"Measure of a Man: Rain Check"

[library_j]

Fic:  Measure Of A Man:  Rain Check


sequel to Helping Hands

 

Title:  Measure Of A Man:  Rain Check

Author:  jessebee 

Rating:  NC-17 like whoa

Genre:  slash, sexxin, a little romance, maybe

Pairing:  Briscoe/Logan

Spoilers: can't think of any

Warnings:  do not use while operating heavy machinery

Word Count:  ~3700

Summary:  Fourth in the Measure series, wherein Mike cashes a check, and gets more than face value.

 

sequel to Helping Hands

"Rain check, then."

 

"Okay."

 

"Hmm.  Deal."

 

It'd been almost a week, but Mike couldn't get it out of his head.  Despite the fact that he knew damn good and well that you couldn't hold a guy to much of anything said under the immediate influence of an orgasm, he still couldn't get that bit of conversation out of his head.

 

It'd been almost a week, and Lennie was still -- Lennie.  Still the same cynical, jaded wiseass he'd always been, treating Mike the same way he always had. 

 

Or almost the same, anyway.  Because there were moments -- just seconds, here and there -- when Mike would swear his partner's dark gray eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than was necessary.  Or flashed with a conspiratorial sort of warmth that said "we've got a secret."  Moments when Lennie stepped an inch closer, stayed a touch longer, in Mike's space than he would have before -- well, y'know.  Before.

 

It just felt so … easy, somehow.  Friendly.  Like Lennie really was expecting Mike to take him up on the offer.  Like maybe it really wasn't just Mike's imagination showing him what he wanted to see.  And it was that, Mike decided later, that got him feeling ballsy enough to try.

 

It was getting late, but they were still in the squad room, trying to finish the last of the paperwork from the O'Greer case.  Almost everybody else had abandoned ship, and the only lights on were the ones in the outside hallway and the ones over their desks.

 

Lennie yanked the current piece of paper out of his typewriter with a flourish and slapped it on top of the pile.  "That is it for my end," he said gleefully.  "You about done?"

 

"Soon as we sign all this crap," Mike grinned.  "Let's put this sucker to bed and get the hell outta here."

 

Lennie arched an eyebrow.  "You gotta hot date you didn't tell me about?  Hope they don't mind waiting."

 

It was just too perfect an opening to pass up.  Go, Mike.  Go.  Now or never.  He caught Lennie's eyes and held them.  "I don't have a date, yet, exactly," he said softly, slowly.  "But I'm hopin' to." 

 

Lennie paused.  Blinked.  Then his lips parted a touch, drew upward into his familiar half-smile.  "Somebody give you a marker you're thinkin' of callin' in?"  His normal baritone had gone a little lower.  Inviting.

 

Mike nodded, warmth starting to rise in his chest.  "A rain check."

 

"Well, then."  Lennie's smile widened.  "What say we finish this crap up and blow this pop stand?  We can get take-out on the way to your place."

 

"My place?  Why my place?"

 

"'Cause I know where it is, and it's a damn sight neater than mine."

 

~~

 

The Chinese was gone, leaving the ubiquitous white cartons strewn over Mike's otherwise neat coffee table.  Comfortable and pleasantly full described Mike just then, as he leaned back into his couch and closed his eyes.  Anticipatory described him too -- he'd been half hard since they'd sat down to eat.  Now he felt his interest perk up some more as he debated his next move.  He knew what was happening, going to happen.  What he hoped to God was gonna happen.  He just wasn't sure exactly when, or how, to make the first move.  Or how he was gonna deal with the silence of his apartment after it was over and Lennie had left, because it was only, after all, one rain check--

 

There was a creak of springs as Lennie got up, moved in the direction of the bathroom.  Mike tensed but didn't open his eyes.  The door opened again.  There was the snap of a light switch.  Footsteps.  The couch dipped, and a large, warm hand landed on his leg.  Mike's heartrate jumped.  Looked like he wouldn't have to make the first move after all.  Hot damn.

 

"You goin' to sleep on me?"

 

Jesus, Lennie had a sexy voice when he let it go low like that.  Mike smiled and opened his eyes.  "And miss the main event?  Not a chance."

 

Lennie's hand slipped slowly up and in, fingers trailing the inside of Mike's thigh, heading seductively for home plate.  Mike had tossed his tie earlier and undone the top few buttons on his shirt.  Now Lennie leaned in and nuzzled, his iron-gray hair dark in the corner of Mike's vision.  Lennie breathed in and out against Mike's neck, lips touching hot and unexpectedly tingly along his skin. 

 

God, as much as he liked that--  "Y'don't need to seduce me, Lennie, we both know the score," Mike murmured reluctantly.  "Like y'said the other night, no need for romance here."

 

"And like you said," Lennie murmured back, "there's no rush.  Main course is even better when it's got trimmings.  Lemme make this good for you."

 

Hearing his own words back in Lennie's voice jumped Mike's heartrate again, starting a  dangerous hope in his stomach and a victory celebration in his pants.

 

Never, in the month between realizing his attraction to his partner and their trip to Boston, had Mike seriously entertained the idea that Lennie might actually be willing to play.  Far as he'd known, although Lennie'd made it clear that he had absolutely no problem with whatever consenting adults wanted to do, his partner was himself straight to the bone.  Mike had no clue where he'd gotten the balls to make that offer to Lennie a week ago there in Beantown, but now--  Was it possible, just maybe, somehow, someway, he might get Lennie to think about making this more than just a one-time payoff?  If Mike played his cards right, could it -- oh, yeah.  He caught his breath as Lennie's hand slid firmly over the now considerable bulge in his trousers.

 

"Think he's happy to see me."  Lennie's voice again, sexy and amused.

 

No, actually, "sexy" didn't quite describe that voice.  Mike was gonna have to find another word.  "Think you're right," he managed, trying not to squirm as Lennie rubbed him slowly, getting acquainted.  "Oh, God, that feels good."

 

"You can't possibly be as sex-starved as that just sounded," Lennie chuckled, pressing a little harder.

 

"Quality, not quantity," Mike breathed, trying to sidestep.  'Cause there was no way to really answer that without gettin' himself in trouble, admitting that the hands he'd been most interested in for a while now had been his partner's oddly elegant ones. 

 

"You saying I got good hands, too?"

 

"If I say jury's still out, gonna show me more evidence?"

 

Lennie raised his head, gray eyes dark in the low light, a smile quirking his mouth.  "That sounded like a challenge."

 

Mike had to grin back.  "So, impress me."  

 

Lennie smirked and lowered his head again.  A wet, warm tongue made contact with Mike's jaw, licked in the direction of his ear, sending more tingles through him.  The pleasure-dealing fingers on his crotch were joined by friends and together they unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly.  And cupped, stroked him again, now with only one light layer of cotton between skin and skin.  Mike sighed and rolled his head back, God, that felt so damn good --

 

"Lift up a bit," his partner whispered, breath feathering hot over his ear.

 

Mike did, eyes squinching closed, felt Lennie's hands at his hips, grasping, pulling his pants and underwear down.  And then --  "Oh, yeah."  Contact.  Long warm fingers against his aching cock, strong hand … Lennie's hand.

 

It was gonna happen.  Lennie was touching him with the hands Mike had been thinking about since Boston, when he'd locked himself into that tiny hotel bathroom and beat off into one of the top ten orgasms of his life, he'd gotten so hot touching his partner, touching, oh God, wait -- "Len, wait, we need somethin' -- "

 

"Already raided your cabinet, Mike."  Lennie's voice was sex-line worthy, and punctuated by a something-plastic-opening sorta sound.  "Didn't think I'd letcha get friction burn, didja?"

 

"What were you, Boy Scout?  Always prepared?"

 

"Worse," his partner chuckled.  "Army."

 

"Y're not gonna tell me this was part of Basic Training?"  Mike didn't know whether to be worried or not, bit down on a groan as something slick and vaguely cool was applied to his cock.

 

"Learned this way before I was drafted, don't worry."

 

Where?  Who? Mike wanted to ask, but stopped himself just in time.  Then he lost the question anyway in the rush of pleasure swamping him as Lennie took hold of him and pumped slowly, hand blissfully tight. 

 

"Howdaya want it?" Lennie asked, and Mike shivered as his partner's tongue traced the edge of his ear.

 

"Tight, like that," he managed.  "'n faster, not too -- yeah.  Oh, yeah."  He needed to touch, suddenly, needed an anchor.  His arm, which he'd had stretched out on the back of the couch, slipped down and around Lennie's back almost without Mike realizing it.

 

But Lennie didn't seem to mind the hold, or Mike's fingers closing on his ribs.  His hand kept up its steady pace, and he continued to wreak havoc on Mike's ear and the skin below, working his way across Mike's neck and down to the hollow of his throat, leaving a trail of fire.  Mike couldn't completely stop the groan this time as his partner nipped at the point of his collarbone, but he tried --

 

"Lemme hear you," Lennie muttered into his skin, licking up his neck.  "Don't have much practice here, lemme know if I'm doin' this right. "

 

If he was doing it right?  Holy Mother –  "Y'r kiddin' me, right?" Mike breathed.  "It's fuckin' great.  Jesus.  If this's no practice, your women must be really happy."

 

A warm, rather lascivious chuckle.  "I've had a few complaints."

 

"Then they were idiots.  God – "  He twisted as Lennie bit gently where his pulse beat, just under his jaw, arched his neck to give his partner better access.

 

This was really happening, wasn't it?

 

Mike pried his eyes open, saw the white of his ceiling, the grey-dark mix of Lennie's hair.  He gasped, got the scent of Lennie's aftershave and beneath that, the smell of the man himself.  Lennie really was giving him a hand job, and a damn good one, on his couch.

 

Reality slammed in and ran him in a hot flush, and his clothes were suddenly sticking to him with the sweat.  Mike quit thinking, let the sensations take him away.  The solid press of his partner's body against his side; the heat of that wicked mouth licking, nipping over his throat; the perfect pressure of that hand never stopping, pumping him with a snug, exquisite grip; the soft gust of the older man's breathing hot across his skin; the smell of Old Spice and over-heated male, and the musky tang of sex ….

 

Lennie.  It was Lennie … Mike rolled his head and moaned, barely aware of the sound and completely not caring, not about that or the litany of "yes" and "God" and "more" spilling from his mouth --

 

"That's it," Lennie growled close to his ear, hot and -- some tiny portion of Mike's brain realized -- aroused.  "That's it.  Give it to me, Mike."

 

And that did it, hearing his name in that dark, gravelly, whiskey-honey voice.  He clenched his hand hard into Lennie's shirt, his hips pushing now, the pressure building, tightening in his balls, driving him closer, closer, closer to the edge, almost there, almost --

 

He arched up with a strangled cry as the pleasure hit with a bang, every muscle pulling tight, white tracer lines etching behind his eyelids -- no sound, no air, nothing but net --

 

-- then the edge crumbled under him and dropped him into the pit.

 

Slowly, the world came back.  He was a limp wreck, and no doubt a sticky mess as well.  Lennie was still a firm, heavy presence against his side, breath warm against Mike's neck.  Mike swallowed, became aware that he'd put his own hand over Lennie's at some point and now held them both over his groin, a warm secure cover that felt really damn good.  Maybe too good … Mike blinked, got his eyes open.  Nope, nothing on the ceiling.  Amazing.  He swallowed again, licked dry lips.  "Jury's convinced," he commented hoarsely.

 

Lennie snorted, then snickered.  "We aim to please.  Speaking of which," he pulled away a little to give Mike a considered look.  "You're a mess."

 

"Hmm.  Who's fault's that?" Mike groused lazily, but he let go as Lennie gently pulled his hand away, let his partner unbutton his dress shirt and then urge him forward enough to slip it off.  That left Mike in his undershirt, and the rush of air felt good against his arms.  Lennie wadded up the now sticky-wet cotton Oxford and tossed it on the floor.

 

A little sanity returning, Mike turned his head to give Lennie a slow-once over as well, and smiled at the unmistakable bulge tenting the other man's trousers.  "Can't letcha go home like that," he said in what he'd been told was a seductive whisper.

 

Lennie's eyes were hot with the arousal that he obviously couldn't deny, but other than that were giving nothing away.  "I don't have a change of clothes to mess up, Mike."

 

Orgasm-induced courage kept Mike going and gave voice to the dark desire he'd harbored since Boston.  "'S' all right.  How'bout I just hide the evidence?"  And then he very deliberately licked his lips again.

 

Lennie froze.  Mike sobered abruptly, his heart skipping as he stared into wide dark eyes.  Idiot, moved too fast, just because he's got a little experience doesn't mean he'd ever want --

 

Then his partner swallowed, and smiled with just the very corner of his mouth.  "Gonna put your money where your mouth is?" 

 

"Hey, I'm a multi-talented guy," Mike said softly, barely breathing so as not to break the spell.  "Only thing left to see'll be your big dumb grin."

 

An eyebrow rose.  "Modesty's never been your problem, has it?"

 

Mike dared a little smirk.  "Wasn't wrong about the massage, was I?"

 

Lennie's smile widened a little, something in his eyes shifting with a decision made.  "So, impress me."

 

Yes! jumped up singing and dancing behind Mike's tongue.  But he only let his own smirk broaden as he raised a hand and touched Lennie's chest.  "Lay back."

 

Mike stood up, letting his own pants and underwear slip the rest of the way off and kicking them aside, sparing a moment to be grateful he'd thought to toe his shoes off earlier.  Lennie shifted and laid back lengthwise, his head and shoulders landing on the throw cushion and arm of the couch.  Then Mike dropped to his knees beside the couch and urged his partner to swing legs up as well.

 

The dark eyes stayed open, watching as Mike reached to undo his belt buckle, eased the zipper down.  They stayed open when Mike softly told him to lift his hips, and pulled pants and boxers -- silk, Lennie?  Interesting… down around his knees.  But they closed, a groan escaping, when Mike ran a finger over his hard, full cock, the one Mike had handled oh so intimately a week ago but had never actually seen.

 

Lennie's own true scent drifted up and Mike's mouth literally watered.  He flipped the front tails of Lennie's shirt safely out of the way and laid a hand on the older man's belly, feeling the muscles there jump under his touch.  With his other hand he traced Lennie's contours, learning the curve of his flesh, the weight of his balls.

 

"You doing a pen and ink down there or what?"

 

Mike looked up.  Lennie was watching him again, face beginning to flush, a heated glitter in the narrowed eyes.  "Just seeing what you got."  Mike grinned.  He bent close, let his breath feather over the stiff flesh he was caressing.  Lennie's breath hitched.  He bent closer still and brushed Lennie with his jaw this time, laden with its usual five o'clock shadow.  This time the hitch was louder, and Lennie's hips twitched as well.  "Have you done this before, Len?  With a guy, I mean?"  He needed to know.

 

"Once.  Not … " Lennie swallowed, Mike could hear it.  "Not sober."

 

Mike winced.

 

"He was pretty drunk too, and it … let's just say it wasn't a good time."  A deep breath.  "But I got tested 'bout a year ago, just to make sure, and been careful since then …. "

 

That wasn't the question Mike had meant to ask.  He trusted Lennie with his life, but Mike was glad to have the answer all the same.  He vowed to wipe that regretful, embarrassed expression off his partner's face.  "It's okay, you'd'a told me sooner if you'd thought there was any danger."  He blew another gentle gust across Lennie's cock.  "And now I'm gonna show you what it's supposed to be like.  Gonna make you feel sooo good-- "

 

"Then quit jawing about it and do something already."

 

Mike gave him another grin and opened his mouth.  Lennie made an odd, choky little sound as Mike tasted him there for the first time, licking him from balls to tip.  Slowly.

 

He tasted every bit as good as Mike had been sure he would, musky and tart and Lennie, the same skin-flavor Mike had found out in Boston, but more intense.  The taste went straight to Mike's own groin, ran a tingle through him even though there was no chance in hell of him getting it up again so soon.  Which was fine -- it meant that he could concentrate on driving his partner out of his mind.

 

Mike wrapped a hand around the base of Lennie's cock and proceeded to lick him thoroughly, discovering every inch, mapping out the big vein on the underside and finding a particularly sensitive spot just under the crown, to the left of --

 

"Jesus Christ, Mike," Lennie groaned. 

 

Mike looked up again to see Lennie's eyes closed now, and his face beginning to shine with sweat.  He sure looked like he was enjoying this, but still -- "You okay?"

 

"Long as you don't stop," his partner whispered.  "God …."

 

Mike grinned and bent back to his task, swiped his tongue over the tiny, glistening slit at Lennie's tip.

 

Lennie jerked, his groan louder.  "Yes.  Shit, yes.  C'mon … "

 

Normally Mike would draw this out more, tease, but he had a different mission this time -- to make sure his partner would want there to be a next time.  So he took a firmer grip around Lennie's base, slipping his other hand under Lennie's balls and rolling them gently.  Then he opened his mouth wide and took the steel-silk cock in as far as he could.

 

Lennie moaned, a long, wordless ripple of sound that skittered down Mike's spine.  The older man arched and squirmed as Mike slid up and down, sucking firmly and with all the skill he owned.  Lennie's hand, which had been gripping the edge of the couch, now locked onto Mike's shoulder instead.  "Yes.  Oh, yes, oh God that's good.  Fuck, don't stop -- "

 

Mike smiled to himself around his mouthful and kept up the steady rythym, sucking a little harder, determined to make Lennie feel as good as humanly possible.  By the noises his partner was making, it was working.  And Lennie tasted so damn good -- God, don't let this be the only time I get to do this --

 

It wasn't long at all before Lennie was heaving against him, fingers digging into his skin.  "Close," he panted, voice a hoarse rasp.  "I'm close, Mike -- "

 

Mike tightened his lips, slid a finger back behind Lennie's balls, rubbed precisely and deliberately.  That's it, you're mine now.  Give it to me, Lennie --

 

"YES!"

 

It was the same high, harsh cry that Mike'd heard in Boston, a sound that he hadn't been able to forget.  Lennie froze, taut.  Then convulsed as the orgasm ripped though, taking him apart and filling Mike's mouth with warm, salty pleasure. 

 

Mike stayed with him, swallowing, trying to wring Lennie as far out as he could.  Lennie twisted and shuddered beneath him, gasping, until finally the spasms eased and he collapsed back against the couch, aftershocks shivering through his lean frame.  Mike gentled his touch and slowly eased off, wiped his mouth on his arm.  Looked at his partner.

 

Lennie's face was a study in utterly wrecked bliss, his expression everything Mike had imagined that it might be, back in that dark little hotel room a week ago.  Color high, mouth open, hair in disarray.  He was gorgeous. 

 

Content himself, Mike shifted, leaning his head on Lennie's hip and waiting for him to rejoin the sentient.  Which took a rather satisfying number of minutes.

 

"God," Lennie said eventually, his voice faint.

 

Mike smiled, rubbing his fingers soothingly across Lennie's waist.  "Better than your other time?"

 

"W-what other time?"

 

Mike snickered.  "Good answer."  He sat upright, shifting forward to lean an arm across Lennie's stomach.

 

Lennie blinked slowly, looked down at him.  "Okay, I'm impressed."  Mike laughed, and Lennie gave him a slow, genuine smile.  "One more time with you, and we'll be dating," the older man zinged, his tone low and warm and lazy.

 

Holy --  Jump on it, Logan.  "You want to?"  Mike tilted his head, acting casual for all he was worth.  "On -- let's see.  Tuesdays, maybe?  Least that way we'd both know we'd be gettin' some on a regular basis," he grinned.

 

One crooked eyebrow rose.  Mike held his breath.

 

"Fuck buddies, Mike?"

 

"Why not?  I like you, I think you like me.  'Sides, we're already 'acquainted.'"  Mike waved a hand at their respective states of undress.

 

The other eyebrow went up, and then Lennie laughed too, a rich full sound that Mike wished the other man would make more often.  "Why not?" he echoed.  "What the hell.  You're on.  Tuesdays work for me."

 

Mike didn't even try to stop the grin.  Life was good.

 

 

finis