


=================
A Night in Cambridge.
=================

Cambridge is a beautiful city, the university giving it a scholarly air,
and the river giving it a touch of natural harmony.  Even though it was
evening and raining, the city was still giving off an aura of peace and
tranquillity.

None of this matters to Alistair Grieg.

For all he cares he could be standing on a street corner in Soho, at
midnight, in the snow.

Whatever his surroundings are, they aren't helping his mood.

Alistair is fuming.  He doesn't want to be in Cambridge in the first place.
 He's particularly unhappy about having to bring Rod Skase with him.

~*~*~

In fact, they actually shared a common feeling there.  Rod hadn't wanted to
come either.  He'd looked decidedly put out when Meadows had told him that
he was going to Cambridge with Alistair.  Rod had glared balefully at both
Meadows and Alistair for a moment before stalking off in John Boulton's
direction in a huff.

As usual, Rod had then stuck his foot in it. He was angrily sharing a
diatribe about, "Being stuck in a car with that boring Scottish git and it
is a bloody Bumblebee operation anyway.  Why can't Suzy go?" with John and
Jim Carver when Alistair had walked back in the office.

"For what it is worth Rod, I don't want to go either.  As for Suzy, she's
in court all of next week with the Rogers case.  Meadows in all his wisdom
has decided that you are to come with me."

Rod could only stand and gape, open-mouthed as Alistair said this.  It
wasn't as if he felt any remorse at being sprung, he just couldn't think of
a response.

There was no point in either of them complaining.  The DCI had spoken.

They were to go to Cambridge and help with the investigations regarding a
cat burglar who had been targeting the city's affluent.  The MO matched
perfectly with that of a cat burglar who had successfully completed fifteen
break-ins in seven days in Sun Hill three months ago.  Alistair and Suzy
had been involved in the investigations from the start, but they had soon
hit a wall.  The burglar was extremely good at his (or her) craft.

Subsequently the investigation had been left stagnant until now.  Until
these break-ins in Cambridge.

~*~*~

Where the hell is Rod?

Alistair glares at his watch for the eleventh time in five minutes.

He'd had second thoughts about handing the keys of the CID car to Rod, but
then decided that it would at least get rid of him.  Rod's sour,
sulky-looking face was really beginning to piss Alistair off.  So he'd
given him the keys and implicit instructions that he return to pick him up
at 7.00pm.  Rod had agreed, and because he was getting what he wanted, had
flashed a disarming grin at Alistair before taking off with DS Rob Bradley
in tow.

That was the last Alistair had seen of them.  And it was now 8.00pm.  He is
exceptionally sick of standing out the front of the Cambridge nick.

Rod's mobile is switched off so Alistair can't even ring up and blast him.

Night is darkening in time with Alistair's mood.  So far, in the two days
they have been here, nothing has been achieved.  Yes, the MO matches
perfectly but they are no closer to arresting someone.  It also appears
that the break-ins have been discontinued and that the burglar has already
moved on.

That would be about right.

Come all the way to Cambridge with Rod "Perma-Sulk" Skase, pissing his
girlfriend off no end in the process, for no reason.

All in all, it is no wonder that Alistair is in the mood he is in.  A mood
that only gets worse as he pulls his mobile out of his coat pocket and
discovers that it has no charge left.

Alistair's inner voice quickly jumps in, "Count to ten before you chuck it
into that puddle over there.  You would only have to pay for it anyway..."

One,
Two,
Three,
Four,
Five...

Suddenly a gunmetal grey Citroen Xantia pulls up in front of Alistair.
Leaning across the passenger seat and opening the door is DI Michael
Connor.

"You look like I feel.  Do you want a lift?"

"Thanks.  I'd love one."

Alistair gets into the car and sinks down into the seat.  Pulling his
seatbelt on, he adds, "You know, you just saved the life of this mobile
phone...I was about throw the blasted thing in a puddle."

Michael raises an eyebrow.

"You looked like you were going to do more than that, but truly, I'm glad I
saved it.  Maybe I serve a purpose after all.  Now, where are you staying?"

"Damn!  Would you believe I can't remember what it is called?  I know it is
opposite an antique shop and that the bar is made of blackwood and that it
also has green leather seats..."

"I know the one, and don't be too hard on yourself, I live here and don't
know what it's called either."

The 'swish-swish' of the windscreen wipers as Michael drove has a relaxing
effect on Alistair and  he feels his mood lighten.  He suspects that he
will end up in the bar of the hotel with the DI and that they will have a
few drinks.  This is a comforting thought because it means he won't be
alone in his room, dwelling on the case, Rod and his girlfriend problems.
Not necessarily in that order.

Besides, once Alistair had gotten over his brief bout of jealousy over
Michael being a DI and younger than him, he'd found that he quite liked
him.  Liked him as a superior, respected his methods, liked him as someone
to talk to.

Physically, Michael reminds Alistair of a PC who had been gunned down at
Sun Hill in a bungled up bank job nearly eight years ago.  What was his
name?  Pete Ramsey.  That's right.  He looks like an older, and, Alistair
has to admit, friendlier-looking version of Ramsey.  Average height, slim
build, dark hair, blue eyes.  Very similar.  Has a lovely manner of
speaking too.  A wonderful voice.

"Here we are.  I think this is the one."

The car pulls up in front of a familiar-looking building that Alistair is
relieved to note is the motel he and Rod are staying at.

"Yeah.  This is the one.  Come on.  I'll buy you a drink."

"That would be great.  It's not as if I've got anyone, or anything for that
matter, to go home to."

Before long the two CID officers are seated in the green leather seats that
Alistair remembered, whiskeys in hand.  At first the conversation centres
around the case, but as there is nothing new to add to that,  soon moves
onto other topics.

Both men were having women problems.  More or less the same problem.
"Being married to the job," and, "You spend more time at the bloody office
than you do with me."  While Alistair is thankful that he is merely
engaged, with Michael it is his marriage that is dying.  He's moved to
Cambridge from London because his wife is having an affair.

The conversation flows freely.  Both men are grateful for the company.  The
chance to complain.  Alistair soon forgets all about his ire towards Rod.

When the bar closes at 11.00pm they aren't drunk.  Merely *happy*.  Not
*happy* enough, however, to finish there.

"There's a mini-bar in my room.  You up for it?"

"Sure.  Why not.  Let the Met foot the tab.  Make up for all those unpaid
hours of overtime."

So Michael follows Alistair up to his room and the drinking and maligning
of women continue.

Eventually, after just about every insult known has been leveled at women,
Alistair opens his mouth and finds himself surprised at what comes out...

"If it weren't for the sex, we wouldn't even need 'em..."

Quick response.

"Do we need them for that?"

// Must be the alcohol talking.  Must also be the alcohol responding. //

Hesitantly..."I've never really thought about it...have you?"

Nervous snort of laughter.  "Yes and no...not all the way...touching,
kissing, that sort of thing...I half-tried some of that at Hendon...not
bad...didn't you?"

"No."  [pause]  "No, I didn't...I think I must come across as boring,
uptight...not that I'm against the idea though."

"I don't think you are uptight.  Not at all."

Blue eyes flash at Alistair, serious.

Nah.  I couldn't, he thinks to himself.  Could I?

Yet when Michael puts his glass down and moves from his seat towards him,
Alistair doesn't move.  Doesn't move until Michael reaches him and then
stands up voluntarily, finding himself pulled into an embrace.  A
passionate, whiskey-flavoured kiss follows that Alistair eagerly responds
to.

Drawing back, momentarily, for air, Alistair manages to stammer, "Do you
know what you are doing?"

"Nope.  Wouldn't have a clue.  But it felt all right, didn't it?"

"Well, I wasn't complaining..."

Genuine laughter erupts from the pair of them.

"Shall I attempt to continue?"

"If you want to...should I do anything?"

"No, no, you are a guest in my city...let me...it can't be too hard..."

"I thought that was the whole point..."

"Wha?...oh....hard...I get it...and you are going to get it if it kills
me..."

More laughter.

It's Alistair who reactivates the kiss but it is Michael who pulls their
bodies together.  Black suit rubbing against grey suit.  White cotton
business shirt against white cotton business shirt.  Silk tie against
woollen tie.

The kiss continues until Michael pushes the palms of his hands up
Alistair's shirt, up to the shoulders in order to remove the jacket.
Breaking the kiss to take off his own jacket as Alistair's falls to the
ground.  Both taking the opportunity to remove their ties, loosening them
and pulling them over flushed faces and ruffled hair.

Alistair hasn't felt this carefree in years.

"So far, so good..."

"The rest should be simple...we know what we like, right?  So it is just a
matter of replicating it.  May I?"

Michael's hands move back to Alistair and his fingers lightly stroke down
his chest before coming to rest on his belt.

[gasp]  "Be my guest..."

Grinning, Michael doesn't offer a response until he succeeds in getting
Alistair's fly undone and his trousers pushed half way down his legs.

"Well I never...tartan boxers!"

"What did you expect?  I am Scottish and I'm about to be a Scotsman lying
in a heap on the floor if these trousers don't come fully off..."

They laugh again.

"Okay then.  Get 'em off."

Never one to disobey an order from a superior officer, Alistair does what
he is told.  Removing his shoes and socks in the process.

"...And you?  Would you like a hand?"

"Please..."

Quickly toeing off his own shoes and socks, Michael allows Alistair to
remove his belt and to pull his trousers down until they are bunched around
his ankles.  Stepping out of them, he pulls Alistair back close.

Alistair responds by sliding his hands under Michael's shirt, delighting in
the difference of texture from his girlfriend's soft, silky skin.  Slightly
rougher but still surprisingly soft.  Quite nice under the hand, actually.

"I can't believe I am doing this."

[moan]  "Not having second thoughts are you?"

"God no!  It is just so different."

"A hand is a hand.  A mouth is a mouth.  Come on.  To the bed..."

Breaking contact, Michael pulls Alistair towards the bed.  Once there,
pushing him down until he is lying the length of it.

Alistair dimly realises that he is lying on a bed clad in nothing but a
business shirt and boxers, and that there is a man leaning over him.
Smiling brightly.

A man whose hands are lightly tickling Alistair's feet and that are now
using the same tickling motion to travel all the way up his legs.  The
boxers cause a momentarily distraction, but are then gently, ever so
gently, pulled down, exposing Alistair's increasingly hard cock.

Michael's smile widens even further now.

"See?  I knew it wouldn't kill me!"

"Oh?  Oh! I remember..." [moan]

Alistair loses his train of thought as Michael's hands somewhat hesitantly
start to make contact with his sensitive cock.  The hesitation soon gives
way to confidence as Alistair moans his approval.  One hand stroking his
cock, the other gently squeezing his aching balls - first one and then the
other and back again.

Nothing has felt so good to Alistair for a long time.  Admittedly he isn't
the most imaginative man when it comes to sex, but his girlfriend is even
worse.  Just lying there with her eyes shut the whole time.  Hardly an
erotic experience.

This...this, on the other hand, is really quite something.

*Something* that is now more than enough to bring him to climax.

Now, Alistair is not one given to loud exclamations.  Usually.  But...

"*Oh...God*!"

He hasn't even noticed that he has arched his back off the bed until he
says this.  Surprising himself as he flops back onto the bed.  He finds he
can barely whisper, "Incredible...just incredible..."

"I aim to please."

Michael looks quite happy with himself as he moves down the bed.  Pulling
Alistair's boxers all the way off his legs, wiping his hands on them before
throwing them on the floor.  He then stretches, briefly raising his arms
above his head and, as he does this Alistair notices the outline of his
cock through his black and white polka dotted satin boxers.

Cute.

Alistair hadn't even noticed them before.  Too intent on his own
sensations.  But now?  Well, he can hardly leave a superior like that, can
he?

Always one to assist a DI in obvious need.

Forcing himself to sit upright, Alistair smiles at Michael and gestures for
him to lie down on the bed.

"My turn..."

"If you insist..."

The two men crawl around the bed until their positions are reversed.
Michael lying flat on his back and Alistair kneeling beside his shins.

Alistair contemplates what to do next. // Will I?  Won't I?  This may be my
only chance.  Why not?  I know I like it.  He was nice to me.  No harm in
trying.  It must be the alcohol... //

Now, how best to achieve this?

Without any further hesitation, Alistair quickly shifts until he is
straddling Michael's legs.  Leaning over him.

"Do you know what you are doing?"

"Nope.  Hopefully I know as much as you did!"

Once again the men find it difficult to contain a burst of laughter.

Who ever thought that love-making could be so much fun?

Michael's laughter quickly turns to little moans of pleasure as Alistair
places his hands under the shirt onto the warm flesh of his torso, tracing
his ribs and pressing alternatively lightly and harder on his chest.
Continuing the ascent until just before his nipples, then pausing to
matter-of-factly unbutton the shirt that is disrupting his progress.
Pushing it open to expose softly rounded, pale flesh and two perfectly
formed brown nipples.

Just begging for attention, really.

Moving his hands to either side of his chest, Alistair braces himself and
lowering his head, puts his mouth on Michael's left nipple.  First circling
it whole, before flicking his tongue out and lapping at it.  When this has
the desired effect of hardening its target, Alistair repeats the action on
Michael's other nipple.

The room is now silent except for Michael's increasingly harsh breathing
and the kissing sounds Alistair's mouth is making as it works its way down
the other man's chest.

Reaching the waist of Michael's boxers, Alistair lifts his head slightly
and licks his lips.  Enjoying the vaguely salty taste.  Glancing down he is
pleased to see that Michael's cock is now straining to be free from its
confines.  Quickly looking up he is even more pleased to note that
Michael's eyes are dilated with fervent desire.  An unasked question seems
to be emanating from the blue irises.

An unasked question that can also be answered without words...

By shifting position again until he is able to swiftly remove Michael's
boxers.  A triumphant grin flashes over Alistair's face.

Now that Alistair has more or less uninterrupted access to Michael's body
(the open shirt doesn't bother him, he actually likes the stark whiteness
of it contrasting with the pale, flushed skin and erect nipples), he moves
again until he is kneeling between his legs.

Content with the position (and the view) Alistair dips his head and resumes
licking, starting at the left knee and licking up the inner thigh.  His
tongue pushing the fine, dark hairs in their opposite direction, and then,
neatly avoiding the bobbing cock in his path, licks down the right thigh.
Smoothing the hairs in their right direction.  Upon completing his circuit
Alistair turns his attention to his ultimate target.

As he moves his mouth to Michael's cock and gently flicks his tongue out,
tasting the pre-come, Alistair discovers that he doesn't have a care in the
world.  He wants to swallow the other man.  If anything he is surprised
that this entire scenario isn't surprising him.

So, Alistair does what he wants...

...Opening his mouth wide he takes it fully in.  Easily (well, those lips
have to be good for something).  What an interesting sensation.

For both of them.

Relaxing his throat muscles, Alistair finds he is able to suck at the
member in his mouth.  Tasting an entirely new taste to any that he has ever
known.  Michael's body writhing on the bed tells him that he is near
release.

...and...here it comes...

"Oh Christ!...*oh yes*!..."

Alistair swallows in time with the spurts before slowly removing his lips
from the other man and lying down next to Michael.

The room is now completely silent, save for the ragged breathing of two now
very tired men.  After a few minutes, Michael recovers sufficiently to
comment, "Well, I think we certainly blundered through that quite
successfully, between us."

Alistair can only sigh contentedly in response.

As the pair of them start to fall asleep, they both choose to ignore the
voices coming from the next room.

Rod's room.

Michael ignores the fact that he thinks he can hear the voice of his DS,
Rob Bradley.

Alistair ignores the fact that he can hear Rod's voice.  Rod's
exceptionally loud voice crying, "Oh yes, Robin...fuck me, fuck me..."

Falling asleep is undoubtedly the best option.

~end~