Title: Sufficient Conclusions

Authors: Trent Gray and jesse

Fandom: Law&Order (original flavor)

Pairing: Slash - Briscoe / Logan

Rating: NC17 for angst, romance, and hot weasel nookie

Summary: Sometimes dreams are what you make them

Archive: Yes to Rareslash, yes to list archives, yes to Trent’s page.

Email: Trent - bianki@hotmail.com

jesse - jesse.bee@lycos.com

Web Page: https://www.angelfire.com/sd/tyanna/Jheran

Disclaimer: Having a good time, losing sleep, but making no money.

Author(s) Notes: Trent tossed a ball, jesse tossed it back, and hopefully the guys had some fun....

Green eyes stared up at the ceiling blankly.

Third friggin' night in a row, and Mike Logan couldn't sleep.

Insomnia wasn't a stranger to him; she was a fickle bitch who liked to keep him warm at night, as much as an idea could keep anybody warm during the wintertime.

He could hear the wind screaming against the window, the canyons of a city gone cold magnifying it nearly a thousand times.

Now wasn't the time to be sitting awake at…. Mike rolled over, squinted at the clock. Christ, *four* in the morning? He had to be up in a few hours to start his shift.…

He didn't need this. He really didn't.

And all because of that damn nightmare.

It wasn't even a new one, really, the nightmare. He'd watched it unfold on countless previous nights over his years as a cop, in a hundred sick variations. He was pinned down somewhere: in a car, behind a counter, trapped in a dead-end alley. Gunfire from one side, then the other. The sound of flying lead whining like the world's biggest mosquitoes in his ears. Close. Closer, closer, until --

And then he'd wake up, shaking and sweating. His second favorite nightmare, he'd once told Donnie Cragen. But it was almost an old friend, that nightmare, he'd had it so often. Most times he could shake it off, manage to salvage at least a few hours sleep.

But this time, this time ….

This was something new. Now, the bullets kept closing until they found their mark, until there was the awful soft thwack of metal tearing through flesh, and a choked-off cry of pain.

But the cry wasn't Mike's.

It was Lennie Briscoe's.

His hand reached for the phone before he thought about it. He needed to hear that voice in the darkness of his room. Unrequited lust aside, it was an irrational kind of fear that gripped him, hammering his heart in his chest.

The dial tone washed over him as his thumb hovered over the first digit in his partner's home number. What was he *doing*? He shook his head at himself. Gee, Briscoe, I wanted to hear your voice to make sure you weren't dead. Yeah, *that* sounded like it would go over well with a guy who had just been woken up out of a sound sleep.

But... it didn't make sense. This had been the first time that the dream had changed on him. Sure, he'd had similar ones, after Max and while partnered with Phil, but he'd never once seen them get hit.

What did that mean?

He looked down at his hand, barely visible in the wan moonlight filtering into his bedroom.

And why the hell was he still holding the phone in his hand?

Mike made himself carefully drop the phone back into its cradle, then flopped back against the pillows with a sigh and a curse. It didn't make sense. //But then *none* of this makes any sense, really.//

None of it. Starting with why he had the urge to do the bump and grind, repeatedly and at great length, with Lennie Briscoe.

It wasn't that his partner was male; this was certainly not the first time that Mike had been attracted to another man. He'd realized that he was bisexual shortly after he'd discovered what sex was. But he'd always been careful to choose his sex partners, women or men, away and separate from his work life. Besides, Lennie wasn't his type.

But there was something about the man, just … something. The smartass attitude, sarcasm and wisecracks delivered in that whisky voice. The sharply combed hair just begging to be messed up. The expressive, long-fingered hands; the sleepy eyes… Somehow it all added up to a package that was attractive as hell, and Mike'd seen Lennie charm enough waitresses and suspects to know that he himself wasn't the only person to feel it. But that still didn't explain why --

"God *Almighty*." Mike sat bolt upright in the cold darkness, staring blindly into the darkness of his bedroom, seeing instead the last moments of the dream playing out behind his eyes.

Maybe he *did* know what it meant.

Lennie had been hit...he had cried out something.… Could it have been Mike's name?

Mike took a few gasps of breath, the chill air in his apartment sending goosebumps in trails across his body. He could close his eyes and see the bullets getting closer, zinging faster.

And just at the last second, he saw Lennie get hit. Did Lennie throw him to the ground? Did he draw their fire?

There was no way this was a prophetic dream; those things were a bunch of crap anyway.

Frustrated, he threw the covers off and stood up.

No, he wasn't going to admit it to himself. The dream had changed, but it was just his subconscious developing a flair for the dramatic. Or maybe it was the Chinese food he'd eaten before he and Lennie had gone off-shift.

But it wasn't *that*. It couldn't be. Mike Logan was a tomcat who had no strings that anyone could hang him with. The guys he saw on the occasional bad night were casual, needed no flowers or chocolates to placate them, and best of all, nobody expected a call the next day.

Maybe he could call up Brandon, see what he was doing. Maybe he wouldn't mind some company on a cold night like this one.

There was a small voice in the back of his head that listed the number of physical similarities between Brandon and a certain someone that Mike had just finished watching get killed in his dreams, but Mike Logan was nothing if not experienced at gagging that little voice.

He loved the man, he really did, but there were days when Lennie Briscoe wanted to string his partner up by the balls, and this was one of them. Mike Logan was normally an attitude-driven, cocksure son of a bitch -- hell, it was one of the things that made working with him fun, Lennie loved a fellow smart-ass. But today Mike's comments had a killing edge, and his body language screamed "don't fuck with me" in mile-high neon letters. Which by itself shouldn't have been a problem, because normally Lennie could diffuse his partner without too much trouble -- it was knowing when to ignore, when to yell back, when to listen.

But nothing Lennie had tried today had helped the situation, and for the first time in their partnership Mike was really and truly pissing him off. Because for all the razor-edged snark and the "don't touch me" posture, Mike wouldn't leave him alone. He'd look up to find Mike staring at him across their desks, the greenish gaze quickly dropped down only to resume a few minutes later. On the street, walking from bar to bar on a canvas for witnesses, Mike had stuck to him like glue, closer than normal. When they'd got back to the House around midafternoon, Lennie'd been about to ask if the younger detective was gonna hold it for him in the john, except that he'd had the bizarre feeling that Mike might just do it.

Not that Lennie would mind, if he was honest with himself….

Now it was late and they were still at their desks, working overtime in an empty squad room, their desktops littered with financial papers, phone records, and the remains of pizza slices.

And Mike was watching him. Again.

Lennie slammed closed the heavy directory book he'd been searching through. The sound snapped like gunshot and Lennie had the satisfaction of seeing Mike jump, startled. "Okay, that's it."

"What?" Mike's voice and expression were a textbook case of "defensive."

Shoving the book aside, Lennie planted both elbows on his desktop and leaned forward. "You wanna tell me just what the hell your problem has been today?"

"Problem?" Logan squawked. "*I* don't have a problem!"

"Of course you don't," Lennie shot back with a bite of sarcasm. "You've been glued to my side all day, and not only that, you've been staring at me like I'm gonna disappear on you."

"I have *not*!" Mike growled, but as Briscoe watched, the green eyes wavered and looked back down at the financial reports that the younger detective had been reading before his one-sided staring competition had picked back up.

"Oh, yeah?" Lennie asked, with a raised eyebrow. Mike looked back up at him. "Then maybe you can explain why you're not talking about whatever the hell is bothering you. Because it's pissing me off that you've got some beef with me, but you won't tell me what it is. I *did* flunk the psychic powers class at CCNY, Mike."

Gray-green eyes widened for a second before closing as Mike jerked his head to one side. An odd little grimace raced across his face and vanished, and Lennie realized that something he'd just said had hit a nerve -- a big one.

"I do *not* have a beef with you," Mike growled again, but there were big overtones of sullen and nervous and something else in his voice, and now he was looking anywhere *but* at Lennie. Lennie watched him toy with the pen he was holding, strong fingers turning it around and around with motions that were less than smooth.

//Maybe not *with* me, but I'm sure the hell involved somehow.// Lennie narrowed his eyes as a new thought hit him, a flash of that cop intuition he'd learned years ago to trust because most of the time, it was right. Of course, when it was wrong, the fuck-up potential was pretty spectacular, but this time he wasn't wrong. Add up everything he knew about Mike: the chronic insomnia, the nightmares. Remember his two previous partners, toss in the crack about psychic powers, and --

"Mike." Lennie made himself gentle his voice and, as he'd figured, the drastic change in tone brought his partner's eyes back to his. "You had a dream last night, didn't you?"

Mike's eyes dropped again to the financial report in his hands. Lennie was beginning to wonder if he'd have to repeat himself when his partner finally answered him.

"So what if I did?"

Briscoe could feel one of his eyebrows lifting at the half-snarled question. "It's better to get it off your chest before it makes you a pain in the ass to deal with," he zinged, picking up his half-full coffee mug to take a sip.

Mike snorted, taking the hint with a half-hearted smile tugging at his lips. He wasn't out of his funk -- knowing Mike, he wouldn't be until he talked about it -- but Logan looked a little less belligerent than he had throughout the day. His shoulders didn't look as tense as before, at least.

Lennie eyed him questioningly over the lip of his drink until Mike seemed to feel it and looked back up.

"What?"

Briscoe put the mug down. "So, what did you see in your dream, Karnak?"

Mike just stared at him for some moments. His expression gave away little, but Lennie could see, could practically feel the struggle going on behind the greenish eyes. Mike both wanted to talk and didn't want to, and the train-wreck of urges plus lack of sleep was what had been driving his foul mood, Lennie was sure of it now.

Mike looked back down at the papers on his desk, picked up his pen again. "Death and destruction, what else?" he said, shrugging, but the casual move made little headway against the stiffness that had come back to his shoulders.

Oh no, no way Mike was getting away with just that. "And?"

Mike glared at him from under thick brows. Lennie glared back. "C'mon, Mike. And?"

"What the fuck are you now, my therapist?" It was still a half-snarl but the bite in the tone sounded less like anger and more like … desperation?

"Worse. I'm your partner." For the life of him, Lennie couldn't hold back the wisecrack.

Abruptly, Mike shoved up out of his chair and grabbed his own mug, strode over to the coffee maker and took far too long in pouring himself a cup, standing there with his back to Lennie.

//Almost there. C'mon, Irish, just let it go….// "Mike?"

Mike's head went back, then down toward his chest; in the reflection in the glass over the coffee maker, Lennie saw him close his eyes.

"I watched you die, alright?" Mike's voice was low and muffled, and Lennie realized what the note was that he hadn't understood before -- it was pain. "I watched you fucking *die.* Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Lennie answered. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but that sounded like it made sense. Mike was still tense, still next to the coffeemaker as if it were a security blanket.

Mike turned at the answer, eyebrows lowering dangerously. "I'm so glad I could be a source of amusement for you."

Lennie shrugged. "It's not like I haven't heard about similar dreams. Usually, it's hearing my ex-wives tell me how graphically they'd want to kill me, but Cathy had her share of dreams where Daddy got hurt or killed on the job."

The tension didn't ease from Mike's shoulders.

"How'd I go out?" Lennie asked directly. "Fire-fight?"

Logan shot him a surprised look. Lennie only shrugged.

"Well, it's kinda hard to be scared of your buddy slipping in the bathtub." Briscoe smiled. "You would've just laughed it off as soon as you woke up."

Mike filled his coffee mug and sat back down. There was a small smile on his face, but it was still tinged with the pain that Lennie had heard in his voice earlier.

"This the first time you ever dream about losing a partner?"

Mike shook his head. "I had some nightmares about Max, but that was after he was killed."

Lennie nodded sagely. "And it wasn't that long ago when both of us were staring down the barrel of that junkie's gun."

Mike nodded.

Lennie leaned forward, pitching his voice a bit lower, more gentle. "Mike, it was a dream. Unless you've got prophetic powers that you haven't let me in on, let it go."

Mike snorted. "And what if I did have prophetic powers?"

"Then I'd ask for the winning horse at the fourth and Aqueduct." Lennie grinned.

Mike looked at him, eyes strange and lips parted, and for a wild second Lennie thought his partner really *was* going to pick him a pony.

But the younger man shook his head and let out a genuine laugh. Although still laced with unease, it was the happiest sound Mike had made all day, and it tingled unexpectedly hot up Lennie's spine, firing nerve endings that had no business being fired like that by his *partner,* for God's sake.

//Not *now,* dammit, and probably not ever – keep your damn libido out of this, Briscoe.// It was an argument he'd been having with himself since shortly after he'd been partnered with Mike, and as always, his better reason won out.

But not by much.

"Mike," Lennie started, opening his mouth with no real idea of what was going to come out of it. "Look. If it happens again, just call me, right then, all right?"

Okay, why did he now have the inescapable feeling that somewhere, somehow, an axis had shifted?

Mike tilted his head, his expression turning both surprised and rueful, but with laughter still lurking in his eyes. "At four in the morning?"

"Better I'm awake a few hours early than I gotta deal with your sparkling mood again the whole damn day."

"Well, gee, how can I refuse an offer like that?"

***************

Lennie Briscoe mechanically locked the door behind him, plopping the keys with a jingle on the kitchen counter. His hands were going through the motions, but his brain wasn't exactly engaged in the here and now.

No, he was seeing the gray-green eyes that had stared at him all during their shift, canvassing for witnesses. He was hearing the dark voice that had zinged without mercy throughout the day. It had all been sexy as hell in a way that only Mike could be, but the sheer intensity it had been done with had been enough to tell Lennie that it had been one helluva dream that his partner had had.

Tie loosened and off as he toed out of his shoes, Lennie continued his way to the bedroom. Even though he'd made the offer, he was pretty sure that Mike wouldn't call him if he had another nightmare. Another infuriating thing about Mike Logan was the fact that whenever he was suffering, he wouldn't share the load. Rather than misery loving company, she had one helluva solitary grip on Mike when she wanted it, and Mike never aired his grievances with the world unless someone called him on it, like Lennie had today. Lennie knew that Mike had his own load of ghosts and demons to work through, but he had a feeling that he had barely touched the headwaters of today's problems.

Lennie wasn't in the "tell me about your parents" mindset, to be honest. When it got to be too much, he'd call Mike on it, but other than that, he usually let Logan stew. Micks were angsty like that, he half-remembered from his years in the bottle, dealing with Irish partners.

His other Irish partners, though, had never had thick black hair that he wanted to bury his hands in as he sucked on that pale bottom lip. They hadn't had gray-green eyes that changed in the light, or with their moods, or could utterly captivated you with an innocent look. Granted, Mike's innocent look usually sported a pair of horns, but that look had gotten more than a few suspects to confess. If not those eyes, then the man's passion could consume and overwhelm.

Lennie snorted, vaguely finding that he was down to his tank-top and boxers, and climbed into bed. With a glance over at the clock, he wondered if Mike *would* call later.

He found himself waiting for the phone to ring.

******

Always before something hadn't been quite whole, not completely there. Things weren't really sharp, or maybe the world had been a little too gray around the edges, fading out past a certain point. Sometimes sound had been muffled, or he could others' voices but not his own; but always there had been *something* off, something to remind him that it was just a dream. A

heart-pounding, wanna-throw-up dream, maybe, but still a dream.

This time, even that small mercy was missing.

The doorknob he had touched had almost glittered, it had been so bright, so shiny. So damned out of place in this hellhole.

The thin wail of the baby's cry had been so distinct ….

And now every brick of the wall at Mike's back, every dent in the car he and Lennie were crouched next to, every outline of every piece of garbage on the stained, rough pavement of the alleyway was crystal-clear, the edges sharp enough to cut. His service weapon was heavy and useless in his hands, ammunition exhausted. The cold air seared his lungs as he sucked it in. There was no way they could hide -- they were as good as sending up fucking smoke signals with every breath they exhaled.

Bullets whined in from two sides, hitting the car, the wall, dusting them with tiny chips of brick, hot deadly lead coming ever closer, closer.

There was no chance in hell that the backup they'd called would reach them before …. They were out of ammo, and nearly out of time.

Mike jerked his head around to stare desperately at Lennie. His partner's dark eyes locked onto his, the older man drew breath as if to speak --

There was the awful soft thwack of metal tearing through flesh --

"*LENNIE!!*"

Mike sat bolt upright in the darkness of his bedroom, the sound of his own wild shout ringing in his ears. His heart was pounding triple-time and he was drenched in cold sweat, his throat raw from the force of his cry. He couldn't breathe, there was no fucking *air* ….

His chest unlocked suddenly and he gasped, dragged in a deep breath. Another. Then before he could think straight enough to talk himself out of it, he leaned over and grabbed for the phone.

It took both hands to dial the number, he was shaking that badly. Mike rested his forehead on his knees as the connection clicked through, and the phone on the other end rang. Once. Twice. //Pick up, Lennie.//

Three times.

//Pick *up*, damn you.//

Four … //Len --!//

"Briscoe."

Every bit of the breath Mike hadn't realized he'd been holding got expelled at once, and he sucked in another one. Lennie's voice was low and gravelly, a little slurred; it was obvious that Mike had just woken him up out of a sound sleep.

Mike tried to speak. Couldn't.

Or maybe he had, because Lennie answered him.

"Mike?" There were sounds of somebody shifting and Mike focused in on that, tried hard to replace the horror in his mind with the image of Lennie, safe and warm in bed. And found that he had a new problem as his body reacted, adrenaline channeling downward.

His partner's husky voice sounded in his ear again, far too goddamn friggin' sexy for the middle of the night. "Mike, talk to me."

"Lennie." There. He'd said something. Mike felt absurdly proud.

Yet there he was, gritting his teeth as he shifted around, imagining the messy salt-and-pepper hair, Lennie's rare smile that made him look twenty years younger, expressive long-fingered hands, and sleepy gray eyes. Helluva way to recover from a bad dream.

"Mike, you okay?" The sleepy rumble sounded relieved -- probably from hearing Mike's voice.

Now what was he going to say? I had a bad dream, I saw you die again? To his mind, they sounded like what a little five-year-old would tell Mommy and Daddy before asking if he could sleep with his parents that night. He shook his head.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, some of his irritation at himself creeping into his voice.

There was a pause, and then Lennie spoke again, sounding a bit more awake. "Bad dream?"

"It's stupid," Mike growled, but it was more at himself than anything else. "I shouldn't've called."

"... I'm glad you did." The voice was soft, genuine. Mike blinked.

This was the time of night that you could say things in the darkness that you would never even contemplate thinking in real life. If Logan had any sense, he'd get off the phone right now before he did something colossally stupid.

"I'm glad I did too," Mike told Lennie softly.

Lennie made a quiet sound, not a sigh exactly, more like a gentle exhale of a held breath. "You wanna tell me about it?" There was no condescension in his tone, no pity, but a deep warmth that crept treacherously up Mike's spine and other places, making the thought of doing something colossally stupid more and more appealing.

"Not really, no," Mike snorted ruefully. He uncurled himself finally and fell back against the pillows, freed one hand from the phone to pull up the blankets against the chill air of his bedroom. The fight-or-flight rush of the nightmare was fading, leaving him drained. Or half-drained, anyway. The other half of him was anything but, come alive and staying that way under the influence of the vision in his head and the timbre of Lennie's voice. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk, but he didn't want to let go of Lennie's voice, his presence just yet, either.

Lennie chuckled. "We can play Twenty Questions if you want," he said, as if sensing both Mike's reluctance and desire. "Was it the same as before? Fire-fight?"

"Yeah." //Keep talking, Lennie.//

"Back alley, cold, shots from two sides, no backup… How'm'I doing?"

Mike pulled his brows together, startled. "Yeah. How do you know this?"

Lennie did sigh this time. "'Cause I've had that dream myself, Mike, or its first cousin, anyway. Maybe it's an occupational hazard." He snorted. "I'll tell you a secret," he went on. The tone was low, confessional, and Mike's heart rate bumped: maybe he wasn't the only one tempted to say things in the darkness. "It'd been nice, years ago, if there'd been another cop I could've called, myself; somebody who'd've understood. Who knows, maybe I wouldn't have hit the bottle so hard if there had."

"You can call me anytime, Lennie," Mike said, dead serious. "I want you to call me. Hell, come on over if you want, you know I'm up at all hours anyway."

Lennie paused, then chuckled again, the sound like warm honey. "Oh, you know I hate going out at night. How 'bout you can come over here instead? Keep the boogie man away?"

It was out of Mike's mouth before he could stop it, before he could even think. "Would you want me to? Tonight?"

"Why not?" Lennie's voice was easygoing. "We could make a night of it, play cards or something."

Mike shivered into his blankets, his erection still with him and determined to keep him company as long as he had Lennie on the phone. "... Okay."

"Okay." Lennie sounded a little surprised himself. "You remember how to get to my place?"

"Yeah. I'll be over there in half-an-hour."

"Gotcha. See ya in a little bit."

"Right." Mike answered. "Later."

Click.

Mike pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it as if he'd never seen it before in his life.

He'd done it. He was going to Lennie's place. Tonight.

He'd been to Lennie's ramshackle apartment before, but this was different. It wasn't just after a late shift, and they were heading off somewhere to get away from the squadroom and compare notes. This was the dead of night, when big mistakes could be made.

But he had to go, he'd just told Lennie he would. And given his current state, he had a feeling he'd already done his colossally stupid thing for the night. Then again, it wasn't dawn yet, so he had more opportunity to screw up once he got over to Lennie's.

He hung up the phone and got out of bed.

But first things first. He'd be damned if he'd show at Lennie's popping wood like a teenager. Mike headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Cold. There were two ways he could deal with this, but there was no way he was gonna jerk off thinking about his partner's hands and his partner's mouth a half hour before walking through the man's door.

No matter how badly he wanted to.

Thirty minutes later, give or take, Mike rapped his knuckles on Lennie's door. It opened to reveal the man himself, looking as rumpled as his voice had sounded over the building intercom when Mike had buzzed him to be let in.

"Welcome to Chez Briscoe," Lennie said, waving him in with an exaggerated flourish. "Open twenty-four hours for all your insomniac needs. Cards are on the table, coffee's in the kitchen."

Mike rolled his eyes as he stepped through the doorway into the warmth of Lennie's apartment, but once inside he stole a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath, steady himself as Lennie shut the door behind him.

//Cards are on the table? I don't freakin' well think so. If you only knew…. //

His partner was wearing a set of battered, faded navy sweats, and his hair looked like he'd combed it with his hands. He was far more casual than Mike had ever seen him, the sort of careless appearance you'd let only your best friends see. Or your family.

Or your lover.

Lennie looked basically like he'd just rolled out of bed, and it was every bit as good a look as Mike'd been afraid it would be.

Lennie didn't seem to notice the quick glance over he was receiving, ducking into his small kitchen instead. "You want any coffee?"

"Nah," Mike replied, walking further into the apartment. It wasn't hard to find the pack of cards sitting on the small table, so he sat himself down and pulled the cards from the box. They were worn -- probably had seen any number of poker games at parties -- but their weight was comforting in Mike's hands.

Lennie emerged from the kitchen holding a mug that read S.O.B. and had something in tiny print underneath of it. After taking a generous gulp, he sat down at the table, looked Mike over. "So, you up for some poker?"

"Poker's a little hard to play with two people, wouldn't you say?" Mike asked, handing the cards to Lennie with a raised eyebrow.

"Not necessarily." Lennie shrugged, giving the cards an expert shuffle. "You get more of an opportunity to try to learn the other guy's cues than when you've got five players at the table." He shuffled the deck a few more times, the long fingers touching the cards lightly, sliding them in and out of the deck with ease.

Mike had to give himself a mental shake before his mind wandered, picturing those hands somewhere else entirely.

"So, how many people have you hustled in poker games?" Mike asked with a grin.

"Oh, I've had my share of winning streaks," Lennie replied easily, his left eyebrow cocked a little in a teasing sort of challenge. "Prepare to empty out that wallet of yours, Mike."

Mike snorted. "It's already empty enough as it is. Those hot dogs we ate in the Park nearly cleaned me out."

"Ah, the life of an honest cop." Lennie remarked with a rueful smile. "Still, poker's not much fun unless you're betting *something*."

"So, what?" Mike challenged. "You wanna try strip poker?"

The joking statement had leapt out of his mouth before Mike could catch it and shove it back down to his crotch where it belonged. Logan clamped his mouth shut after he realized what he had said.

//Ohhh, I did NOT just say that.//

As it was, Lennie didn't seem to take offense, only raising an eyebrow at the idea.

//He did NOT just say that.// Somehow Lennie managed to react with no more than a raised eyebrow, but it was taking everything he had not to choke at the sudden image that flashed across his mind, in brilliant Technicolor with full soundtrack.

//Okay, it's Mike Logan. He DID say that, but he didn't mean it, not that way; the man is NOT coming on to you, he's the fucking poster child for the League of Screw-Anything-As-Long-As-It's-Female. Emphasis on Female.//

He forced himself to breathe evenly and shuffle the cards again, vaguely amazed at how steady his hands were. He met Mike's eyes with the smartass and edge of challenge he knew Mike expected. "Little cold to be showing off the wares, don'tcha think? And make no mistake, it'd be you doing the showing, partner, not me."

Mike snorted. "I happen to be a damn good poker player. Who says I can't get you down to your birthday suit?"

Lennie smirked. "I'd like to see you try."

"All right then, let's go for strip poker."

"That's the problem with you young people, no imagination." Lennie pulled a forlorn face, shaking his head in mock regret for the next generation. His dexterity returned, and he gave the deck one last shuffle before placing it in front of Mike. "Why don't we bet stuff like the loser types up the paperwork for the Lorez case?"

Mike's eyebrows rose with a chuckle as he cut the deck roughly in half. "Oh ho ho, are you wussing out on me, Lennie?"

Lennie shot him a dark look as he picked up the cards. "The day Lennie Briscoe wusses out is the day Hell freezes over. This is just making things more exciting than the norm."

"And watching you get down to your skivvies is normal?" Mike returned with a teasing smile.

"That's another thing about youth today, you're also predictable. Of course you'd want to see an old guy get down to his skivvies. But even you'd agree that you'd play your damndest just so you won't have to type up the Lorez case." Lennie picked up the deck and dealt the cards.

"I thought you were supposed to make bets in poker, not just one." Mike picked up his cards and gave them a glance. His hand was total crap, but he'd been able to bluff his way into winning the pot with worse.

"Well, sure, but you're the one so dead set on strip poker rules." Lennie put the deck down and picked up his own cards. "Unless you wanna up the stakes."

"Sure." Mike smiled. Grabbing one of Lennie's notepads nearby, he looked up at Lennie. "Gotta pen?"

Lennie raised an eyebrow, but got up from the table, going into the kitchen. After a second of rummaging around, he returned with a black pen in hand. Mike accepted it, and quickly scribbled down the opening bet. "Okay, so I'll meet your typing up the Lorez case and raise you breakfast for a week."

Lennie's eyebrows shot up. "You must be pretty sure of your hand."

Mike shot him a devilish look. "Oh, I am."

*****************

Forty hard-fought minutes later …. "Call."

Lennie slapped his cards down with a flourish, and Mike groaned. Lennie eyed him with an evil grin. "Shirt, Logan. Lose it."

Mike grimaced as he reached for the hem of his tee-shirt, stripped it off and dropped it onto the pile of clothes on the floor next to his chair. He raked a quick hand through his hair, which did little to neaten it up, and glared at his partner. "Satisfied?"

"Almost," Lennie said happily. The last hour and a half had been nothing but one surprise after another, beginning with the fact that Mike actually *had* called him and culminating with the fact of his partner now sitting in Lennie's apartment at o-dark-thirty in the morning, playing strip poker of all the goddamned things. It was such a delightfully juvenile thing they were doing, almost like some of his better memories of college nights, except there wasn't any beer. And the fact that none of those long-ago games had ever turned him on the way this one was.

Mike had been as good as his boast; he did in fact play a damn good game of poker, and Lennie had found himself enjoyably challenged to stay ahead of the younger man. And he had, but only just. Mike had lost a few more hands and a few more articles of clothing than Lennie had, but then he'd been wearing more to begin with.

Now his partner sat clad in nothing but his jeans and whatever he was wearing under them. Lennie himself still had his tank top and boxers, so at this point they were about even in the clothing department. But this was a game Lennie was determined to win, for reasons that had nothing to do with the principles of the game. This was probably the best shot – hell, the *only* shot -- he was ever going to have at seeing Mike Logan in all his glory, short of ambushing the man in the 2-7 showers, and he was taking shameless advantage of it.

It being winter now, Mike had obviously lost whatever tan he'd gotten over the warmer months. Irish skin glowed pale over well-made chest and shoulder muscles, flexing smoothly with Mike's every move. The sight of the light-rose nipples nestled in the midst of a light dusting of black chest hair was enough to make Lennie's mouth water. And that hair gathered together into a finer line below Mike's pecs, a trail leading down --

"Lennie?"

Lennie didn't respond immediately, his gaze on Mike's chest. Checking each other out was what guys did, so Mike wasn't really that concerned. He'd spoken to see if he could get his partner's attention back to the here and now from wherever it was that it had wandered to.

Mike wasn't about to fool himself into thinking that Lennie was checking him out in more than just the typical guy way of sizing up a buddy. But the more that Lennie's eyes wandered across his chest, the more Mike really wondered what was going on inside his partner's head.

"I'm getting some more coffee." Mike tried, noticing how the gaze took its time traveling from his bare chest to lock on his lips. "Wanna refill?"

Lennie lifted an eyebrow at him, returning his attention to what Mike was saying. "Sure."

Mike reached over and picked up their mugs. As he went into the kitchen, he could feel a pair of eyes follow after him for a moment.

\\No, they weren't,\\ his rational side piped up with a mental chuckle. \\You're reading waaay too much into this, Logan.\\

He filled up the mugs with the fresh pot they had started fifteen minutes ago, absently noting the small print under the S.O.B. on Lennie's mug read "(South of the Border)". The border? Mike snorted. Yeah, if the table were any lower, Lennie's eyes would probably have been moving southward.

\\Mikey, there's no *way*. Now, get your ass moving and get back out there.\\

//Wonder what would happen if I lost the next two games. We're both down to two pieces of clothing anyway...//

\\Lennie would pitch you a towel, that's what,\\ his rational side returned calmly. \\For the last time, you're making too much of this. Get your butt in gear!\\

Mike shook his head as he came back to the small table and set the coffee mugs down. Slipping into his seat with ease, he grinned at Lennie teasingly.

"Hope you're not modest, Briscoe."

Lennie snorted as he dealt out the next hand. "Get serious, Mike. Lost *that* about the same time as my virginity."

"All of it?" Mike retorted, not really thinking, his attention deliberately focused in on the new cards in his hand in an effort to stop thinking about what his partner's eyes had or hadn't been doing.

"All of what, modesty?"

"No, virginity."

A pause. "*All* of it?" Lennie repeated in an odd tone.

His rational side howled a warning, but it didn't make it to Mike's mouth in time. "Yeah. Both teams?"

// … oh, shit.//

Mike snapped his jaw shut and his head up, two seconds too late.

Lennie's sleepy eyes were as wide as they ever got; the gray gaze startled, intent, and focused in on Mike like he was seeing past the skin and straight into his soul.

//Oh, *shit,*// was all Mike could think again as his stomach abruptly took the express elevator to hell. //Now you really *have* done your colossally stupid thing for the whole fuckin' *year*, never mind tonight, he's not like you, you jackass, he's not bi, he's going to transfer at the very least, if he doesn't fuckin' *kill* you first ….!//

Except that his partner's gaze didn’t look angry, exactly. It looked kinda, almost … hopeful?

Time seemed to suspend for a weird, endless moment. Then, abruptly, everything that Lennie had said and done over the last twenty-four hours flashed through Mike's mind and took on a completely different slant, the change so fast that it made him dizzy. The rollercoaster of images slammed to a halt with the memory of eyes checking him out, following his progress to the kitchen not five minutes before ….

//God. Oh my God.// He stared back into dark eyes, felt the edge of the cliff under his feet.

"What are you saying, Mike?" Lennie asked, his voice a bare whisper.

Mike swallowed, crossed his fingers, and jumped. "I'm saying I've played for both teams, Lennie. You interested in a round?"

Mike would never quite be able, he realized much later on, to adequately describe the expression that transformed Lennie's face then. None of the words he knew for "happy" were going to cut it, somehow. Lennie smiled, that rare, full one that showed every single one of his teeth, and his eyes lit with – mischief.

"Only one?"

Mike also realized, much later on, that he didn't remember who had made the first move, or if they both had. But somehow they were both up and around the table, and he finally finally *finally* had his tongue in Lennie Briscoe's mouth.

Lennie tasted like strong coffee and sugar and the promise of the best sex of his life, and Mike couldn't get enough. He wanted to crawl inside the man and never come out. Lennie's fingers were buried in his hair, cradling his skull, holding him close as they wrestled for control of the kiss. Mike had his own arms tight around Lennie's shoulders and waist, locking his partner against him from shoulder to thigh, reveling in the feel of heat and strength. He'd been half-up since shortly after they'd started the poker game. Now he was at full, aching salute and trying for more, snugged almost painfully against the button fly of his jeans.

There was an answering excitement pressing firmly against his own.

Lennie was hard. For him. God Almighty.

Lennie pulled back just enough to look at him when they finally broke for air, searching and intent. "I'm guessing I shouldn't ask if you're sure about this." His voice was low and rough around the edges, with just the tiniest upward questioning lilt.

Mike grinned, and it felt a bit wild. "Damn well better not, 'cause that'd be evidence of you drifting and then I'd have to shoot you. And I'm not nearly done with you yet."

That amazing smile broke over Lennie's face again, this time with a feral edge that sent a sparking twist up Mike's spine. "*You're* not done with *me*?"

Lennie locked their mouths together again and kissed Mike hard and deep, then pulled away altogether and pointed to the only other visible door in the place besides the front one and the bathroom. "Bed," he said, breathing fast. "Get your ass in there, now, and out of those jeans, or I swear to God I'm taking you right here on the floor."

Excitement shot through Mike's veins like a hit of the world's best drug. This was part of what he loved about sex with other men; a little struggle, a little playful push and shove, strength against strength. The thrill of getting intimate with someone who didn't need *your* muscle; someone who might, just might, be able to hold *you* down. That Lennie wanted him this badly, as badly as Mike wanted him … oh, that was power. And sweet.

He grinned just as evilly as he knew how and walked half-sideways, half-backwards toward the bedroom door, pulling at the buttons of his fly as he went. Lennie followed, stripping off his own tank top and tossing it aside somewhere. His gaze darted from Mike's face to his hands, his eyes bright and nearly black with lust. Mike made it through the doorway and up next to the unmade bed, and then three things happened at once. The last of his fly buttons slipped from its hole, freeing his erection from its snug denim prison, Mike nearly groaned in relief and closed his eyes, and his partner's full weight hit him and took him down to the mattress.

Lennie didn't think he'd ever understood the phrase "half out of your mind with lust" as completely as he did now. Not that what he was doing right at that moment could be called thinking, exactly.

Mike was so real and alive against him. Lennie wallowed in the feel of warm skin and the light tickle of chest hair from the waist up, the roughness of denim below, the maddening friction of no more than two thin layers of cotton between their erections. The younger man felt incredible and smelled even better, hot and male and Mike. It was the same scent that had tantalized Lennie almost since he and Mike had first been partnered, catching a whiff on a hot day in the 2-7 detective squad room.

Lennie's mouth was watering again, and now there was no reason to hold back. He dove in and licked at the smooth skin below Mike's ear and under the curve of the strong jaw, tasting salt and tang.

Mike shifted and sighed, arched his head back to give Lennie better access. His fingers combed through Lennie's hair, slipped around the back of his neck to knead gently for a moment, then slid hotly down his back to curve around his ass -- *under* his boxers, somehow finding *that* particular spot -- and squeeze.

Lennie's nervous system lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. He groaned against Mike's throat and thrust hard, grinding their hips and erections together, his arousal drop-kicked into high gear. Mike shuddered and groaned as well, pulling Lennie still more tightly against him, hooking an ankle around Lennie's calf and pushing back.

They moved blindly against each other like horny teenagers for a minute or two before Lennie gritted his teeth and stopped, tried to hold Mike still as well. If he wasn't careful, this would be over way before it got started -- and he wanted this too much to waste their first time in a hot, half-clothed rush. "Damnit, whatever happened to seduction, Mike?" he panted into his partner's skin. "How 'bout a little patience here?"

"Lennie, I've wanted you for freakin' ever." Mike's voice was rough, his hips still twitching in tiny jerks. "I want you so bad now I can't see straight -- tell me why the hell I should be patient?"

Lennie swallowed. That Mike desired him that much…. But along with the gut-level honesty in his partner's voice was enough of a touch of aggrieved little boy that Lennie couldn't resist. He reared up on one elbow to look down at the man who was now, against all odds, his lover. "Because I," he said with as much dignity as he could manage, "haven't come in my shorts since the Sixties, and I'm not starting now."

Mike stared up at him a moment, eyes wide and lips parted in an expression that Lennie just wanted to lick off his face, before he tossed his head against the sheets and laughed full out. The sound made Lennie's cock twitch.

"Hell, is that all?" Mike said after a few moments, still snickering. He made a sudden heave and twist, and Lennie was looking up at him and Mike had one broad hand wrapped in the front waistband of Lennie's boxers. "I can fix that."

The tug on his underwear and the expression on Mike's face now warned Lennie that he'd better lift his hips. He lifted, Mike tugged, and about five seconds later Lennie was finally completely naked to Mike's gaze.

Lennie wasn't terribly fond of his own body, really; never had been. It got him along, it did the job, and coupled with avidly acquired skills and a vivid imagination it had made nearly all of his bed-partners very happy, or at the very least satisfied. But he couldn't remember a single time it had made anyone look at him like he was Cary Freakin' Grant, sex on two legs.

Like Mike was doing now. He'd swear he could feel the heat of Mike's eyes as they traveled slowly down and back, raising every hair on his body as they passed. And forcing still more blood into what felt like the stiffest hard-on he'd had in years.

Then the hot gray-green gaze came back to his, and Mike grinned wickedly. "I win."

His brain half-fogged with passion, it took Lennie a moment to make the connection. The poker game. "You son of a -- "

Mike kissed him hard and *touched* him, strong fingers closing around his eager cock, and ten seconds later Lennie didn't give a flying fuck who had won. All that mattered was that it had got them here, with Mike's tongue in his mouth and Mike's hand on his groin, hot and bothered and naked -- wait. Shit. Mike still had his damned jeans on, and that was so wrong.

Lennie wanted skin, and he wanted it *now.*

He ran his hands down Mike's back and under the jeans, under the prosaic white briefs, and over the tempting ass he'd been watching for months now. Slid his fingers teasingly between the firm cheeks.

Mike jerked, tearing away from Lennie's mouth to bury his face against the older man's neck, and froze. "Lennie, don't."

Lennie froze too, the touch of, well, *panic* almost in Mike's voice cutting through the haze of lust. "Mike?"

Mike didn't pull away, but he didn't do anything else, either, his hand still and unmoving on Lennie's cock. "Don't, please, just … don't."

Lennie felt the tension in the firm muscle under his hands, the oh-so-faint tremor in the strong body half on top of him, and had the beginnings of a sick, sick hunch. Ghosts and demons, somewhere back in the childhood that Mike never really talked about …. He wouldn't hurt this man for the world. But somebody had.

"Only what you want, Mike," he whispered, turning his head to put his mouth against Mike's hair, slipping his hands back up to rub gently at the small of his partner's back. "No more than that, ever. Whatever you want is fine with me."

Mike pulled in air, the sound loud in Lennie's ear. "Lennie -- " He couldn't seem to go on, and the almost lost tone, so unlike his cocksure partner, stabbed Lennie's heart.

"Y'don't have to explain, Irish. If you can, sometime, that's fine, but it's okay if you don't. You pitch but you don't catch, I'm good with that, I'll cover that base. What matters is that it's *you* I'm playing with, however we're doin' it."

Another moment of stillness. Then Mike sighed, the tension running out of him like water. He lifted his head and met Lennie's eyes searchingly, then kissed him. It was slow and gentle and almost tender, completely unlike the liplocks they'd had up to now, and Lennie's heart skipped. It was saying so much without words, that kiss….

It was over too soon, though, and Mike was gazing down at him again, a glint of both humor and challenge in his eyes, the moment of vulnerability gone. "Irish? What's up with that?"

Lennie blinked. It was his private, silent nickname for Mike; he hadn't realized he'd said it out loud. He'd certainly never intended to, he himself wasn't fond of nicknames as a rule, and he didn't really know when he'd come up with that one for Mike; one day it had just -- been there, and it fit. Hell, he had no clue how Mike even felt about nicknames. "I don't know, really," he said slowly, a little chagrined at the slip. "It just -- fits you, is all."

Mike tilted his head, apparently considering. "I don't mind," he said after a moment, then gave Lennie a half grin. "Maybe I even like it." He bent down slowly, licked over the outline of Lennie's lips. "But only between us," he whispered.

"Deal," Lennie agreed, relieved. He put a hand around the back of Mike's head to keep him close and opened his own mouth, darting his tongue against Mike's.

"So," he murmured after a satisfying minute of cozy, wet exploration. "You gonna use that, or you just keepin' it warm?" He pressed up a little against the hand still covering his cock.

Mike raised his head and grinned. Stroked. Squeezed, just enough. Lennie gasped.

"That what you had in mind?" Mike teased.

"Okay," Lennie managed when his voice came back. "That's a good start."

Both of their interests had died down a little, so Mike set about rekindling them, about a fifteen second job at most. Lennie was easy to love, reacting to everything Mike did like it truly was Mike he wanted there against him. Mike licked hungrily at his neck, learning the skin-taste that was Lennie's alone, breathing in the spicy-sweet remnants of his aftershave. He worked his way down quickly, tonguing the deep hollow of his partner's throat, nipping at the prominent collarbones, all the while working slow, not-quite-rhythmic strokes on Lennie's cock.

Lennie groaned and squirmed under him, the long fingers of one hand buried in his hair while the others massaged at the small of his back, drifting but never too far south. Mike's heart lurched. It wasn't that he truly didn't want Lennie's hands on his ass, it was just that the older man had startled him, grabbing before Mike'd had a chance to do his usual mental pep talk, remind himself of where he was and who he was with. Of the fact that he was an adult now, with an adult's power of consent or refusal. Not a confused, scared child ….

He swiped his tongue across a hard nipple and savored Lennie's gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, before he slipped his hand away from his partner's hot erection. Lennie growled a complaint, then quieted abruptly as Mike caught the hand at his waist and gently pushed it downward. Under his briefs.

"Mike?" Lennie's voice was hoarse.

"'s all right, Len, y'just caught me off-guard before, really," he murmured into Lennie's skin, taking another lick at the tasty nipple.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay, then, do me a favor."

"Hmm?" Mike hummed the question, sucking this time and loving the way Lennie caught a sudden breath, arched.

The fingers in his hair tightened again and pulled, forcing Mike away from his treat, but a second later Mike was glad they had. Lennie looked like Mike had only dreamed him before: dark eyes hot and bright, color high, the always neat hair wild against the pillow. Lennie knotted his other hand in the waistbands of Mike's jeans and underwear and tugged. "These. Off. Right fucking now."

Lennie was rarely less than creative in the language department, so to have reduced him to simple obscenity brought a whole new smile to Mike's face. It stayed there as he moved, rolling off of Lennie to stand beside the bed and slowly strip off his last two bits of clothing. Lennie was moving as well, reaching to get a small plastic bottle out of the drawer of his nightstand without ever taking his eyes off of Mike.

Mike knew he had a good body. He worked at keeping it that way, and he didn't mind showing it off at the right time, to the right audience. He couldn't remember when he'd last had an audience that had felt this right. Lennie's gaze as it traveled him down and up again was hot enough to burn, enough to make Mike believe in spontaneous combustion. He was aching, impossibly hard under those eyes, and the thought of Lennie's hands, and he knew he wasn't going to last long at all when Lennie touched him again.

Lennie beckoned, and that was all Mike needed. He was back on the bed and they were on their sides and he was pressing every inch of himself against every inch of Lennie. He ground their hips together, moaning at the amazing sensation of Lennie's cock against his own, skin to skin, for the first time. Lennie shifted, getting a hand between them, and Mike moaned again, gasping as strong fingers gripped him, spreading something vaguely cool and wonderfully slick all over his length. Then Lennie was pulling at him with hands and legs, urging Mike over fully on top of him, clamping both hands on his ass to keep him there, and thrusting up hard.

Hot, slick, Lennie. Lennie. The last of Mike's sanity fled.

From there it was a short, hard ride to the end of the line. He heard Lennie curse, felt him gasp and freeze, saw the mobile face twist into a grimace of ecstasy that looked like dying. Then Mike's own orgasm hit and it *felt* like dying, light and light and static and he was sure that his heart had stopped and that was absofuckinlutely *fabulous* because nothing but *nothing* could ever *possibly* feel any better than this ….

….

He came back slowly, reluctantly. He wasn't sure where he'd been but he damn sure knew that he wanted to stay there … God Almighty ….

"Found religion?" murmured a low, gravelly voice by his ear, and Mike realized he must have said that last bit out loud. "'m good," Lennie went on, "didn' think I was that good."

Mike got a hand to move, smacked Lennie weakly on the arm. "Smartass."

"Guilty. How'bout givin' a guy some air, here?"

"You pulled me up here, make up yer mind." Mike got a few more limbs to move, slipped over but not far, draping himself along Lennie's side with an arm over his partner's chest and one leg thrown over his thighs. Lennie turned his head, and the happy, sated look in those gray eyes was one Mike wanted to see again, and again, and again. He reached up slowly, ran gentle fingers through the disheveled salt-and-pepper hair that he'd been wanting to muss. The gray eyes closed.

"We gotta be up shortly, start work," Lennie rumbled, sounding half asleep.

Mike murmured an agreement.

"You bring clothes?"

"Gotta suit in the car."

"Y'can shower here …."

"Thanks."

And then there was no sound but soft breathing for a while.

A long time passed, just lying there in bed.

Mike had turned off the light earlier when he'd come back from the john, allowing the room to bathe itself in soothing shades of blue. Lennie seemed dead to the world, having dropped off so completely that even when Mike shifted around to get comfortable, he didn’t make a sound. Of course, the light snore was a bit surprising when Mike first heard it, but at least it didn’t sound like a freight train.

Still, it gave Mike a chance to think. His chronic insomnia never let up, bedmate or not, so he was quite used to listening to someone else sleep while he contemplated life and everything about it in the dark, where he didn’t have to worry about emotions showing on his face or whoever was sharing his bed waking up and noticing he hadn’t slept. He vaguely wondered how long it would take Lennie to notice. Then again, Lennie already shot him looks across their desks whenever Mike had a sleepless night, so maybe it was a moot point.

At least this way, Lennie could do something about it, if he wanted.

Mike could feel a half-smile sneak across his face. The first night, and Lennie'd already found out there wasn’t something quite right when he'd traveled southward. Mike hadn't thought he’d have to have that mental pep talk because he'd never thought he’d actually get to where he was right now.

Showed what he knew.

Still…. Mike snuggled a little bit against Lennie’s shoulder, and smiled a little when Lennie turned and threw an arm around his waist. The things that you could discover about your partner could really surprise you. Like the fact that Lennie was a snuggler. Then again, with how physical he was when comforting the relatives of a vic, Mike figured that he really shouldn’t be surprised.

Mike draped an arm around Lennie’s waist as well, taking a deep breath and just absorbing his presence. It felt like lotion on sunburned skin – Mike’s nerves were rarely calm when he was in bed, his childhood ready to rear its ugly head from behind the door of the closet when Logan dropped his guard.

Briscoe’s arms felt stronger than they looked. The snore was oddly comforting. Mike snuggled closer.

Sleepy grey eyes opened, meeting Mike in hazy confusion before they registered who he was. "Mike?"

Mike shook his head. "’M fine. Go to sleep."

He saw Lennie’s eyelids droop, but before they closed completely, Lennie shifted forward, planted a drowsy kiss on Mike’s lips.

"Go to sleep yourself…."

Before Mike could reply, Lennie was again dead to the world.

Mike took a deep breath, released it with a smile and a sigh, and lay his head down on the pillow, watching Lennie sleep.

***********************

Lennie woke before his alarm went off. That was routine. What wasn't in any way routine, besides the fact that he'd gone to sleep with a strange body in his bed, was who it was sleeping next to him.

Mike was lying on his side, facing Lennie, his hand on Lennie's ribcage and a calm expression on his face. His lashes were dark arcs across his pale skin. His lips were slightly parted, his breath soughing lightly in an almost-but-not-quite snore.

It was the most peaceful Lennie had ever seen his partner look.

A dangerous feeling of contentment began to warm in Lennie's chest. //I could get used to this ….//

\\But you won't,\\ his cold, quiet voice of reason reminded him. \\Man's a tomcat; everybody knows it. He's never stayed with anyone before, what makes you think he'd start with you?\\

//I *know* that,// he thought irritably. //And after the two divorces I've had, I don't need the heartache. But I'm gonna enjoy this while it lasts….//

Wouldn't be much longer this morning, though. Mike shifted, as if feeling Lennie's gaze, then opened his eyes. He looked at Lennie, blinking, looked past him as if to get his surroundings, then at him again with a sleepy, happy smile that Lennie just had to lean forward and kiss.

"G'morning," Mike murmured, his voice a rough, deep purr that sparked another sort of warmth below Lennie's waist. "I fell asleep," he continued, sounding pleased but a bit surprised.

"You did," Lennie agreed, stealing another kiss before propping up on an elbow to get a better look at the amazing sight of Mike Logan waking up in his bed.

"I don't, usually…." The heavy dark brows drew together.

Any further discussion of that, though, was cut short by the sudden pop and blare of Lennie's alarm. He rolled over and smacked the annoying thing off, sat up with a sigh. "Paycheck calls."

Mike grunted in agreement. He shifted onto his back and ran both hands slowly through his hair, then gave himself a little shake and seemed to come fully awake. "You shower, I'll go grab my suit, make some coffee?"

Could it really be as easy as that, as easy as their working partnership was? //Oh, I could definitely get used to this….//

**********************

It wasn't long after their arrival in the 2-7 detective squad room that Tony Profaci let out a whistle. "Jeez, Mikey, aren't you on the happy train today? Nice change from yesterday but boy, talk about Jekyll and Hyde. Musta been a gooood night, eh?"

//Oh, great, the perks of working with detectives. What gave him away, the snappy happy gum-chewing or the cat-n-canary look?// Lennie eyed his partner from under his eyebrows, across their desks, very glad that he'd set his coffee mug down a minute before. But Mike never turned a hair.

"The night I had, you wouldn't believe." Mike didn't look at either him or Profaci, but the blatant satisfaction in his voice heated Lennie clear through.

"Woo-hoo?" Profaci's eyebrows went up. "Oh? C'mon, details."

"Hey, I don't kiss and tell, Profaci."

"Since when?"

"When it looks like it'll annoy you more if I don't. 'Sides, I don't wanna be slipping in the puddle of drool you'd be leaving."

Lennie snickered; Profaci glared at him and then back at Mike. "Oh, and I supposed you told him, though," he groused, waving at Lennie.

Mike did look at Lennie then, grinning broadly, his eyes as mischievous as Lennie'd ever seen them. "Oh, he knows."

Lennie fished around quickly for the slightly disgruntled, "yeah he got laid and I gotta hear about it" face that he'd probably've been wearing if the conversation was actually what it seemed. "In glowing detail."

Mike looked quickly back down at his paperwork, but the grin stayed put.

Profaci rolled his eyes. "Some guys got all the luck," he tossed over his shoulder and turned to go.

Half a minute later Mike leaned forward. "Don't know that luck had much to do with it," he said, sotto voce.

Lennie eyed his partner later, around noon, as Mike slid back into the unmarked with the sandwiches that he owed Lennie as one of the bets they'd made. "That bit with Profaci. You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Guilty," Mike shot back cheerfully. "But it was probably the only way to do it. Tony's not dumb, he can see something's happened, and damnit, I'm happy and I'm not gonna hide it. This way, he's sure he knows what's going on, and he won't push too hard for details."

Lennie nodded, looking mildly impressed. "All right, Brainiac, then whaddaya think about Mario for the Garza case?"

The Garza case had been the latest in a long string of brain-teaser cases, full of dead-ends and goose chases. The basic set-up had been Andreas Garza, all of 14 and found dead and buried under a pile of garbage. Burn marks on his fingers and a tox screen came back positive for crack, but it was the .22 bullet behind the right ear that had killed him. It had taken Mike and Lennie a week to find out the kid had been part of a gang, but today, they were headed to Mario Lopez's residence -- he had priors for assault, and was affiliated with one of the local gangs.

Despite the night they had last night, both of them could feel the air of intimacy diminish as they turned their minds back to work.

Mike shrugged, letting a sigh slip. "Well, we won't know until we know."

Lennie nodded, taking a bite out of his sandwich before starting up the car. "Let's keep our fingers crossed."

He didn't put the car in gear, though, just turned the heater back on against the bitter winter air Mike had let in. Mike smiled a little to himself as he unwrapped his own sandwich and took a bite. One thing he'd learned early on about his partner was that Lennie hated being cold.

Lennie's apartment last night had been a warm oasis from the world in more ways than one, particularly after he'd bumped up the heat after their clothes had started to come off…. Damn, he was happy.

Well, he was, damnit, and he wasn't going to hide it, even though he knew only too well that this could blow up spectacularly if he wasn't very, very careful. //Never slept with a close colleague before, the complications weren't freakin' worth it. Hell, only ever dated one cop and she was a uni and me already a detective, we didn't work together at all.//

//So what are you doing here, Mike? Why is Lennie different? God, you don't even *really* know how he feels about any of this, do you? But he seemed fine with it this morning, hell, *everything* seemed so easy, no hearts-n-flowers needed, just guy to guy, like we've always been at work….//

//Enough. Y'don't have time for this now, keep your mind on the job. God, I hate gang-killings, such a tangled pile of garbage they always turn out to be. Literally, for poor ol' Andreas. *This* one's dead 'cause *that* one dissed somebody *else's* third cousin's sister … either that or it's over territory, plain and simple. Any way you cut it it's all such a load of crap….//

Shifting his focus determinedly to the case, Mike ran over the particulars in his mind once more, searching for a better trail, a connection that made more sense, something, anything they might have missed. The sounds of their mutual lunching filled the car, the crinkle of paper and the soft slurp of coffee. Mike reached absently for a potato chip from the open bag they were sharing, on the seat between them – and met warm fingers instead.

They looked up at the same time, startled. Then Lennie cocked an eyebrow, and a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "I'm willing to share."

Mike grinned back, suddenly warm with a flush that had nothing to do with the car heater. "I'm taking you up on that."

*******************

Mario Lopez's listed place of residence, when they got there, was a bit of a surprise.

The neighborhood was empty, eerily so. The winter wind was biting, and the blankness of the street, dotted by a few cars brave enough to be left unattended in a place like this, was striking. Usually, Mike would've expected to see some elderly New Yorkers beating out rugs or teenagers heckling them in rough English, but there wasn't a soul in sight. It was almost as if they'd driven into a ghost town, only the buildings didn't look like they were rotting away. The noises the unmarked made were too loud in the silence, the brakes protesting with a tinny screech as Lennie put the car in park.

"This can't be the place." Mike frowned, squinting through his window at the building across the street as if he expected it to physically change before his eyes.

Briscoe frowned, getting out of the car and looking up and down the street. Still incredibly deserted, and the wind was beginning to moan its woes at them. Turning to the building, he noticed Mike climbing out and checking his notepad again with a surprised look.

"Yeah, this is the place all right." Lennie agreed with the notepad, his mental atlas of New York flashing into his head. "Looks like they won't have to worry about getting an interior decorator."

Even as the zinger left Briscoe's lips, both of them knew it didn't make any sense though.

The building they were staring at so incredulously was nothing more than a burned-out, two-story husk. The remains of what might've been a laundromat were blackened and shaky, the top half looking like it had burned in an older incident. The smell of gasoline tickled their quickly runny noses. The fires couldn't have happened more than a week ago.

"There's no way that the fire department didn't get called down here," Lennie muttered, a bit surprised at the sight of the building in the first place. "Someone had to have reported it.…"

Mike didn't answer. His brain had been flung back to his apartment, last night. The smell of gasoline lingering in his nose. The starkness of what should've been a city street. There had been a single baby crying in the dream before all hell had broken loose.

Mike's ears perked up, his attention solely on finding that sound. Wanting to not hear that sound, but instinctively knowing it in his blood that it would happen. His uncle had foreseen his own death, the poor bastard. Grandpa Patrick had said it was the Logan family curse: to see the death of loved ones before your own.

He was gonna be damned if he let that happen to Lennie.

"Mike?" Lennie frowned at him from over the roof of the unmarked.

Mike held up a hand quickly, motioning for Lennie to stay quiet.

...No, it wouldn't happen first. He had touched the doorknob with his hand, amazed to find it unblemished by the fire. Then the baby cry.…

"Lennie." Mike shot his partner a gravely serious look. "Stay in the car and keep your head down. When you hear the gunshots, call for backup."

"What?" Lennie blinked. "Gunshots?"

Mike shook his head, getting irritated but trying to rein it in. "Lennie, you gotta trust me." He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes locked on Lennie's. Confused grey eyes stared back.

"Please, Lennie."

Lennie shot him a concerned look before giving him a slow nod. "All right.…" He made like he was going to, but Mike didn't turn away until he actually saw Lennie get back in the car.

He turned back to the burned-out laundromat, a few quick strides bringing him across the desolate street to the front door. He took a deep breath before he looked down at the doorknob. Just like in the dream, it was polished to a high shine, the gold in stark contrast to the drab browns and greys of the surrounding neighborhood.

Mike reached out a hand, clasped the doorknob and began to turn it.

Off in the distance, a baby cry, thin and desperate, sang along the biting wind, drifting past Mike's ears in a slithery caress.

The air exploded into a hail of gunfire.

RATATTAT--

BAM-BAM-BAM-BA --

TATTATAT!

Mike bolted for the nearest cover, a rust-pitted muscle car from the seventies. Shouting, a chorus of boys' voices from either side, more gunfire. Chest heaving, he grabbed for his .38 -- and ducked down when he heard the windows of the car shatter. He risked a lightening glance to the unmarked, but didn't see anything. He couldn't see Lennie.

That had to be good, right? It was when he could see Lennie that Briscoe'd been shot.…

"HIJO DE UNA PERRA--"

"I'LL GET YOU, PENDEJO!"

*BAM-BADDA-BAM!*

"TONY!"

Mike heard the sound of sneakers smacking pavement, more gunfire.… It was almost deafening.

Jesus CHRIST what the FUCK was going on?!

"10-13, 10-13. Shots fired, repeat, shots fired and still firing. Officers under fire. We need help and we need it *now.*"

Lennie lay flat on the front seat of the unmarked, radio in one hand and his service piece in the other. The comfortingly even voice of the female dispatcher came back, asking for their location and badge numbers. Lennie spit them out quickly, wincing as another barrage of gunfire sounded, along with voices screaming in English, Spanish, and a broken mix of the two. Young voices, male -- the gang. He and Mike had walked smack into the middle of a gang shoot-out.

The dispatcher came on again, demanding details of their situation. Lennie rattled off what he knew, listened with half an ear as he was promised help, patrol cars on the way. His heart was in his throat, pounding with the next round of shots. Mike. Where the hell was Mike?

Out there, somewhere, in that deadly hail. He started to risk a look, flattened again as a slug hit the car. Mike had pleaded, practically begged Lennie to get back into the unmarked.

How the *hell* had Mike known? And why the *hell* hadn't *he* gotten back in the car as well?

//You can't be hit, Mike, you *can't* be, dammit I am NOT losing you now, not like this!//

//Don't move, Lennie. Dear God, don't *move*!// Mike pleaded silently, peering around the tail light and through the windows of the car to see five -- no, six Hispanic boys, firing at people behind Mike. As Mike watched, red holes ripped open in the chest of the youngest his eyes rolling back as his small body slammed into the side of one building and toppled to the ground. Another boy darted from behind another junker car up the street toward the fallen body, ducked down quickly and picked up the dead kid's gun.

The boy's head jerked back, and he joined the first on the ground.

//They're falling like flies.…//

Mike sucked in a deep breath, wheeled around to the other shooters. Ten -- make that eight -- kids, not much older than the first group. Seemed like Mike's luck was holding out; no one had spotted him.

The word 'yet' sneered at him in his head. And the nasty internal voice was right -- the boys were steadily moving forward as they continued firing. Some of them broke off on both sides, darting into alleyways and empty buildings. Off in the distance, Logan could hear more gunfire. It bombarded him, pounding his ears mercilessly as he ducked back behind the decrepit car, trying to get around it so that the boys wouldn't notice. He glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure he could back up safe--

The barrel of a gun was no more than three inches from the bridge of his nose.

//Come on, come *on*,// Lennie silently urged the back up units, straining to catch the sound of sirens but still hearing only unintelligible shouts and gunfire. But all the voices were still those of young men, children almost, by the shrillness of them; there had been no adult cry. But would Mike even make a sound if he were -- don't.

There'd been no more shots close to the unmarked since that one slug had hit the door, and Lennie tried again cautiously for a look. He had to know. Mike had begged him to stay down, but before everything else, Lennie Briscoe was a cop, and it was his partner out there in the line of fire.

He'd be damned if he'd leave Mike alone.

Just over the edge of the door he could see the battered Toreno that he was certain he'd seen Mike dive behind, was he still -- yes. Yes. Lennie could just see an edge of brown leather that had to be Mike's long coat. Motionless. Not moving.

Lennie looked quickly, warily around, through the other windows and the windshield. No one around him. Good. Now, if he shifted himself a little this way, he could get a better angle, through the windows of the junker -- and saw with cold shock the reason Mike was so still. Because his partner had company, and the company had a gun.

All emotion left Lennie then, replaced by the cold steel of purpose. He lowered the window, crossing his fingers that it would go unheard in the general din, and crouched half on the seat, half in the footwell. Carefully rested his gun on the door. Even more carefully took aim. He'd only get one chance….

In the distance, the wail of sirens began to be heard….

There was a moment, one screamingly brief and unbelievably long moment, where Mike Logan stayed there, crouched down in a squat that was quickly becoming uncomfortable. The barrel hadn't moved from where it was, the boy holding it shouting at him. Even with a shaky grasp on 7th grade Spanish, Mike could tell that the kid was either demanding to know who he was and why the hell he was there, or screaming at him that he was going to fire.

He felt a deep, sinking feeling in his stomach. He saw Lennie go down in his dreams, always before he himself would wake up -- most likely a good indication that he himself was dead.

And it was just like in his dream, only he couldn't see Lennie. He was in a crouch that caused a deep burn in his legs, and there was a gun in his face.

He could see the boy's face get angrier, the finger on the trigger pulling back. Mike couldn't tear his eyes away from it. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter. Back. Back. Back --

BAM!

Mike's eyes jerked upwards, just in time to see a blossom of red erupt from the boy's side. The boy's anger fled, leaving behind a shocked expression of a child. Without a word, the kid's gun clattered to the ground, the boy himself not far behind.

Mike glanced around quickly.

There.

He could see the barrel of a revolver sneaking over the edge of an open car window. The unmarked.

Mike took a deep breath, checked his gun again, and continued to duck behind the junked car.

Maybe at some point he'd feel regret, or horror, or sadness at what he'd had to do, but right at that moment the only thing coursing through Lennie was a fierce satisfaction.

//Nobody draws heat on my partner like that, you sorry little son of a bitch. *Nobody.*//

Mike had moved now, shifting his stance and glancing in Lennie's direction, but staying low behind the Toreno. Unhurt, as far as Lennie could tell. Relief welled up in his chest, caught his breath for a moment. //Thank you God. Now if only we can get -- //

The tone of the wind, which Lennie'd ceased to notice to when the shooting had started, changed. Died down. To be replaced almost abruptly by a strident sound that was sweet music to Lennie's ears. The undulating scream of police sirens.

The effect on the street battle was miraculous. Immediately the tenor of the gang members' cries changed. The gunfire began to die off, replaced by shouts of "Police!" in English and Spanish, along with a few other epithets that Lennie absently filed away in the back of his mind. He'd ask one of the Hispanic cops he knew what they meant, later on. Always good to keep with the current lingo, know what obscenities you were being called now….

The slap of sneakers on pavement grew fainter and the sirens louder as Lennie got himself out of the unmarked and checked his surrounding, gun still out, headed for the beat-up muscle car his partner was still behind. Mike was coming to his feet now, one hand against the brick building wall, the body of the young gang member sprawled across the filthy pavement no more than five feet from him. He straightened as Lennie skidded to a stop in front of him. The gray-green eyes locked onto Lennie with almost painful intensity, a look in them that he couldn't immediately decipher.

But then, he thought sardonically, his own eyes probably looked a little wild as well. Not every day you walked into a gang war and came out alive.

Alive.

He didn't even stop to holster his gun, just held it out at a safe angle and grabbed Mike in a fierce, one-armed hug.

Alive and unhurt and warm and breathing against him. And hugging him back with a grip just as tight.

Tires screeched behind them as their backup came around the last corner. They'd be here in a moment and everything would be fine. Even with the huge headaches waiting whenever there was a police shooting. He'd take Mike back to the House, they'd deal with the paperwork. And then they'd go home.

And then Lennie was gonna kill him.

Not before he'd taken the man to bed again and screwed them both into next week, of course, but after that Lennie was definitely gonna kill him.

Lennie broke free and backed a short step, quickly holstered his gun. Then he grabbed Mike by the shoulders and shook him. Hard. "What the *hell* do you think you were doing?" he hissed intensely.

Mike took the hard shove, gritting his teeth. "Saving your life, that's what."

Lennie opened his mouth, but Mike beat him to the punch. "And if you think for one second that I regret it, you better think again."

Lennie's teeth ground audibly as he tried to refrain from wringing his partner's neck. "You may not have regretted being a complete moron, but what do you think would've happened if you'd DIED?"

Logan shot Briscoe a dark look before replying, "I didn't die. I knew you had my back."

The fact that Mike really *hadn't* known wasn't one he planned on revealing to Lennie anytime soon.

Lennie's eyes blazed, and Mike could see the long-fingered hands curl into shaking fists. Mike would've sworn on a stack that Briscoe was going to lay him out flat, but Lennie surprised him by turning on his heel and heading back to the car. The older detective had gotten to the driver's door before he turned back to Logan.

"You gonna get in, or what?"

Mike narrowed his eyes as he frowned. "You think you should be driving?" Given Briscoe's state of mind, Mike was more worried about hitting pedestrians than rear-ending somebody.

"Get. In. The. Damn. Car. Logan." Lennie growled. "The excitement's obviously knocked yer damn brain lose. We're not goin' anywhere for a while."

The patrol cars Mike'd heard had stopped now up and down the street, lights flashing. Uniforms spilled out, covering the area, coming toward he and Lennie.

"But I *want* you," Lennie went on, still talking through his teeth, "where I can *see* you."

See you.

All the adrenaline that had been screaming through his system seemed to drain out at once, leaving Mike with the beginnings of a suspicious tremor in his knees. He moved to the unmarked, pulled open the passenger door and half-sat, half collapsed onto the seat. Realizing that he still had his gun out, he holstered it carefully, then leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

The seat shifted as someone slid in next to him. "Mike."

He opened his eyes, rolled his head. Lennie's face was set in tense, hard lines, as furious as Mike had ever seen him. The dark eyes looked like they were lit from within. "When all the fucking paperwork is done, I am taking you home. Because I've gotta few questions, and *you*," he hissed in an ominous whisper, "had damn well better have answers. Not what you're putting on the report, but *answers.*"

Lennie got back out before Mike could even think about beginning to say anything. The euphoria at the fact that Lennie was alive, unhurt; that Mike had managed to circumvent what family tradition said was unavoidable, was draining away to be replaced by a cold, sick suspicion. //If this is really happening, then maybe you can't beat fate after all. Grandpa said it was to see loved ones die before you. Maybe it wasn't just physically. Maybe you lose them all the same….//

He wanted to cry, or scream, or break something. All at once.

***********

It was well past dark by the time they had talked to everyone they had to talk to, repeated the story in triplicate to everyone and their dog, filled out the initial round of forms. Lennie had to force himself to put some remorse into his expression as he told about shooting the kid. That regret hadn't materialized yet. He had saved his asshole partner's, his *lover's* life. He didn't reget it one fucking bit.

He'd got his anger put on hold as they spun the tale, made it seem that Lennie had stepped back to the unmarked to radio in position and put in a request to check the address while Mike had gone up to the building. To explain why they'd been split up like they were, why Mike had been put in danger and Lennie had had to shoot.

But now they were at Mike's apartment and Mike was unlocking the door. Privacy at last. Lennie's anger, at least half of which he knew very well was really fear, roared to the surface once more. Mike had almost died. Almost died, after very deliberately forcing Lennie out of the line of fire, but *not* getting himself out. Why? It was the question that had been knawing at Lennie's gut all afternoon, the question that Mike had better have a damn good answer for.

But first things first.

The second Mike had the door closed and locked, Lennie pinned him to it, shoulder to thigh, grabbed his face, and kissed him hard. Then he pulled back but only a little, fixed Mike with his best glare. "Why the hell didn't you get back in the car?"

Mike closed his eyes as he savored the kiss, but when Lennie pulled away, he took a deep breath, his face expressionless even as Lennie glared at him. Opening his eyes, he found that his anger was aimed more at the fact that he managed to save Lennie’s life, and the man might still leave.

"Because I needed to."

"What kind of answer is that?" Lennie demanded, his expression darkening.

Mike gave him a wry snort. "You’re not going to believe me, Lennie."

"Try me," Briscoe growled threateningly.

Mike sighed. "Look, why don’t we sit down? This is going to take a while."

"Either you’re going to start talking, or I’m going to wring your neck."

"Don’t say I didn’t warn you." Mike managed a small shrug before he continued. "It’s the Logan family tradition."

"Cute, Logan." Lennie snarled. "Pull the other one."

"Y’know what? Fine." Mike snarled back. He pushed Lennie back, levered himself away from the door. "I’m making some coffee. You wanna leave? Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out." Logan then moved past his partner and into the kitchen, leaving Lennie by the door.

Lennie stood there, eyes closed, reaching for control, until he heard the distintive burble of the coffeemaker finishing its job. Then he followed Mike into the kitchen. He found the man standing next to a beaten, black coffee-maker, holding a coffee mug with a white-knuckled hand. "Mike."

Mike looked up, shooting him an angry look.

Lennie sighed. "Look, it’s been a long day, but I need to know what happened out there. How the hell did you know that shootout was going to happen?"

Mike took a sip of his coffee, eyes still on his partner. "You gonna believe me this time, or are you just planning on having a good chuckle?"

Lennie tried a smile. "Well, you have to admit, most family traditions don’t include turf wars between gangs." Mike’s expression didn’t thaw by much. "All right, so what’s this vaunted family tradition for the Logans?"

"The dreams I’ve been having." Mike took a deep breath. "They were premonitions."

"What, like prophecies?" One of Lennie’s eyebrows rose. "Mike, I think the lack of sleep is getting to you."

Mike shook his head, his eyes flashing as grey as a thunderstorm. "I knew you wouldn’t believe me."

Lennie stared at him for a long moment, taking in the irritated expression. If he humored Mike, he might get less cryptic answers. "Okay, so you’ve been getting premonitions. Why do you say it’s a family tradition?"

"My grandfather told me it was because of some curse from when we were still in the Old Country." Mike shrugged. "Basically, we see the deaths of people we love in our dreams before they happen. And they’re usually unavoidable."

Lennie was quiet for a moment, his expression softening into a more contemplative one. "I’m still here. Doesn’t that blow your theory out of the water?"

"Not exactly." Mike shook his head. "If you hadn’t shot that kid, I would’ve been the one who died."

"Which brings me back to my original question: why the hell didn’t you get back in the car?"

"I couldn’t avoid it." Mike told him calmly. "Call it whatever the hell you want, but these dreams, you can’t avoid setting them in motion. Since I knew that you were standing beside me when the dream started, I knew that to get you out of the line of fire, I had to make sure you weren’t there when I touched the doorknob."

"Mike," Lennie shook his head. "You’re still not making any sense."

Mike took a sip of his coffee. "What’s not making sense, Lennie?"

"First you tell me that when your family has these things, they usually come true; but we’re both still alive. And then you tell me that you can’t avoid putting them in motion? Do you know how crazy that sounds?"

"I can imagine." Mike sighed. Belatedly, he remembered the coffeemaker. "You want some coffee?"

Lennie was quiet for a moment, before nodding and heaving a sigh of his own. "Wanna move this conversation to the table?"

Mike nodded.

Mike filled another mug and handed it to Lennie, and they moved the relatively few steps to Mike's tiny kitchen table.

After a long silence of Mike looking down at his mug like it held the secrets of the universe, Lennie put down his own and laid his arms on the table. "Let me see if I got this straight. You have a family curse that lets you see the deaths of loved ones before they happen, but if you prevent the death, you could lose your own life."

Mike’s snort was more like an exhalation of air. "Somewhat. If you saw your loved one die, you usually die within a couple minutes."

"So, you would’ve died either way?"

"That’s what I was expecting. By having you stay in the car, I could try to cheat Fate and hope that I went down painlessly. Like I said earlier," Mike went on, still toying with his mug, stealing a quick glance at Lennie’s face. "I’m no way sorry for getting you out of the line of fire. If you had been with me at the door, you would’ve died."

Lennie just stared at his partner with what he knew had to be a blank, stupid look. It wasn't that Mike's explanation didn't make sense, but that it did. Too much sense, in fact.

Mike Logan was, barring his temper, one of the most level-headed people Lennie knew. Mike dealt in facts, in the here-and-now, without even a vague inclination to a belief in religion or in anything else except what he himself could see and touch. And the fact in point here was that Mike had had a dream, one that had evidently painted the situation they'd just been through in awful, precise detail. Precise enough that he'd really expected to be leaving it in a body bag. Real enough, awful enough that he'd been willing to do whatever it took, including making himself look like a complete ass, to make sure that Lennie left the scene on his own two feet.

Weird family traditions aside, Mike truly believed that Lennie's life had been at stake. He'd done what he thought he had to, to see someone he cared for safe. That was just so *Mike*, it hurt.

\\….we see the deaths of people we love in our dreams….\\

//People we love. That can't possibly mean ….// Lennie blinked, his heart increasing. //*Je*-sus, Mary and Joseph.//

//You wanted an explanation, Briscoe. Well, you got one.//

"Is this gonna happen again?" //Because I don't know if I can deal with the thought that one day you might wake up again with the conviction that you've gotta take a bullet for me.//

Mike's gaze, still lost in his coffee cup, came back to Lennie's with a little startled jerk. "I …. " He swallowed. "I don't think so. Grandpa Patrick, who seemed to know the most about it, always said they were pretty much one to a customer, about the person who…" He swallowed again, looking off to the side. "Who mattered the most. And since most of my relatives who had them didn't live long afterwards…." His attempt at a laugh had no humor in it whatsoever.

"Good," Lennie said evenly, nodding. "Because all jokes about the ponies aside, the idea of you being actively psychic is just a little creepy. And I don't know how the hell we'd explain it on the reports."

There was a pause, then Mike's head snapped back around, his lips parted and his eyes enormous.

"You believe me," he whispered, looking as though, despite his earlier words, he hadn't really expected Lennie to take him at all seriously.

"I *know* you," Lennie returned softly. "You're full of shit half the time, but this -- you wouldn't make something like this up."

Mike stared at his partner for a long moment before softly snorting. Wonder of wonders, Lennie Briscoe actually believed him. About the family 'tradition', no less. And knowing Briscoe, Mike was pretty sure Lennie had puzzled out the whole 'people we love' bit too. Just what exactly that might mean.

//Christ.//

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Mike softened the statement with a small smile, his fingers stroking over the surface of his coffee mug. His eyes lowered to stare at the coffee again.

Lennie shrugged, his casual 'everything's hunky-dory' kinda shrug. "You're my partner. If you can't trust me, who can you trust?"

The smile remained on Mike's lips, small and wry. "That's true."

"So," he said after a little space of silence. He didn't want to talk about it; he wanted things to just, well, *be*, like they had last night. No way he wanted to ask the question and yet he had to, he had to know. Better to know for sure, now, if he'd lost after all. Better to have the pain come now, if it was going to come. "Where does that leave us?" He knew Lennie would catch the slight emphasis on the last word.

A pause. "You want there to be an "us", Mike?" Lennie asked calmly.

Oh, damn, that was getting right down to it. Mike closed his eyes a moment and gave a single, short nod.

Lennie didn't say anything more, and Mike forced himself to look up. The older man was regarding him with an even expression Mike couldn't decipher at all.

After a few moments Lennie laid both hands flat on the table and pushed himself up. Still without a word, he turned and headed into the short hall that led both to the bathroom and Mike's bedroom.

Numbly, Mike watched him go, then looked down yet again at his mug. Noted idly that his knuckles were white around the pottery. He heard a door close. Heard water running. Heard a door open again.

Eventually it dawned on him that Lennie hadn't reappeared.

Not at all sure now what he was feeling, Mike got to his feet and walked to the bathroom, glanced in. No Lennie. He turned around, looked into his bedroom.

Lennie was leaning by the bedroom window, staring out into the darkness, fingertips of one hand resting against the glass. He had to realize that Mike was standing there, the apartment floors weren't exactly quiet, but he didn't move, didn't speak.

If Lennie was having a sudden urge to view New York at night, he could've done it from the living room window. Bemused, Mike made a few paces into the room. "Lennie?"

"Here, Mike." Lennie's voice was the deep, quiet one he used sometimes, the one that always curled low in Mike's belly like hot chocolate.

"'Scuse me?" Mike said irritably, taking another step forward. Confused and tired and okay, admit it, heartsick, he abruptly just wanted it over, wanted it out in the open and plain, even if he had to actually *talk* about his feelings to get there.

Lennie turned, pushed away from the window and came toward him, met him in the middle of the room.

"Here," he said again, his gaze drifting over Mike's face like he was memorizing him, eyes dark and warm. His own expression was that of a man who'd made a decision. Long hands, one of them cool from the window glass, came up and cradled Mike's face. "Where's that leave us? Right here." And Lennie leaned in and kissed him.

The rush of relief nearly took Mike's knees out from under him.

The kiss was like savoring a cup of hot chocolate, warm and smooth. There was no rush at all, just slow and easy. Lips parted, tongues reacquainted themselves with coffee-flavored mouths. Mike felt Lennie's hands make a languorous slide into his hair, tangling fingers into his thick black locks even as the kiss kept its easy pace. Mike rested his own hands on Lennie's hips for a moment before sliding them around, feeling the starch in the button-up shirt as he stroked Lennie's back evenly.

It was a long moment before they broke apart, audible breaths gusting long across wet lips. Mike opened his eyes to see deep grey ones staring back at him.

"Mike?" More of a breath than a whisper.

"Yeah?" An equally soft breath.

"If you ever pull a crazy stunt like that again, I'll shoot you myself."

With that, Lennie dragged him back, kissing him with more intensity and passion than before.

//To keep you safe? No promises, Len,// Mike thought a little wildly as lust welled up, burning away the tiredness and stiffening more than just his knees. //But please, God, if you're out there, let that have been it. Whatever else's in store for us, I don't wanna know….//

Rational thought began to disintegrate under the pressure of Lennie's lips. Mike's hands bunched convulsively in Lennie's shirt as his partner's tongue danced ticklingly along the roof of his mouth. The hot chocolate had a hefty dose of good Irish whisky in it now, heating him in a wild rush and sending still more blood surging southward. And underneath it all a quiet, treacherous, stupid, silly little voice was singing //he cares he cares he wouldn't be so pissed if he didn't he cares -- //

Mike slid one hand up Lennie's back to press between his shoulderblades, wound the other arm around his waist, and pulled him in tight. He shifted his stance almost unconsciously to catch Lennie's thigh between his own, putting sweet pressure against the increasing ache in his groin. And just like last night, there was an answering hardness now pressing into Mike's hip.

//Oh yeah. *Yes* …. // Sudden, riotous happiness filled him, making it hard to breathe. He broke the kiss and gulped air, turned his face down into Lennie's neck for a moment before pulling back to catch his partner's hot eyes with his own. He knew he had a dumb, happy smirk on his face, and he didn't care a bit.

"So," he managed, his voice coming out in that sub-basement tone he got sometimes when he was way short on sleep. "Now that you're here, you wanna see my etchings?"

Lennie raised an eyebrow at the question. Mike's eyes were blazing, and he had that dumb smile on his face like he did whenever they put away another bad guy.

"Oh, you think you're funny, doncha?" Lennie let his own voice slip into a lower register, taking a smug pride in feeling Mike shiver against him from thigh to chest, that goofy smile slipping. Lennie pressed the advantage with the thigh trapped between Mike's legs, putting pressure against the very urgent erection that was demanding his attention.

Mike let out a groan that seemed to come from his toes, ducking his head again to press his face against Lennie's neck. This time, Briscoe could feel teeth nibbling and a teasing tongue trace along his skin, sending him into a full-body shiver of his own. The whiskey-dark chuckle against his throat told him that Mike hadn't missed it either.

A growl escaped Lennie, his hands going for the buttons of Mike's dress shirt, undoing them as quick as he ever had before. Another chuckle, and answering hands were tugging the back of his dress shirt out of his slacks.

Undressing each other was something that Lennie usually liked to take his time with, given his ability to drive the other person nuts with his teasing. Now it was more like a war was going on, hands engaged in pitched battles across buttons, cloth, buckles and zippers while lips latched on to lips, or necks or ears. Lennie could feel Mike's mouth traveling upward, nibbling and licking his way to the closest ear, and then teasing it with hot breaths and small bites.

After dragging a groan from his lover, Mike surrendered the campaign, opting instead to dive both hands into Lennie's hair, mussing it as he tried to keep the other man still. Now free of a pair of hands trying to separate him from his clothing, Lennie attacked the belt buckle of Mike's slacks efficiently, getting hold of the zipper and pulling it down. Mike moaned in his ear, wordlessly attacking it with more nibbles and sucking as his hips thrust forward on their own, rubbing against his thigh in mindless abandon. If Mike didn't stop moaning in his ear, Lennie wasn't going to be able to contain himself.

"Mike..." Lennie's voice was hoarse -- how long had it been since he last used it? A year? "Mmmmm-ike..." He reached up his right hand to pull Mike's left away from his head.

Mike made a small noise of protest, lightly bit Lennie's ear.

Lennie sucked in a deep breath. "Mike..."

"What?" If the licking and biting weren't intense enough, now he had Mike's voice as well, breathy and desperate. Okay, so maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to get him talking, though Lennie's crotch was telling him that the new development was perfectly fine with it.

"If you don't sto-ahhh..." Teeth bit firmly on his neck, and Mike was beginning to suck on it in earnest. "Oh, God... Mike... if you don't... stop... 'M not... gonna... oh, GOD!"

It was becoming more of a struggle to think, much less speak coherently, as Mike had moved his free hand from Lennie's hair straight to his ass and squeezed while at the same time rubbing harder on Lennie's thigh with his groin.

Some small, distant voice in the back of Lennie's mind mentioned that he was going to have to do something to get Mike's attention. So, he did the logical thing and dragged the hand he'd captured to his mouth and sucked on one of the fingers.

The warm, wet suction, so blatantly suggestive and yet something that none of his few male lovers had ever bothered with before, cut tinglingly through Mike's haze and nearly set him off there and then. His hand clenched on Lennie's ass in reaction, drawing another shudder and a muffled groan from the man currently making love to his hand. Making love. Oh God. Oh God OhGodOh*God* --

Mike tore his mouth away from Lennie's neck and buried his hot face in his partner's shoulder, and somehow forced his own hips to still. It had to be, hands down, the most difficult thing he'd ever done in his life.

//Bed, Logan. You've got a nice comfy bed right over there and you've got all night, don't waste this on a stand-up session with your *clothes* still on, for God's sake!//

"Lennie." God, was that weird, helpless sound his voice? "Len, you gotta stop."

The maddening sensation ceased. Cold air washed over wet skin as Lennie released his finger but not his hand, keeping his own long fingers wrapped firmly around Mike's, his thumb against Mike's palm. "Why?" It was a husky, breathless rumble in his ear, and Mike felt marginally better: he wasn't the only one having trouble talking.

"Two reasons. Gotta nice big bed right here, wanna see what you look like in it. Preferably sweaty and naked."

Lennie's breath caught, Mike felt the hitch against his own chest. "That -- sounds good. What's the second reason?"

Mike swallowed. "Second reason is 'cause if you don't, I'm not gonna be able to stop myself asking you to use that mouth lower down."

Lennie went completely still against him; then he swallowed too, Mike could hear it. "Who'd be saying "don't ask"?"

His heart skipped, and Mike could feel his dumb grin threatening again as Lennie pulled back enough to look at him. The gray eyes were bright, a small smirk lifting one side of Lennie's mouth. "But what," his partner asked teasingly, "would I be getting in return?"

The dumb grin did break out then. Mike loved oral sex. Giving, receiving, it all worked for him. "Even trade?"

Lennie's eyes got even hotter, if that was possible, and the smirk broadened into his rare smile. "So you're saying you can do somethin' with that mouth besides talk."

"Get naked and find out."

Ten minutes later Lennie found himself sprawled on Mike's king bed, his legs off the side and Mike kneeling between them, proving beyond any shadow of a doubt that yes, he could definitely do something with that mouth besides talk. Leaned back and propped up on his elbows, Lennie struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn't want to miss a moment of the sight of Mike's tousled head bent over his groin, a dark fantasy come true. His partner's hands were warm, his mouth blissfully hot and tight, and he was touching Lennie like the most important job of his life was to drive Lennie completely out of his mind.

And it was working. Rapidly. Their little stand-up dry hump session earlier had wound Lennie up but good. Add that to the mix of anger and fear and worry that had been driving him since the shoot-out, feeding his need to *touch* Mike, and Lennie knew he stood no chance at all of lasting.

With a groan of surrender he let his arms slide out from under him and slumped back onto the bedspread, closing his eyes. His hands reached almost of their own volition for the source of the incredible pleasure at his crotch, but he managed to land them on Mike's broad shoulders instead of his hair. He grabbed tight at the powerful muscles there, needing touch, grasping for something, anything to anchor himself against the waves of sensation pounding away at him, drowning him from the inside out.

He was tensing, tightening and he had no scrap of control left to fight it, it wouldn't be long now….

"Mike," he managed, digging at his lover's shoulders, trying to warn him, let him know -- "*Mike*, I'm -- "

Mike didn't understand, or more likely was just ignoring him, the bastard. The heavenly suction increased, and then Mike *hummed* around him and pressed a finger up behind his balls. Hard.

Lennie's world shattered as the biggest wave of all swamped him and took him under, down and down and down and he couldn't cry out, couldn't even breathe and that was fine because he was never coming up again, who needed air, anyway….

….

Eventually he washed back to the surface and beached, gasping. He'd been able to actually move at some point in the past, he was dimly sure, but just then he couldn't remember how….

The mattress shifted, dipped. A warm, heavy weight draped itself along his right side and a warm something nuzzled into his neck, both of which turned out to be Mike. Lennie got his eyes open to see the white of Mike's ceiling, and the dark gloss of Mike's hair as his partner kissed his way across Lennie's collarbone. Mike wrapped an arm across his chest and shifted still closer, and Lennie became aware that the other man most definitely hadn't come yet. He smiled lazily. He'd need to do something about that…..

That whole movement thing was coming back to him now, and Lennie drifted a hand up the broad expanse of Mike's back to tangle gently in his hair. Mike raised his head to look down at Lennie with an entirely too satisfied expression. "Good, huh?" he asked smugly, stroking possessively along Lennie's ribs.

Lennie narrowed his eyes and used the hand tangled in Mike's hair to pull him down for a kiss. Mike willingly obliged, and Lennie tasted the salty-sharp of his own passion. Well, that definitely answered that old question.

"Excess modesty's never been your problem, has it, Logan?" Lennie growled against Mike's mouth.

He cut off whatever answer Mike might have made by kissing him thoroughly, tangling tongues and exploring until his partner was squirming against him, his arousal in high gear.

Lennie stroked down Mike's side with his free hand, caressing ribs, waist, belly, hip. Mike was making little pushing motions against him now, hot against Lennie's skin. Lennie brushed gently inward, feeling muscle jump under his touch, feeling springy curls, until his fingers bumped gently against Mike's cock. Mike twitched, sucked in a breath.

Lennie smiled wickedly and brushed fingertips down and up the area of silky skin not buried against his hip, slid them teasingly around the cut ridge near the crown. Put pressure -- just -- there.

This time Mike jerked and pulled his head back with a gasp, his eyes squinching shut and his hand clenching at Lennie's ribs. Lennie continued the teasing caress around what of Mike's erection he could touch.

"Lennie …." It sounded a little strangled, and Lennie smiled again.

"Somethin' you wanted, Mike?"

"Len, I'm dyin' here."

"Hmm." He moved his hand back up to Mike's hip and pushed, urged him over. Mike gave way, rolling onto his back with a groan.

Lennie followed him, coming up on his own elbow. He gave Mike a long, appreciative leer, savoring his second unobstructed sight of his undeniably well-built -- all over -- partner. Spread out for him, flushed and eager. Wanting his touch.

And apparently, if all this mess today meant what it seemed to, his touch alone.

"Nothing blue yet," Lennie noted consideringly, reaching for the parts in question.

Mike's eyes snapped open. "Dammit, Lennie -- !" But whatever else he'd been going to say was lost as Lennie's hand closed gently but securely around his balls.

Mike dug his head back against the bedspread and arched, another gasp escaping him. "Oh, *fuck.*"

"No, that wasn't the deal," Lennie teased softly, and Mike shot him a quick, if frustrated, grin and a huff of laughter. "But I think you'll like it anyway."

He massaged the firm, coolish globes in his hand carefully and Mike groaned again, fingers pulling at the spread. "God, Lennie, it's you, what -- *oh* -- what's not to like?"

Lennie closed his eyes against the surge of emotion those words caused. His throat was suddenly tight, and he hid it by bending his head and reacquainting himself with the taste of Mike's skin, licking at the raspy point of his partner's chin, at the sweat-damp hollow of his throat.

Mike was close, he knew, as wound up as Lennie himself had been earlier, and not likely to last a round of the usual teasing Lennie so enjoyed putting his lovers through. So he went right for the tasty-looking bits he'd missed the night before.

Mike arched again and moaned most satisfyingly as Lennie licked, then sucked at one of the light-rose nipples he'd been wanting to sample since Mike's shirt had come off during the poker game the night before. He felt Mike's hand settle on his scalp, encouraging him to keep right on with what he was doing. Since that agreed with Lennie's plans of the moment, he did, sucking harder and then biting lightly, playing with Mike's balls all the while.

His partner muttered and squirmed, the strong fingers carding through Lennie's hair and the deep, hoarse voice leaving no doubt as to his enjoyment. After more licks and nibbles, Lennie eventually let go of the little peak of flesh and chuckled, impressed despite himself by Mike's self-control. He knew damn good and well that what Mike really wanted to do was shove Lennie's head further south.

"Jesus, Lennie, c'mon -- oh yeah, *there*, right there -- " Mike's voice broke as Lennie rubbed a finger behind his sac, searching for and finding that small bundle of nerves.

Mike was a noisy lover -- gee, big surprise there. Lennie loved that, loved it when bed partners were unafraid of telling you what they felt, of asking for what they wanted. //I think we'll get along well, you and me….//

\\You thinkin' long-term here, Briscoe?\\ a sardonic little voice asked.

//Yeah, I guess I am,// Lennie chuckled silently, kissing a wet trail down to Mike's navel, stomach muscles twitching under his mouth.

\\Ain't you learned yet? You've been fooled before.\\

//Yeah, I have.//

The memory of Mike's eyes when Lennie had reached him behind that junked-out Toreno flashed again in his mind's eye. //But not this time.//

He was nearly down to the prize now. Lennie slipped the hand that had been tormenting Mike's groin northward, and wrapped his fingers firmly around the base of Mike's cock at the same time as he breathed warm air over the already wet, glistening crown.

Mike shuddered hard and seemed to stop breathing altogether. Lennie chuckled again, made a quick scoot to adjust his position so that he was lying across Mike's thighs instead, and gave them both what they wanted.

"Oh, *God* -- *Lennie* -- "

His name, in a high, breathless, broken sound unlike anything he'd ever imagined Mike Logan could make, wrung a twitch out of Lennie's own exhausted flesh as he took Mike deep into his mouth. The slightly bitter taste of pre-come and the musky, unique flavor that was Mike's alone rippled over his tongue and he swallowed, made them his.

Lennie set up a firm, steady rhythm, wanting to savor this but knowing full well that Mike was already on the edge. Next time for long, leisurely teasing and tasting, then. He couldn't quite see Mike's face, which was a pity, but his partner's pleasure was more than evident in the twisting of his body, the hand that locked solidly onto Lennie's shoulder, the hips moving in jerky thrusts that got nowhere under Lennie's weight.

And the voice. Oh that voice…. Mike started with cursing and broke down rapidly into encouragement, then nonsense, then fractured gasps, all delivered in those same high, breathless tones that had Lennie wishing desperately for some way to deny the realities of his own over-50 body.

He sucked hungrily at the firm flesh in his mouth, licking as he moved his head, fluttering his tongue along the big vein up the underside, swiping it across the head on the upstroke. He'd always enjoyed this, although his chances to experiment hadn't been many; but he figured he made up for lack of experience with enthusiasm and knowing what he himself liked.

If Mike's writhing was any indicator, he was getting it right.

"Yes -- yes, oh -- *Lennie* -- " The last was a warning. Lennie quite cheerfully ignored it.

A last cry, and Mike bucked and went taut beneath him. Hot thick salty liquid hit the back of Lennie's throat, and he swallowed. Not a taste he particularly relished, but he knew just how good it felt to have your lover stick with you to the end. And he was set on making Mike feel just as good as humanly possible.

Mike slumped back to the mattress finally, nearly sobbing for air. Lennie settled his head on Mike's hip and slid one hand over to the younger man's flat belly, feeling the thundering pulse even under the rapid rise and fall of muscle. Some minutes later, Mike moved his hand to twine his fingers into Lennie's, rested them both on his stomach.

They stayed that way for a while. Eventually Lennie propped himself up across Mike's legs again to watch his partner's face. The unguarded, happy expression on Mike's face was worth every moment of the hell they'd been through today.

Well, almost. Lennie still had every intention of shooting him if it ever happened again.

"Mike?"

"Hmmm?" A deep lazy hum. Lennie waited until the gray-green eyes blinked open.

"Good, huh?" Lennie put every ounce of smug he possessed into it.

Mike's eyes widened, and then he rolled his head and laughed, as deep and loud as he had the night before. He waved his free hand in the air, held up one finger. "Touche."

*********

/Where --// Mike awoke groggily, a body wrapped around his that he didn’t immediately recognize. After a moment, his brain kicked in, reminding him that he was in his apartment, and that unfamiliar weight belonged to his partner.

//Oh, yeah….//

He and Lennie were together under the covers to ward off the chill of a winter night in New York City. Their legs easily tangled together, Mike opened his eyes to find his face nestled into Lennie’s neck. Rather odd, since he usually wasn’t a snuggler, but over the past couple of days, he was finding himself standing corrected more often than not.

He slowly pulled himself away a little, not getting any kind of reaction from his partner. Maybe he’d been right the night before. The man slept like a rock, and it would probably be impossible to get him to wake up. Then again, Lennie had woken up before the alarm….

Hmmm….

Mike leaned forward, returning his admittedly prominent nose to Lennie’s neck, and slowly nuzzled his lover.

Nope, no reaction.

With their legs entwined, Mike was in a perfect position to feel Lennie’s crotch against his thigh. So, when he tried a sucking bite to the skin so temptingly close to his mouth, he could feel the twitch that ran through the half-hard cock pressed against his leg. Lennie made a sleepy noise, but other than that, he didn’t move.

Mike wasn’t sure what imp had grabbed a hold of his libido, but he wasn’t objecting as he ran one hand down Lennie’s chest, down past the lightly furred stomach, and came into contact with an erection much more awake than its owner. A few teasing touches had his partner purring in his sleep, and wrapping his hand around the hardening flesh made the purring get a bit louder.

Mike got in a good number of strokes before grey eyes finally opened. A hand came almost out of nowhere and tangled itself in his hair, dragging him down for a half-awake kiss that was as slow as hot fudge pouring onto a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

The kiss broke off after a little while, with sleepy grey eyes looking at him, half-aroused and half-irritated.

"Mike?" The expressive eyebrows lowered, giving Lennie the look of a confused puppy. The usually combed hair threatening to hang into Briscoe’s eyes gave him the look of a teenager who’d just gotten laid. "Wha…?"

Mike shook his head. "S’nothing." He kissed the tip of his partner’s nose. "Go back to sleep…."

Lennie sank back into the pillows with a smirk. "Not if y’keep doin’ that, ‘m not."

Briscoe shifted until he could feel his leg in between Mike’s, with one of Mike’s legs in between his. He let out a naughty chuckle when the hand around his erection grew tighter, still moving.

Mike ducked his head close to one of Lennie’s ears. "Mmm…." he purred. "Like that?"

In reply, Lennie tightened the fingers in Mike’s hair, dragging him close for another long kiss. The kiss picked up intensity as Mike’s hand picked up speed, but Lennie had to pull himself away, gasping for air a few seconds just before his body clenched and his orgasm hit him abruptly with the speed of a freight train. Mike stayed with him, slowly kneading, riding him out with gentle strokes and slight pulls. Lennie gritted his teeth, trying to stop his head from shaking side to side as the hand around him rubbed up and down his sensitized flesh, taking its time.

When he was able to open his eyes a minute later, he was greeted with the sight of Mike slowly licking his hand, sucking on the fingers as if he had all the time in the world.

"God, Mike…." Lennie’s vocal chords would only allow a whisper.

Mike chuckled darkly, giving his hand one last lick before diving in to nibble on Lennie’s lower lip. The nibble traveled upward, and they were soon sharing breath in a deep kiss, Lennie tasting the sharp tang of himself in Mike’s mouth.

It was a long moment before they both pulled back in favor of oxygen. It was a longer moment until Lennie spoke up.

"What was that about?"

Mike shrugged, looking away. "I dunno. I just felt like it, I guess."

Lennie snorted. "As much as I like a good hand job, don’t you think--" He rolled over looking at the clock on Mike’s night stand. "two-forty’s a little early?"

When Mike didn’t respond, Lennie frowned. Mike could practically hear the gears clicking in his partner’s head. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"No. No dream at all, in fact, least not that I remember." Mike smiled wryly. "If I had, you'd probably know; been told sometimes that I'm not exactly quiet."

Lennie was silent a moment. Then he slid his hand around Mike's waist and up his back, rubbing across his shoulders. "Then why are you awake and attacking me? Not that I'm complaining, mind, even at two-forty in the morning."

When Mike didn't answer again, still didn't look at him, Lennie sighed. The fingers massaging Mike's shoulders moved up to knead gently at his neck, urging him down until Mike's forehead rested against Lennie's collarbone.

"Look," Lennie said quietly. "I know you don't sleep well lotta nights. Realized that a month or two after we were partnered. Figured if you ever want me to know why, you'll tell me, and 'till then I'm not asking. But if I can help …."

Mike's throat tightened. How in the hell had he got this lucky?

No way really he could answer Lennie's first not-quite-question. Not yet. Maybe someday.

But the other one …. Why *had* he gone off like that?

"Woke up, and you were right here, and I could," he said slowly, working it through, raising his head to meet Lennie's eyes as it finally dawned on him. "Been wanting to touch you for a long time, and now I *can*. For … no reason."

God, it was so simple and yet so amazing. Because the one he loved, loved *him*, and they were wrapped up here together in his bed. Not for comfort or relief. Not driven by nightmares, or desperation. It wasn't for "I'm still alive" or even the basic urge to get his rocks off, but --

"Because you're *here*, and I *can*. And I just wanted to."

He was wearing that dumb grin again, Mike knew, and he didn't care. His lover's answering smile was just as bright.

"That," Lennie rumbled contentedly, "more than works for me."

fini

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