Slow Horses (Slough House, #1)

by Mick Herron

their hands brushed in the darkness, and their drunk fingers entangled themselves, and then they were kissing, and more than kissing; were clutching at each other in the darkness; each pushing at the other as if anxious to occupy the same space, which turned out

Even when he was any good he wasn’t any good. And it’s a long time since he was any good.”