"Fistful Of Warm Rain"

[library_j]

Fic:  Fistful Of Warm Rain




continuing with my archiving of old stuff what needs a home....  :)

 

A Fistful Of Warm Rain

10/20/03

Author:   jessebee 

Fandom:   Law&Order (original flavor)

Pairing:  Briscoe/Logan

Rating:   NC-17

Summary:  A cold winter night, a hot sauna ....

Author Notes:  Also archived at FF.net, along with most of the rest of my L&O fanfic.  The blame can be laid at the feet of culturevulture7 , as always, for hooking me into this <g>, but a little of the blame for posting can be tossed at Python, who was kind enough to tell me she thought one of my previous stories was hot.  Well, this one's a little hotter. <eg> 

 

 

"I think," Lennie Briscoe said with a long sigh, his baritone voice deep with satisfaction, "that I am finally starting to get warm."

 

"Startin' to, hell.  I'm tryin' to remember the last time I was this damn hot."  Mike Logan breathed in the cedar-scented air and shifted on the damp wooden seat of the sauna, yet more wetness trickling uncomfortably down his neck.  It felt like his hair was sweating.  "1991, maybe.  The summer Phil and I caught that case with the nutjob claiming 4^th Amendment rights for a bush in Central Park."

 

Lennie snorted.  "Heard about that.  Talk about the inmates running the asylum.  This, on the other hand …. "  He sighed again and closed his eyes, settling himself more comfortably against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him on the bench he occupied, across from Mike's.  The tiny sauna had one on each wall, with not even two feet of space between them.  "I could get used to this."

 

So could I, if I don't die of frustration first ….  Mike locked his jaw against the frisson that shivered him from shoulders to toes.  His partner's tone had been practically orgasmic, and every nerve in Mike's body had stood up and taken notice.

 

He was overheated and underdressed, half the country away from home, stranded in luxury in the middle of a Chicago blizzard.  Life was just too fucking strange, sometimes.

 

They were in the Windy City to transfer a prisoner, something Mike never really liked doing.  It always felt vaguely disloyal to him, as if the NYPD was giving up something they'd won fair and square.  Lennie, on the other hand, had opined with his usual pragmatism that if the Chicago taxpayers wanted to foot the bill for the mook's trial, who was he to argue?

 

The transfer had gone smoothly enough, but nonetheless they were still here, having gotten caught in weather that was bad even by Midwest standards, snow heavy enough to shut down O'Hare Airport and half of the Chicago metro area.

 

It'd been dumb blind luck that when they'd gotten through to the 2-7 with the news that they were stuck, ADA Claire Kincaid and her boss, EADA Jack McCoy, had been in Van Buren’s office.  Whether because he liked them or because of his soft spot for Claire, who liked them, McCoy had made an offer of help – a cousin of his who was in management at one of Chicago’s swankier hotels.

 

Which was how they had wound up, on a night when everybody and his dog was trying to get a room, in this ridiculously high-end suite in the Westin Chicago River North, one of the best hotels in the city.  For which the NYPD was only paying peanuts.  McCoy’s cousin, an attractive woman with the EADA’s dark eyes but thankfully not his nose, had booked Mike and Lennie in with the comment that "with a night like this, we may wind up selling out under price anyway, since so many travelers are stuck here in the city.  So the suite might as well get used by someone who will appreciate it."

 

"Appreciate" just wasn’t going to cover it, somehow.  Mike knew he’d had a completely dumbfounded expression on his face as he’d looked around the – well, suite wasn’t even a good word.  Lennie had whistled, long and loud.  "Jesus Christ, I don't think either of my houses was this big."

 

Among the many amenities the hotel had was same-day, in-house laundry service, and cousin McCoy had offered to have their clothes cleaned.  As neither of them had much more than what they were standing up in, it was an offer they’d gratefully accepted.  This, of course, left them pretty much stark naked in the interim.  Not that the thought of lounging around in the oversized, plushy hotel bathrobe, eating room service, had bothered Mike too much.  At least, not then.

 

It was Lennie, cheerfully opportunistic hedonist that he was, who suggested that as long as they were stuck in the buff for a while, they might as well try out the little sauna he'd discovered off the bathroom.  "I am frozen clear through, Mike.  Besides, God only knows when I’ll get an opportunity like this again, especially on somebody else’s tab."

 

Which was how Mike had come to be sitting in this increasingly muggy, dim-lit, cedar-lined little room with only a towel around his waist, trying not to stare at his equally undressed partner and wondering how in the hell he was going to manage to get out of here without thoroughly embarrassing himself.

 

That he was attracted to Lennie, he had known for a while.  No big shock there -- Mike had long ago come to terms with his own bisexuality.  Mostly.  Personality had always been a big turn-on for him and Lennie had it in spades, along with a sarcastic wit and gallows humor even sharper and blacker than Mike’s own.  They hadn’t been working together six months before Mike had realized that the deepening friendship between them was turning physical as well, at least on his own part. 

 

It was everything about him:  the way he talks, the way he moves, that crooked smile.  And if it had only been physical, it would have been no problem.

 

But you woke up that one morning and realized that what you were feeling wasn't something you knew anything about.  You didn't just want to fuck him through the mattress, you wanted to, well, be with him on a long-term basis, mattress or no.  Those couple of women you thought you were serious about before – it was never anything like this.

 

This is a dull ache under the ribs that never goes away.  Is it love? I  don't know.  And I've still got no clue when it happened.

 

But I know damn well what I'm gonna do about it.  Nothing.

 

Because Lennie'd made pretty clear his feelings about amore in general:  having struck out twice before, the only thing he was in the market for now was some good sex, not a relationship.  And for once in your life it's not just about the sex, is it, Mike? 

 

Lennie had also made it clear early in their partnership that the idea of same-sex love didn’t offend him in the least, but he'd never given any definite sign that he might swing both ways himself. 

 

And the NYPD could be … unhealthy … for those whose sexual preferences ran contrary to the accepted norms.

 

You've finally fallen in love, if that's what this is, and he's not interested in being anything more than friends.  Somewhere, Michael Logan, God is laughing his ass off at you.

 

So Mike had locked his desires away and kept them to himself, and gone on with his life.  Dated a lot, bedded quite a few willing women he could have in an attempt to keep from thinking about the man he couldn't.  Tried to ignore the small, subtle awareness that it felt almost like he was cheating.  And most times it worked, too – most times he could work and joke and laugh with Lennie as he would with any close friend, stand close at a crime scene, touch his arm to get his attention, and fool himself that there was nothing more, nothing sexual, to the contact.

 

Most times.  With every breath he took now, Mike got the spicy edge of Lennie's aftershave, intensified by the heat, and fought the urge to lick his lips.

 

Now was not one of those times.

 

~~

 

Here, kitty, kitty, kitty ….

 

Lennie could practically feel the intensity of Mike's not-looking-at-him stare, and struggled to keep the crow of triumph locked in his throat.  Finally.

 

He'd been watching Mike for months now, trying to figure the man out.  Every time the  younger detective made a move that might, just might, be construed to mean he'd be interested in Lennie in more than a friendly fashion, he pulled back, and the moment vanished before Lennie could respond.  It was disconcerting, and frustrating as hell, even allowing for the need for caution because of where they worked, and who they were.

 

There was a phrase Lennie'd heard somewhere that he just loved:  "I have abandoned the search for true romance and am now looking for a good fantasy."  On the physical level, Mike Logan fit the fantasy thing perfectly – the man was attractive as hell.

 

Add to that the facts that his partner a) was obviously not shy when it came to sex, and b) had never, by Lennie’s observations and Mike’s own admission, had a relationship that had lasted longer than a month or two.

 

Put it all together, and Lennie’d figured that Mike was the ideal candidate for the type of purely sexual relationship Lennie was after.  "Fuck-buddies" was the crude term for it -- two friends having sex strictly for fun and release.  No emotional involvement, no impact on their work relationship or any other portion of their lives.  The type of arrangement only guys would understand -- perfect for someone who'd struck out twice in the marriage game and someone who apparently had no real interest in ever going to bat.

 

Problem was, he couldn't get a clear read on whether Mike's sexuality extended to members of his own team.

 

But there were too many moments when something Mike did, his body language (oh, that body language) or the look in his eyes had Lennie convinced that the younger detective was as bisexual as Lennie himself was -- and then it would vanish like morning street fog.

 

So Lennie had been biding his time, waiting for a situation when Mike couldn't get away, couldn't shut down.  He had a boatload of motive -- what he needed was opportunity.  The sauna had looked like the perfect one, maybe the best he'd get.

 

Mike was obviously aroused and just as obviously trying to hide it.  Probably wondering how the hell he's gonna get out of here without embarrassing himself.  Lennie smiled inwardly.  If I'm right, though, by the time we get outta here you'll have nothing to be embarrassed about, my friend, 'cept maybe the fact that we could have done this months ago.

 

And months into the future?  What then?  Lennie refused to look at the thought now as he'd been refusing to look at it since he'd first realized that he could so very easily want Mike for far, far more than a few rounds of the horizontal tango.  He just wasn’t going there – that wasn’t what he wanted.  Romance, as far as it applied to himself, was dead.

 

Most of the time, maybe he even believed it.

 

Even if Mike does want you, he sure the hell isn't gonna fall in love with you.  And you don’t want him to – you’ve seen and heard about what’s happened with the few women he thought might be serious.  In the end he never stays – it’d be like tryin’ to hold a fistful of rain. 

 

And you've already walked off enough emotional cliffs in your life, Lennie Briscoe.  Playing fuck-buddies will be fun, if you're careful, but falling for him is Out Of The Question.

 

No, a couple of sweaty nights, maybe a short affair if he was lucky, would be exactly the ticket. 

 

Besides, you’ve got his friendship, and that’s the far better deal.  Lennie had realized early in their partnership that for all the charm and bonhomie Mike could trot out when needed, he didn't give his friendship quickly or easily.  But if he did, it was pretty much forever -- if you needed him, he'd be there.  And that was more than enough for Lennie.

 

Most of the time, maybe he even believed that, too.

 

Lennie regarded his partner now through slitted eyes.  As fine as Mike looked normally, he was fucking incredible when wet and aroused and next to naked.  His pale skin practically glowed in the low light, flushed by his own heat and that of the sauna.  Athletic shoulders, powerful arms, well-made chest, flat stomach, defined thighs and a tempting bulge between them … the man looked more than good enough to eat.  Smelled that way, too -- something clean but classic, with a touch of bay rum and the faintest hint of leather.

 

Lennie stretched luxuriously, enjoying the intense warmth, knowing full well that his own arousal had to be plainly visible beneath the towel around his hips.  He wasn't vain -- he was fully aware of his own standings on the attractiveness charts.  But he'd also discovered years ago that where looks didn't make the cut, personality sometimes more than made up for it.

 

And Mike, he was absolutely sure, liked personality.

 

~~

 

Holy Mother of God.

 

That Lennie wasn't conventionally handsome didn't matter.  Neither did the fact that he was nearly fifteen years older than Mike, and had obviously stopped working out a while ago -- none of that mattered.  It never had.  And now the flex and arc of the practically naked body that housed the man he was so attracted to shot Mike's internal temperature up from damned hot to approaching nuclear.  He realized distantly that Lennie was watching him, but he couldn't make himself look away.

 

The older detective was long and rangy, almost slender for his height except for his shoulders and the little extra he was carrying around his waist.  Graying chest hair gleamed silvery against skin that was a warm, glistening gold everywhere under the sweat that sheened him, everywhere Mike could see.  Which was everywhere except for that bit covered by his towel; the bit Mike couldn't quite look away from.  Because under that towel his partner was sporting an erection that was making Mike's mouth water and his own groin ache, and if he didn't get out of this hotbox really damn soon there was gonna be heat generated in here from a source other than electrical.

 

Breathing was becoming more difficult, both from the hot humidity and his own inner turmoil.  He ducked his head, finally managing to tear his gaze away.  "I think I'm well-done, Lennie.  I'm gonna get out," he said, absurdly pleased when his voice didn't crack.

 

"What?  I'll bet you're not even to medium-rare yet.  It's just getting nice in here."  Lennie's voice was still lower than normal, rich and lazy.

 

God, Lennie, if you ever quit the force you can make a freakin' mint on the 900 lines.  "Yeah, you would say that.  I'll go, you can broil as long as you want."

 

"But it'll be so lonely."  Lennie reached out and laid his hand on Mike's calf.  "Really, Mike.  What's the hurry?"

 

The touch stopped Mike dead in his tracks.  His body shrieked both lust and panic at his brain, and the conflicting signals jammed his gears.  Hot as the room was, he was ready to swear Lennie's hand was hotter -- he felt each individual finger like a brand.  A whole new round of perspiration sprang up and ran ticklishly down his spine.

 

He stared at the lean fingers tan against his own paler skin for long, long moments before he managed to swallow and grope for a smartass remark.  "You should probably move that hand, or I might start thinking you mean something by it."

 

The fingers tightened.  "Who's saying I don't?"

 

Mike's eyes snapped up, and suddenly there was even less air in the room.  Lennie's dark eyes were nearly black, and his expression was -- interested.  Very.  Blatantly.  Interested.

 

"You … do?"  Holy Mother, had he really just said that?

 

Lennie swung his legs around into the small space between their seats, his motions easy, as if the heat of the room had taken off years.  A lock of salt and pepper hair came free of his normal combed back style and fell wetly over his forehead.  It made him look oddly younger, and sexy as hell.  His hand never left Mike's leg; in fact, it began sliding slowly north.  "Uhm-hmm.  Shall we dance?"

 

He had said that.  Oh, God.  And Lennie was, was --

 

It smacked him all at once, and now Mike was truly struggling to breathe around the overwhelming surge of desire and elation and something that felt oddly like despair.  Yes, this was happening.  His partner, Lennie Briscoe, was a switch-hitter. 

 

And Lennie was coming on to him.

 

But he didn't, he couldn't, want this the same way Mike did.

 

You're on the edge of an emotional minefield, Mikey, you gonna take the walk anyway, keep it friendly?  Is having him for just a while worth the pain?

 

Yes.

 

God Almighty, don't let me screw this up.

 

"What makes you think I'm so easy?" Mike got out finally, knowing he had arousal written all over his face and almost giddy with the fact that finally, he didn't have to hide it.

 

"The fact that you haven't loosened my teeth, among other things."  Lennie's smile was the one that Mike loved and rarely saw, full and even and wicked, showing off the very white teeth in question.

 

Lennie leaned in closer, his long fingers now curved over Mike's knee.  His thumb began to rub slow circles on Mike's sweaty, tingling skin.  "Whadaya say?"

 

That smart, sarcastic tongue was now just too damned close.  "I'd say do something with your mouth 'sides talk."

 

In the next moment Lennie was kissing Mike hard, with skill and intent, and his hands were on Mike's hips under the towel.

 

Mike grabbed at Lennie's shoulders, hands sliding on wet skin, and kissed him back.  His partner's mouth was sweet with the chocolate bar he'd eaten earlier, but underneath was something that was -- Lennie.  It was Lennie, and that fact slammed Mike into overdrive, driving south what little blood remained above his waist.

 

He yanked his hands up to bury them in the older man's damp hair and lock that mouth to his own as Lennie pulled at him, maneuvering Mike down onto his back with one knee in the air and his other leg off the bench.  Somewhere during the slide he felt Lennie pull his towel away and that was fine.  More than fine, because those long hands were all over him now, gliding slickly over his ribs, his chest, his stomach, and down down down to circle teasingly around an erection that was getting so hard he was sure he could lift weights with it. 

 

Mike arched, squirming, completely unable to stay still under the touch he'd wanted so badly.  That tongue was pure seduction and Mike wanted to drown in the taste, chased it down, loving Lennie's sound of surprise as Mike captured him and took control of the kiss. 

 

He moaned a complaint when Lennie broke away and licked along his jaw, moved down to his ear.  Hot wetness slithered along the edge and Mike shuddered.  He couldn't count the number of people who'd done that to him in the past – why this time did it feel like his ear was wired directly to his crotch?

 

Lennie chuckled.  "That what you had in mind?"  His voice was century-old Bushmills Single Malt -- smooth and potent, with a bite.

 

"Getting there.  Oh, Jesus -- "  Mike choked, trying without success to catch his breath in the close, cedar-and-spice tinged air.  Lennie was finally, finally touching him -- a single finger was sliding up his cock with deliberate, knowing intention.

 

"This all for me?" the whisky voice burred in his ear.

 

"I don't -- God -- don't see anyone else in here, d'you?"

 

"Good answer."

 

~~

 

The bench wasn't really wide enough for what he was about to do, but Lennie wasn't going to let that stop him.  And his knees were going to scream later about the abuse, kneeling as he was on the wooden floor, but he didn't care about that either.

 

It was like finding an all-you-can-eat sign outside your all-time-favorite restaurant, and finding out they'd been waiting specifically for you.  Mike was a feast, and Lennie was starving -- he could hardly decide where to start. 

 

He ran his hands greedily over Mike's skin, wanting to feel him everywhere at once.  Shoulders, chest, stomach, hips, thighs -- and that lovely, lovely erection.  He closed one hand around it and grinned at Mike's shiver, made a teasing, experimental caress from root to tip and back again.  One advantage to a sauna:  slippery when wet, he laughed to himself.

 

Mike groaned and swore softly, twisting in movements he couldn't seem to control, his hands wandering Lennie's neck and shoulders restlessly.  Lennie grinned again and bit at a stiff nipple, gave the silky flesh in his hand another, harder stroke.  The swearing was louder this time.  "Are you as noisy in bed as you are at work?"

 

"Probably," Mike gasped.  His voice had gone deep, with a sex-line husk that coiled around the base of Lennie's spine.  The younger man arched again, digging his shoulders against the wood, his head rolling.  "Only dated one cop, never -- made a comparison."

 

"Well, good," Lennie rumbled, licking at the taut neck, tasting salt and something intoxicating that was just Mike.  "Always like to know when I'm doing it right."  He tightened his grip and Mike groaned again, hips jerking.

 

"At this point, I don't think you coulddoitwrongJesusChristLenniemove already!"

 

"But I think I like you this way," he breathed into Mike's ear and his partner shivered again, all over.  Lennie chuckled, feeling decidedly evil.  "You want my fun to be over so soon?"

 

"It won't, I swear, I'll make it up to you," Mike gritted through his teeth, pushing against Lennie's encircling fist.  "Just move, dammit, please!"

 

Damn, the man looked good when he begged.  Have pity or not?  Decisions, decisions ….

 

Lennie moved, starting a tight, smooth rhythm and Mike clutched at his back, mouth dropping open in pleasure and relief.  Oh, that mouth … Lennie had to kiss him again.  With interest.  The kind of kiss that had a search warrant, took its time, made a detailed, thorough toss of the place. 

 

The thick atmosphere of the tiny room closed in around them.  The universe was heat and the smell of cedar and Mike's body.  Lennie wanted to drown in it all and never come out.

 

"Y'know, anyone'd think this was the first sex you've had in a year, the way you're acting," Lennie murmured at last, teased against Mike’s lips.

 

"No," Mike whispered, eyes screwed shut.  "Just the first time it's mattered."

 

Those simple words skewed Lennie's whole world sideways.  He jerked up in shock, his motions slowing, and Mike's hand came down to cover his and move them both.

 

That Mike could want him for a good fuck or three, sure, but Mike couldn't really want him ….   That Mike hadn't intended to say that was clear from the touch of panic in the fevered greenish eyes that snapped opened to gaze up at him.  But it was quickly drowned under desire.  And honesty. 

 

Hunger and panic warred in Lennie's own chest as he stared at the man undulating beneath him.  "We could be in a little trouble here, Mike."

 

Mike nodded, sliding his other hand around the back of Lennie's neck, his look now that of someone who knew he'd just burned a bridge but couldn't quite make himself care.  "I know.  I've been in trouble for a while now."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah."  Mike leaned up and took his mouth urgently, only to fall away a few moments later, fingers slipping down to dig into his arm instead.  "I'm sorry," he panted, "I can't -- wait -- I want this too much -- "  He gasped, straining.  Lennie felt the steel-hard cock in his, their grip tighten, harden further.

 

"Hey, we've got all night, and you are gonna pay me back.  Besides," Lennie smirked, lust and desire winning out for the moment over the alarm, "I'm flattered."

 

Mike laughed, a breathless but happy sound.  "Y' should be.  I don't lose it like this for just anybo -- oh, yeah, there, that's it -- "

 

Lennie watched in lascivious wonder as Mike pleasured himself with their entwined hands, committing to his own sense-memory that move, this spot, fingers just so.  He himself was so turned on he could hardly stand it, flung higher than he'd been in years by the fact that Mike wanted him, and wanted him badly.

 

Badly enough, apparently, to lose control like a fifteen-year-old getting his first real taste of a lover, and come abruptly and sweetly over their joined hands.  Mike curled forward with a high, broken cry that nearly set Lennie off then and there as warm, thick liquid spattered between them, adding to the sweaty mess they'd both become. 

 

Mike bucked, and again, then melted back against the bench; Lennie felt the spasms shuddering through him.  The silk-steel flesh in his hand began to soften but still Mike held him there, not letting go, continuing to press as if not wanting to lose his touch.

 

"Goddamn, you're hot," Lennie said eventually when he could find his voice, holding on to his own control with both hands and iron will.

 

"In more ways than one," Mike breathed, still gulping air.  "Think I'm gonna be embarrassed here in a minute.  Oh my God …."

 

Lennie kissed the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose.  "Don't be.  Seriously, Mike, that was the sexiest thing I've seen in years and I'm flattered as all hell.  But you are so gonna make it up to me."

 

"Bet on it.  Soon as I can move."  Mike smiled, a dazed, lazy grin that set off fireworks in the pit of Lennie's stomach.  He brushed his free hand across Lennie's sweat-slick chest, traced down to his belly and lower, the touch trailing fire.  "But I think I want the shower, there's not enough room in here."

 

Lennie gritted his teeth as knowing fingers slowly ran the length of his erection.  "So what was this?   's the trouble with you young guys, no imagination."

 

Mike's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharpening, his brain clearly coming back online.  "Oh, I think you'll find my imagination's in gooood working order."

 

 

Ten minutes later Lennie was more than willing to admit that as truth as he leaned weakly against the marble shower wall.  Hell, at this point he'd admit to any damn thing Mike wanted, he was about ready to beg, if only Mike would let him come.  Mike had him pinned, broad hands locked on his hips and sleek dark head bobbing at his groin, working him with terrifying focus, holding him precisely at the cliff's edge and refusing to let him fall. 

 

Hot water pounded him as he strained against his partner's iron grip, his legs unsteady, his fingers clamped hard enough onto Mike's shoulders that he knew the younger man would have bruises in the morning.  He was on fire, the water notwithstanding; his whole world had narrowed down to Mike's -- Mike's! -- lips and tongue and sweet hot exquisite suction around his cock.

 

"Mike," he groaned finally, in a voice that wasn't his, surrendering.  He had to come.  Right fucking now.  "Damnit, Mike, please -- !"

 

As if that was what his partner had been waiting for, strong fingers slipped down to probe delicately but firmly around his balls and behind, exactly where Lennie desperately wanted them, and the suction increased -- just -- enough.

 

He would have howled then if he could've breathed, but he couldn't.  All he could do was bow helplessly forward over the man between his legs as his climax shoved him over the edge, shattering him apart in pleasure so strong it almost hurt. 

 

He fell forever, it seemed, ecstasy ripping through him, before enough of the world coalesced for him to realize that he was falling, sliding down the cool marble to end up in a heap on the shower floor, wrapped in his partner's strong arms.

 

Breathe.  Breathing is good.  Lennie just lay there, savoring the aftershocks and the feel of Mike's powerful frame warm around his, the heated water sluicing down over them both.  Mike pressed slow kisses, one after another, across his cheekbone and along his jaw, down his neck, the gentle touches as erotic as anything else they'd done.

 

"You okay?" Mike murmured finally in his ear, his voice a deep furry purr that would have had Lennie standing to attention again if he'd had an ounce of energy left.

 

"Never better," he sighed, meaning every word.

 

Mike nuzzled his shoulder, and Lennie felt the gust of warm air as he exhaled, then settled, as if he didn't mean to move for a while.  Lennie spread his fingers and stroked slowly along the other man's arm, up to his shoulder, his neck, his hair and back down, enjoying the feel of warm, wet Mike.

 

Eventually, though, the consciousness of the tension in the body pressed against him combined with the unrelenting hardness of the stone at his back to rouse him from his pleasant post-coital haze.  "Mike?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"What's wrong?"

 

Mike was quiet, then sighed again, his fingers massaging gently along Lennie's ribs.  "I … want you to know that I can handle this, whatever happens."  His voice was muffled into Lennie's skin.  "This won't change anything that you don't want it to."

 

For a moment confusion reigned, then cold shock, then hot relief as Lennie realized what had happened.  That moment of truth, there in the sauna.  Mike had confessed. 

 

But Lennie hadn't.

 

It wasn't too late to hide -- he could still convince Mike that this was purely physical, just two good friends having sex.  He could see that emotional cliff edge, and the steep drop beyond.

 

Even as he damned himself for a fool, he stepped anyway.

 

"Mike," he whispered, roughly.  "When I said we could be in trouble, I mean both of us.  It matters to me, too."

 

A moment of complete stillness, then Mike pulled away far enough to see him.  He wore an expression Lennie had never seen on him before, one that hit him like a punch to the chest: a dawning joy like morning sun through spring leaves in Central Park.  "Really?"

 

Lennie nodded, his own throat abruptly too tight for speech.

 

He had only a few moments to marvel at the broad, bright smile before Mike buried it against his throat, hugged an arm almost painfully tight around his waist.  "Oh," his partner said softly, his voice choked.  "Oh, good."

 

Good, he says.  For now.  Lennie hugged back, squeezing his eyes shut as happiness edged with pain filled his heart.  Holy Mother of God, Briscoe, what have you gotten yourself into now?  You can't expect to hold him, you know he won't stay.  Even when he thinks he will, he doesn't.  He never has.

 

The water still beat down on them like rain, and Lennie turned his face up into it.  Then I'll hold him for however long I have.

 

 

finis