Summary: Following the events of the fourth season ep "Mayhem," Mike asks Lennie back to his apartment to unwind.

Notes: I wrote this one or two years ago for a zine which didn't get much of a distribution. Like many, I am attracted to the notion of Logan/McCoy, but the story that had an ending and middle as well as a beginning had him falling for Lennie.

As a context note, I'll add that to me, L&O ended when Noth left the show, and while I enjoyed the movie, Exile, I don't consider it or Logan's forced transfer part of a possible future for Our Heroes. If for no other reason than, I think living with Lennie would have a settling influence on Mike. That said, I doubt I will purse this fandom in the future, but even if I haven't and probably won't write it, I need for the guys to have a happy ending.

The game had not gone into overtime. It had in fact ended in near record time as they discovered a few seconds after they got into the car and Detective Lennie Briscoe turned the key in the ignition. Accompanied by the sound of the engine turning over, the radio announced, "Again that score was Knicks, 109; Rockets, 97. The--"

Detective Mike Logan switched off the radio with a sigh. He should have known nothing could go right today. God, five murders in a single shift -- and one of them a poor slob whose only crime had been fear of what he was plus an unfortunate resemblance to the description they had of a serial killer.

There but for the grace of etc. Logan glanced at his older partner and found himself far from ready to face his empty apartment. "I probably could scare up a club soda or two," he muttered, oddly embarrassed. Though he and Lennie spent some of their off-duty time together, neither had ever invited the other back to his apartment for a drink.

Briscoe gave him a look, then nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Logan's stomach lurched, an odd mixture of relief and the feeling that he'd made a huge mistake colliding with enough force to make him dizzy for a moment. He spent the rest of the drive to his apartment deliberately not thinking about what that might mean.

Pushing open his front, not to mention only, door, Logan stood back and let Briscoe proceed him inside. He then set all three locks, something he didn't normally bother to do until bedtime. His stomach fluttered again, and he frowned at the hand resting on the third lock. *Okay*, he told himself, *you can admit it -- you don't want him to leave.* That didn't mean anything special. Lennie was good company and it had been the sort of day to make any normal person avoid slee- ... being, avoid being alone.

Not looking at his guest, Logan headed for his bedroom, quickly ridding himself of coat, jacket, tie, gun, holster, socks and shoes. His third change of the day -- the shirt and tie he'd worn this morning discarded after his encounter with a crackhead armed with a burrito. Some days he felt more like a runway model than a cop. He did consider leaving his shirt and trousers on since Briscoe couldn't change out of his suit, but he needed to get them off. Almost as if shedding them would shed the day as well. He pulled on an old worn pair of jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, then he headed for his kitchen.

To his relief, he found a couple of cans of club soda left over from the time he dated ... Margaret? Or was Pam the one who didn't drink? Maybe Julie? He shook his head unable to remember even though it had to have been within the last three months. A damn good sign he'd had too much traffic in the old bedroom.

He picked up the fizz water and a bottle of Guinness for himself. "I've got a plastic lemon or lime if you want something in it," he called, head in the fridge.

"What the hell, I feel like splurging," Briscoe answered from the kitchen doorway. "Gimmie a squeeze of the green plastic."

Logan glanced at him and discovered Briscoe had taken off his suit jacket and tie. Seeing it as a sign his partner had decided to settle in for a few hours, Mike smiled. "Sorry it's not the real thing." He put ice in a glass, gave the green glob a squeeze, then poured the club soda. "They rot before I can use them."

"Spending too much time in bars and restaurants, Mike."

"I can cook." He handed Briscoe his fizz water, then popped the top on his beer bottle.

"Microwave popcorn doesn't count."

"Hey, if you're going to get all picky about it. ..." The banter sounded like their normal conversation, but Logan's stomach refused to stop fluttering. Needing something – anything – to do, he decided a change of scenery might help and walked into the living room. He heard Lennie follow, then the faint squeak of his sofa springs as his partner took a seat, but he didn't feel like sitting down. Instead he moved to the window. With the lights of the room behind him, he couldn't see much beyond the glare of his own reflection, and found he didn't care for the view.

His bedroom saw enough action for Logan to know he was a handsome man, even if he did have a ... prominent nose. Never seemed to bother his dates, though. One of the few he'd briefly considered getting serious about had even called him The Nose. He smiled at the memory, spared a moment's curiosity to wonder what she was doing these days, but found he couldn't remember her face, just that she'd been a redhead.

Damn he was sick of it. After a day like this, he wanted something more than another round of musical beds. He wanted. ... Logan sighed, finding himself unable to pin down in his thoughts exactly what he did want. At least he wasn't alone. He knew he didn't want that.

The television came on, filling the room with sounds of CNN, and his glance shifted to Briscoe's refection. Tall, dark hair, prominent nose. To a point their descriptions matched, but Lennie's build nudged toward slender and gray mixed with his partner's near black hair. The eye color differed too. Logan listed his as hazel, which meant they never knew what color they would decide to be day-to-day. Lennie's were brown. And while Logan was well aware of the fact most would describe him as good looking, Briscoe's face earned comments like interesting. No, the initial appearances were similar, but no one would ever mistake Logan as his partner's kid brother as they often had done in the days when Logan had worked with Phil Ceretta. For some reason, he found that was important to him.

He shook himself away from the near hypnotic state staring at the reflections had caused, then it occurred to him their faces had filled Scott Hextor's last day. Christ, it seemed all roads led back to that poor sap. Yet his death wouldn't even rate a mention on CNN -- although Logan bet the lawsuit it would undoubtedly inspire would make it.

Disgusted, he flopped down on the opposite end of the sofa from where Briscoe sat, then he took another sip of his beer. To his surprise, it was warm. He hadn't realized he'd stood at the window for that long. Some host he was. 'Hey, Lennie, come up to my place and watch me brood for an hour.'

He glanced at his partner. "Sorry."

Briscoe shrugged, his usual way of saying 'no apology needed.' "You ready to tell me what's on your mind?"

"Is it that hard to guess?"

"Hextor?"

"We got him killed, Lennie."

"No way, Mike," Briscoe answered without hesitation. "Some yahoo with a sharpened toothbrush did that."

Logan shook his head. They'd run the investigation, made the arrest, then, when they'd discovered they had the wrong man, they'd failed to get to Rikers in time to stop him from being murdered for his baloney sandwich. Shit. Did a more inglorious epitaph even exist? 'Killed with a toothbrush over cheap lunchmeat.' "We put him in range of that toothbrush."

"His lies did that. If he'd told us the truth this morning, he'd never have been arraigned. For that matter, if he'd told the truth six months ago, his name never even would have come up today."

It sounded good, and Logan wanted off the hook his conscience had driven into his back, but. ... "It's not that easy."

"Sure it is. He tells us, 'Hey, I was nowhere near the shooting – I was shacked up with my boyfriend.' We say, 'That's nice,' check it out, then cut him loose. The end as far as our man Scotty is concerned. And I'd like to point out that the boyfriend was no prince either. He could have come forward and cleared this mess up at any time."

He'd been no more impressed by Julian Marks, than Briscoe, but. ... "That closet door is damned hard to open."

Briscoe rolled his eyes. "Not saying it isn't. Just that keeping it closed ain't worth dying over."

Logan shifted, so his back was against the couch arm and he was facing his partner. "Not everyone is so open-minded."

"What can I say?" he answered with a smirk. "I'm a nineties kind of guy."

Knowing Lennie would be disappointed if he did otherwise, Logan rolled his eyes, but he had to fight a smile. Briscoe had a knack for deflating his darker moods. God knew he certainly had enough of them, but Lennie never seemed to get angry about it. He handled Logan like a pro – knew when to shout back, when a sarcastic comment would diffuse things, and when to listen.

World champion listener, that was Lennie Briscoe. The few times Logan had tried to thank him for it, Lennie had always shrugged and said he picked up the knack from all the time he used to spend in bars. Maybe so. All Logan knew was he felt like he could talk to Lennie without fearing his disapproval. Well, most of the time.

*Drop it,* he told himself as he had every time he'd come face-to-face with a moment practically begging for true life confessions about his sex life. But he'd never given in to it. With Max Greevey – his first partner at the 27th Precinct – it would have been a terrible mistake to do otherwise. Max would have considered Logan's bisexuality a sin, and their working relationship would never have been the same. Hell, he might even have requested a transfer. Or forced Mike to request one. Logan always figured one day the odds would catch up with him, and he'd bump into one of those oh, so anonymous sex partners, in the course of his job. A victim, a relative, a witness, a suspect, or maybe simply someone who remembered him being indiscreet when he was with his partner at lunch – someone would reveal his secret. But it hadn't happened in Greevey's lifetime.

It hadn't happened during his partnership with Phil Ceretta either. Logan was fairly certain Phil wouldn't have a negative reaction. He expected Phil would react with concerned acceptance, periodically ask him if he was taking the proper precautions and continue to invite Logan to Sunday dinner with the Ceretta family.

And Briscoe? Odds said Logan wouldn't make it through another partnership (please, God, let this one last) without being found out by at least his partner. He couldn't see Lennie having more than a 'fine by me, kid,' reaction, but what if he were wrong? He liked working with Briscoe. The man was a good cop, and they worked well together. A lot to risk, but wasn't it better if it came from him rather than some encounter on the job?

"It really isn't that easy," he heard himself say before he consciously made the decision to talk. "Coming out at the station can get a man killed."

Briscoe gave him a long look. "Why do I get the feeling you're trying to tell me something?"

Fear surged in his stomach and it made him snap, "Don't sweat it, Lennie, I'm not going to jump you the next time you turn your back."

"Hey, Mike, take it easy. I'm just surprised, that's all. Wouldn't have thought you had time to fit a few guys into your busy social calendar." He smiled. "Then again, at the rate you've been going through the local female population, stands to reason you'd have to either move on or start up with men."

Logan knew it was meant as a good-natured tension breaker, but the remark so echoed his own distaste with his social life that he felt a blush warm his cheeks and had to look away.

Briscoe's hand touched his arm. "It's okay, kid. Doesn't bother me. Truth be told, I've sowed a few wild oats in that field myself."

This being one of the last things Logan had expected to hear, his brain absorbed it with all the finesse of a car slamming into a brick wall. "You what?" he demanded, his voice almost a squeak.

It made Briscoe laugh. "Nothing I've done since high school. Still, I can't see the Moral Majority giving it their seal of approval."

"No, I suppose not," Logan muttered feeling dazed. He'd expected tolerant acceptance at best, not a confession. Lennie was experienced. That thought sounded over and over in his mind until it freed something he'd kept behind securely locked doors.

"Mike, are you even listening to me?" Briscoe's voice penetrated his self-absorption at the same moment the notion of something he'd always wanted to do combined with 'Lennie is experienced.'

Logan jerked back to the here-and-now with all the finesse of a startled cat. "What?" he asked, feeling his eyes widening and his blush growing hotter.

Briscoe shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "Do I need to get the smelling salts?"

"No, I'm all right," Logan assured him, then asked, "So the idea of two guys together doesn't bother you?"

"Nope."

"It even turned you on at one time?"

Briscoe shrugged. "I suppose that's a fair statement."

Logan considered this information and what he knew about his partner. Briscoe wasn't the type to do more than let him down gently if Lennie didn't want to play. That meant a possible mild ego bruise versus Mike's own talents in the art of seduction. He added it all up, then smiled -- the same sort of smile he used when he sensed he'd discovered the trail that would break a case.

He stood up and stretched, letting the soft material of his sweatshirt rise up enough to momentarily bare the stomach he worked hard at keeping nice and flat. He remembered one of his dates telling him his eyes looked incredible when he wore the sweatshirt, and he knew his well-worn jeans emphasized the swell of his groin. He looked down at Briscoe, smiled his predatory smile again, then asked, "Does it still turn you on?"

His partner stared at him for a moment, then said, "I thought we established I wasn't your type."

Logan shrugged, "Hey, I'm flexible." He leaned down, letting his cheek brush lightly against Briscoe's. "How do you feel about that?"

"I can't decide whether to simper or scream," he muttered, but made no move to put some distance between them.

Logan chuckled softly, letting the sound of it be a warm tickle of breath in Briscoe's ear. "Only had a few men in my bed," he said, nuzzling Briscoe's neck between words. "And there's one thing I've never done. Seemed too intimate with a one-night stand."

He felt Lennie stiffen, but the older man did not attempt to pull away. "Jeez, Mike. I always thought of myself as a debauched kind of guy. Not certain that I can handle being a virgin again at this late stage in the game."

Summoning up all the courage he could muster, Mike answered, "It's not your virginity I'm interested in losing."

"Oh ... well, that I can handle." Briscoe's arms moved around Logan, then pulled him down onto the couch. "My second wife thought sodomy was lower on the Pope's list of sins than birth control."

Mike laughed, liking the press of his body against Briscoe's. He found he liked it even better when Lennie's mouth captured his in a long, deep kiss. A moan, not a sound of humor escaped his lips when his partner withdrew lips and tongue. "Take me to bed, Lennie," he whispered.

"Not so fast, kid," Briscoe answered, holding him tightly but making no move to leave the sofa. "We need supplies."

"Condoms are in the bedside table."

"Good boy, but do you have any KY?"

Logan frowned. He'd never needed it before. His mind flashed down the list of lubricants listed in the last safe sex pamphlet he'd read. Half a dozen brand-named lubes; water or spit -- he knew he'd tense up too much for those -- and. ... He smiled, remembering something he'd found the last time he'd rummaged through his nightstand drawer. "No, but I've got something we can use."

"Then I suggest we take this party into the bedroom," Briscoe said, urging him to stand up.

It was going to happen. It was really going to happen. The realization struck home and Logan's trembling legs had trouble taking his weight as he stood.

Briscoe steadied him, then kissed him again.

Damn, Lennie was good at that. Gentle, but thorough, just the way Logan liked it. And he hadn't had to tell him a thing. It reassured him the easy harmony of their partnership would carry over into the bedroom, and when Briscoe's tongue withdrew, Mike took hold of Lennie's hand, then led the way to his bedroom.

His free hand only shook a little when he flipped the wall switch that turned on the bedside lamp, but Briscoe didn't seem to notice.

"I do my best work in the dark, Mike," he murmured as he nuzzled the back of Logan's neck.

"I need to see you," Logan dismissed the light's out notion, then stepped away, moving to the center of the room. "It's been a long time since my twentieth birthday, too." He pulled off his sweatshirt, gave his head a shake to reorder his tousled hair, then stripped off his briefs and jeans in one quick motion. Logan knew his body wasn't perfect. He worked out to keep signs of flab away, but he could stand to lose a few pounds and the smoothness of his chest always proved a disappointment to those who preferred a hairier version. He did a slow, full turn for his partner, then asked, "You still want me?"

Briscoe smiled at him, then held out his arms. "Commere, kid."

Logan grinned and obeyed. The embrace tightened around him, pulling his naked body tightly against Briscoe's fully clothed one. The sensation made him squirm in pleasure, then Lennie's mouth swooped in to reclaim his.

Somewhere between the kiss and the squirming, he missed the trip across the room and started in surprise when Briscoe tipped him back against the bed. "Get the supplies," he was told -- an announcement Lennie had no intention of putting on a show of his own.

Amused, but suppressing his smile, Logan rolled over and pulled open the drawer of his nightstand. One foil packet in pristine condition; one tube of suitable lubricant, slightly used -- he laid the inventory on the nearest pillow, then turned his attention back to the now naked man sitting on the corner of the bed.

The chest wasn't perfect -- Lennie was in his fifties and had abused alcohol for years before he'd gone on the wagon -- but he'd kept himself in good enough shape to run down the occasional fleeing felon, and Mike found it a pleasing sight.

"Let me see what you've got," he teased, moving around to give the man's groin a close look. The semi-erect cock was long and lean, just like the man who owned it. The sight made Logan's mouth water, and his tongue snaked out to tease the vein underneath.

Briscoe hissed, the erection filled out and Logan took it into his mouth. Wanting desperately to please, he licked and sucked with enthusiasm coupled with all the skill he'd acquired over the years.

He felt like a cat with a bowl of cream and was happily purring away at his task, when, to his annoyance, Briscoe pulled him away from his treat. Before he could protest, he was tumbled backwards to lie on the mattress, his mouth too full of a probing tongue to get any words out. But that too was quickly taken away from him, and he moaned in complaint.

"Shhh, Mike. I may be old, but I still can't last long with that kind of attention. Time to move on to the main event if you want me to make it good for you."

Logan nodded, his hand going to where he'd left the condom packet. On the brink of it now, his hands were ironically steady as he ripped the foil open, then slowly rolled the latex over Briscoe's straining cock.

He bit his lip to keep from laughing as Briscoe picked up the tube and got a look at the label.

"Birth control jelly?" Lennie read.

Logan lost the battle and chuckled. "A guest left it." He didn't admit he didn't remember which one. He suspected Briscoe could guess as much. "And it's on the condom safe list."

"Good, I'm too old to be a father again," Lennie said, removing the top, then squirting some of the gel into his palm. "Over you go."

He started to turn Logan over, but Mike panicked and pulled back around. He managed to keep most of the fear out of his voice as he insisted, "No, I have to see you."

Briscoe gave him a long look Logan almost feared would reveal his thoughts. "It's easier if you're at least on your side."

"Lennie, please, I have to be able to know it's you."

"Okay, let's try this." He reached out with the non-gel-filled palm and began to stroke Logan's chest.

Fear began to fade and arousal grow at the soothing touch, so he obeyed when Briscoe said, "Close your eyes."

The stroking continued and Lennie asked, "Any change?"

"No."

"Feel like anyone else?"

Long fingers caressing, the rub of a callus raised by hours on the target range. ... "No."

The mattress shifted as Briscoe stretched out beside him, then gave him a few more of those neck nuzzles he liked so much. "Breathe in and tell me what you smell."

Again he obeyed. "Your cologne. Always loved Lagerfeld."

"That all you smell?"

"No." There was something else beneath the purchased scent. Something ... "You, I smell you."

"So, do you need to see me to know it's me?"

"No," he answered and let Lennie turn him onto his left side.

"Pull your right leg up toward your chest."

"Damn, you're bossy," he groused, but his compliance earned him a kiss on the back of his neck. The conversation had let them both cool off a little, so Briscoe set about rekindling their interests.

His mouth devoured Logan's neck and shoulders, while his hands roamed Mike's torso, stopping every few moments to give his nipples a gentle squeeze. When Logan began to squirm beneath the onslaught, one of the hands abandoned his chest, and slipped behind him. A finger began to circle his anus, spreading the warmed gel all around the opening.

Logan had never let anyone -- man or woman -- outside of a doctor's office touch him there, but he found he liked the sensation. "Lennie, I'm dyin' here. Get on with it."

"You never have been known for your patience," Briscoe growled in his ear, but one finger slipped inside Mike.

A second followed, the fingers probing and stretching, while the fingers of Briscoe's other hand began to torment Logan's groin.

The third finger made him squirm in a different manner, the sensation too close to pain. Memories of a much older, unwanted touch began to swamp him. "Lennie. ..." Even to his own ears, he sounded like a lost little boy.

"Relax, Mike." Briscoe's voice was like a warm balm to his soul and, though the fingers did not withdraw, they stopped moving. "I'm right here and nothing's happening until you say so."

He turned his head toward the voice, and lips met his. A touch of reassurance and ... caring ... with only the promises, not the demands of passion lingering in it. "I'm okay," he whispered, drinking in Lennie's scent.

"You sure? There are other ways to reach Nirvana."

"No, I want it this way." Logan thrust against the hand encircling his cock, then back against the fingers to emphasize the point. "Do it."

Briscoe began to rotate the three fingers inside Logan's body, gently parting them enough to stretch the resistant flesh. When the motion stopped a second time, the fingers withdrew, then a thicker mass nudged the opening. "Deep breath time, Mike, then relax."

He drew the Lennie-scented air into his lungs, held it, then slowly exhaled. As his lungs emptied, Briscoe began to push in. Wise enough to let Briscoe take his time with the lower end, Logan pushed his shoulders against his lover's chest.

Slowly the bulk pressed into him, while arms tightened around him and Lennie's voice chanted over and over again, "Easy, Mike. It's just me."

Another lung-full of Lagerfeld and Lennie. Logan had given the cologne to him for Christmas. Scent had always turned Mike on now that he thought about it. Must have wanted Lennie for a long time. That let him relax even further and suddenly he felt the press of Briscoe's balls against his ass.

He couldn't help but grin. Something he'd quietly wanted since he'd figured out what sex was and he'd finally found someone he could trust enough to let it happen. Delighted, he didn't wait for Briscoe to decide to move. Instead he thrust himself forward into Lennie's hand, backward onto his cock. Damn, it felt good. Another stroke, and Briscoe matched his motion, pushing in as Logan thrust backward.

"Oh, God, Lennie," he moaned, moving his hips faster, drawing his lover into a steady rhythm that took him into Logan's body with each push. The sensations of being taken and surrounded by a man he cared for took him so high, he only vaguely noticed the additional physical sparks of Briscoe finding his prostate. Two more direct hits and he came with a shout -- of protest. He didn't want it to end. But his own climax pulled Briscoe over the edge, and he stiffened, then slumped against Mike.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze -- the only thing marking the passage of time was the pounding of Logan's heart. Then, his voice hoarse around the edges, Briscoe asked, "You okay, Mike?"

No. His earlier euphoria crashed down into despair as he realized what all this had meant to him. "I'm fine."

Briscoe withdrew, and Logan bit his lip to stifle any sound of regret.

The mattress shuddered, almost mirroring how he felt, as his partner left the bed. The sound of the bathroom light switch followed and the glow in the bedroom brightened. Water ran into the sink for a few minutes, then a second snap of the switch and the light dimmed.

It didn't surprise him when Briscoe returned to the bed long enough to clean Logan with a damp cloth, nor did the words that followed, "We've got an early morning tomorrow. I'd better head on home."

God, how many times had Logan said that before making his escape? It wasn't even the first time he'd heard it -- just the first time it hurt. "See you in the morning."

Pride kept him silent and unmoving while Briscoe gathered his clothes and began to dress, but the sound of the zipper closing broke him. "Lennie, stay a while."

If the ground had chosen that moment to split open and swallow him whole, Logan would have died a happy man. How pathetic could he get?

But it worked. The mattress dipped, then Briscoe was urging him over onto his back. Logan tried to keep his head turned away, but a hand closed on his chin and moved his head until his glance met Lennie's.

"Christ, Mike. The last time someone looked at me like that, I married her."

Logan summoned up his courage and tried for the usual banter. "Sorry, I make it a policy never to marry two-time losers."

Briscoe didn't fall for it. "Uh huh. Then why don't you tell me what you do want."

He didn't want to admit it, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to lie. "I want you to sleep here tonight then make l ... fuck me again in the morning." It was the least of what he wanted, but it was the truth.

He smiled. "Never figured you for a romantic, Mike, but, what the hell, let's give it a try."

Confusion pushed back misery. "Give what a try?"

"I'm too old to be fuck buddies, kid. If this isn't a one-night stand, then I figure we're good for a brief, yet tasteful affair. Then again, my ex-wives can tell you how good my judgment is about that sort of thing." He shrugged. "How about if we're not tempted to shoot each other on sight after a few weeks, we can. ..."

Suddenly the world was looking a hell of a lot brighter. "What?"

"Well, at the very least we can take a blood test and dispense with the rubbers."

Deciding Lennie might have him committed if he jumped up and started dancing for joy, he answered, "Fine by me. So how about turning out the lights and shutting up so we can get some sleep?

"Already the nagging starts," Briscoe grumbled, but got up, then disappeared into the front room. The lights clicked off, followed by the bedroom lights, plunging the apartment into darkness. The zipper sounded again, cloth rustled, then his naked lover returned to the bed.

Briscoe gathered him close, then asked, "You sure about this, Mike? I'm no Venus Di Milo in the morning."

Safe, warm, familiar. "Mmm, no. Just my Lennie."

"'Your Lennie,' hmm?" He chuckled. "Okay, kid, have it your way, but I don't want to hear any cracks about morning breath."

Morning breath. Mike snuggled closer to his lover and drifted off to the thought that he had it bad if the prospect of dealing with morning breath made him feel so damn good.

End

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