Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(6)

“Football? Or that shit you Americans play in tights and helmets?”

“Hey. Hey. Fuck you.” Stefan laughed. “And yes, American football. But, like I was saying, I like football, and I like sex, but I never sat around with a bunch of guys and said, ‘Hey, let’s play flag football, but when you get someone’s flag, you also get his ass.’”

“That could be fun, actually.” Frank rested a hand on top of the steering wheel. “If it wasn’t such a stupid sport. Rugby’s a lot more fun.”

“You know, just for that, I am shooting you in the ass today.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“What?” Stefan leaned forwards, eyes fixing on the floorboards by his feet. “Oh, hey, you dropped something.” He reached down, then withdrew his hand, middle finger up. “I believe this gauntlet’s yours.”

Frank chuckled.

Stefan sat back again. “Anyway. The origin of sex and paintball. Go.”

“Okay, we had some guys with a soldier/military fetish.” Frank glanced over his shoulder before he changed lanes. “And there were some fantasies about capturing, being captured, stuff like that. So we kept trying to come up with ways to play that out, and eventually, someone mentioned it would be hotter and more intense if there was actually a sense of danger. Like, incoming enemy fire.”

“Spoken like people who’ve never been in real combat.”

Frank thought he saw Stefan shudder. “Yeah, well, we gave it a try, and it wound up being pretty damned hot.”

Stefan looked right at him, and Frank was thankful he had the road to hold his attention. “So who do you like to be? Captor or captive?”

He hesitated. “The ref, usually.”

“Really? What fun is that?”

Frank threw him a glance. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know what forty-plus feels like.” That was an easy enough excuse, anyway.

“Forty? You’re kidding.”

“You’ve looked at me, right? I’m getting grey on top. I can still sustain an erection, but by gay standards, I’m from the bloody Stone Age.” As good a reason as any. The more good reasons he could find . . . “And I’m okay with that. Being twenty was shit.”

“You’re fit. Fitter than several younger guys I’ve had.” Stefan paused. “Besides, I like older men.”

Frank glanced at him. “Daddy fetish?”

Stefan was silent for a few seconds. “I like confidence. You know, the kind that comes from being comfortable in your own skin and not giving a f*ck about what everyone else thinks.” He turned to Frank again. “And, face it, man. You’re hot.”

Frank swallowed. “I . . . thanks.”

“So why the hell don’t you play?”

Frank tapped the wheel with two fingers. “Because I don’t have the stamina to run around all night. I don’t get carried away. I make sure people are all safe, sane, and consensual.”

“You ever get off? With somebody else?”

“Done it. Know my way round sex, thanks.”

Stefan laughed. “What do I have to do to get you out onto the field? A bet? Taunting? Challenge you?”

Please God, change the topic. I’m trying to drive. “Check out the other guys first before you commit to entertaining gramps, all right?”

Stefan fell silent next to him while Frank negotiated a roundabout and got the car onto the narrow access road that would lead them to the playing field. It was tucked away between two wooded hills, and Frank was always a little surprised how rural Kent got once you turned your back to London and kept moving for a few miles. Farms, fields, and enough space to evade prying eyes. About five minutes later, he pulled into the cleared area they used as a parking lot. “I’ll leave you to Geoff,” Frank said as he selected a parking spot. “He’s one of the owners.”

Stefan didn’t say anything.

I think I managed to put him off with the self-pity. And I’m still his boss.

He killed the engine. A couple of the other guys were already there. Geoff and Mike sat in their open car, Mike stuffing a McSomething into his face. One of those god-awful things that smelled intensely like no food smelled naturally.

Geoff finished a bottle of Mountain Dew, crushed it in his hand, and tossed it into a plastic bag. They were decked out, faces already painted. Not that it was necessary thanks to the protective masks everyone wore, but Mike liked it. Considering those two were a well-to-do couple—one owner of a paintball business, the other a techie entrepreneur—with a house that featured three Russian blue cats and lace doilies on the loos, their martial appearance never failed to amuse Frank.

“Hey guys.” He waved as he got out of the car. “How you doing?”

Mike waved around a few fries, looking sheepish. “Don’t mind me. Haven’t managed to f*cking eat anything. Had a release for a client at midnight and then shit went wrong.”

“Same shit, different day, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mike hummed around a mouthful of his McArteryDeath.

Geoff eyed Stefan. “And who is this?”

“This is Stefan, our American friend. The guy I mentioned in my email.” Frank lifted an eyebrow. “He’s promised he’s going to kick our pensioner arses. He’s done the real thing, apparently.” Set them up nicely—the result should be fun.