Recognition

Disclaimer: the characters and situations of Homicide:Life on the Streets and Law and Order are the property of NBC. The remainder of this story, such as it is, is the property of the author.

Recognizing he was 'bi' enough to verbalize it to another person was one thing. Renee had taken it well. That was a relief.

Knowing the grapevine thought he was gay was annoying, but he really didn't care that much.

What bothered him - what drove him absolutely crazy - was when the kind of man Tim could dream about all day and all night walked into the squadroom, and Tim knew he wouldn't dare say a thing.

Accepting Chris' invitation to dinner, and more, had been relatively easy. Chris had taken the chances. All Tim had had to do was say yes. Yes was easy. Asking the question to a stranger who might very well put him in the hospital for asking was another thing. That was scary. And far beyond Tim's capability. Even trying to ask Renee, who was a woman, had been hard enough. Tim had no faith in his ability to start or maintain a relationship with anyone. He was always falling flat on his ass.

Huddling down into his chair against the wall, Tim tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It surely wasn't his fault that his eyes kept straying towards a tall, dark-haired man with exquisitely fair skin and gorgeous gray eyes. The other man was a New York City Detective with a sparkle in his eyes, a deep voice, a quick mind, and a sea full of attitude. Rumor had it he was in some disgrace in his home town. Tim couldn't have cared less. The case which spanned two jurisdictions had been exhausting, and though the final result had been good, everyone was on edge, tired and strained. Tim felt as though he'd been hit by a truck. A truck with gray eyes.

God the man was gorgeous.

Tim sighed and readjusted his glasses which were threatening to slip down on his nose. He felt ungainly, uncomfortable, and wanted a cold drink badly.

Now there was a thought. He eyed the pile of paperwork on his desk with narrowed eyes. His long, slender fingers beat a steady rhythm against the open file on top. He'd made pretty good progress already, despite being perpetually distracted...

A booming laugh caught his attention. He looked up across the room. He sighed dramatically and slumped an incredible inch further down in his chair.

"Nice, isn't he?"

A warm, very female voice sounded in his ear and Tim jerked around, his elbow knocking the carefully piled paperwork into total disarray. He ignored it; his hazel eyes were wide behind the thick layers of glass.

"Renee!" he protested. She grinned unrepentantly, and motioned in Logan's direction.

"You're pretty good at hiding it, but I know you. You've been casting surreptitious sheep eyes in his direction for a week."

"Surreptitious sheep eyes..." he mimicked, trying to bleed disbelief into his voice. He didn't think he succeeded.

He didn't. Renee chuckled, then leaned over to ruffle his hair.

"You've got it bad, my friend. So why don't you ask him out."

"What?" he exclaimed. "You've got to be kidding. He...he...he..."

"Can only say no. You'll be no worse off than you are now."

"N...n...no! I could be in the hospital with a broken jaw."

She seemed to consider that for a moment, then she shook her head.

"I don't think so, Timmy. Logan seems to have a pretty good head on his shoulders. A fistful of New York tough attitude, but I think it's a cover. I think he's a good one underneath it all."

Tim couldn't argue with the last part of that; he'd felt the same. Logan had been as upset as Tim had been over this case. Abused children hit every button Tim had. He sympathized...oversympathized...and he'd seen the same intense agony in Logan's face. Oh, everyone hated these cases. Everyone was horrified by them. But not like Tim...and from what he'd seen, not like Logan either. The man had been driven, relentless, ruthless, fiercely determined. Tim had shared every moment of that need to see this sonuvabitch caught and locked up. At the very least. He shivered despite himself, barely catching the quick dart of concern in Renee's dark eyes. Then he forced himself to grin ruefully, shutting away the old pain in the corner of his soul it had inhabited for so many years.

"I don't know, Renee. He...I...he..." Tim stuttered, annoyed at himself for doing so. He always did when he was upset. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the words. "He'd think I was nuts. Or worse." He shook his head in fierce denial.

"You'll never know until you ask," she insisted. The look on his face must have communicated to her, because she grinned at him again, the twinkle in her eyes a rapid warning, before she stood up and yelled across the room at the man who was again buried in his own pile of paperwork.

"Hey Logan. Bayliss and I are heading over the Waterfront for some celebratory drinks. Wanna come along?"

Half a dozen heads turned in their directions. Tim wondered if he could fit in the small foot space under his desk. But Renee had closed a firm hand on his shoulder, pinning him in place.

The focus of their attention grimaced at the forms in front of him, glanced at his wristwatch, then broke out into a full-watt Irish smile.

"You're on, Shephard. Give me five?"

"You got it. Meet ya across the street." She replied. Logan nodded, then launched himself out of his borrowed chair. Grabbing his coat jacket, he hurried towards the men's room on the far side of the squadroom.

"Hey....what about me?" another voice chimed in.

Renee shrugged.

"I think you're quite capable of dragging your own ass over to the Waterfront, Meldrick," she replied, her voice light and teasing.

"I don't know," chimed in someone else. "That ass is getting rather big."

"Hey there man!" Lewis responded, aggrieved. Three people stopped to stare at the part in question, as Meldrick twisted to look at it. "My ass is just fine. Prime stuff."

"Yeah right," Ballard said, mirth bubbling from her throat. It was contagious, and half the room broke down while Meldrick rubbed at his backside, then sat down upon it, his face screwed up into an expression of utter irritation.

"Look who's talking," he muttered.

It was Ballard's turn to be annoyed, but Renee had other things on her mind. Seizing Tim's arm, she dragged him out of his chair. He was too surprised to fight, and before he could get his attention off of the mock fight developing between Lewis and Ballard, Renee had him almost to the door.

"Hey, my coat!" he protested.

"Got it," she replied, waving it at him. "Come on."

Accepting that protest wasn't going to get him anywhere, he subsided and let her pull him through the door. Instead he tried to focus on how he was going to get through this without total embarrassment.

Logan turned out to be as much fun as a drinking companion, as he had been serious as a detective. Total focus on everything he did. Energy seeming to burst from his skin in tiny electric charges. That could have been the alcohol, of course, but if Tim squinched his eyes just right, he could just see little sparks flickering along the edges of Logan's...Mike's...forearms, sizzle between his fingers. Tim focused on one hand as it closed around a tall, foamy glass of dark ale, the gold of a heavy police academy ring bright against the pale, porcelain skin. He narrowed his eyes, shifted his head, focused again..

And found his line of vision broken by a sharp-nosed, eagle-eyed countenance.

"You all right?" Mike asked.

Tim jerked, then nodded, blinking owlishly behind his spectacles.

"Yeah. I was just...just..." he waved his hand and grinned. "I think I've had one too many."

Logan chuckled, then frowned at his own half-finished drink.

"I think that makes two of us." He sighed and gazed around the quiet bar. Munch was playing Lewis in a game of pool, Ballard, Stivers and Falsone cheering them on in turn. Gee had gone home, giving Renee a ride home as he went. She had winked broadly at Tim as she went, but Mike's attention had been on her as she retreated. Tim had echoed Mike's attention, trying to ignore her attempt at matchmaking, indulging in a bout of manly appreciation of and frustration with women with the man he'd rather have over any woman he'd met. Well, maybe with the exception of Renee, but that was another problem. In the meantime, Mike was gazing hazily at him.

"How about some fresh air?"

"Hmmm?" Tim stared back, confused for a moment until the sense of Mike's words came clear.

His heart lurched, even as he nodded.

"Yeah, ok. We can walk down to the pier from here. It's not bad this time of year."

He sounded calm and amazingly casual, even though every nerve in his body was afire. The alcohol only fed the tingles of frustrated desire. He wanted to taste that generous mouth so badly he ached. Instead, he heaved himself off the barstool and followed Mike's elegant form out of the door into the brisk night air.

They walked in silence for a while. Tim was more than willing to share the quiet. He'd run out of casual conversation, and their few forays into serious conversation had teetered on the edge of revelation. Mike's facile mind had only deepened the attraction. He was more widely read than Tim would have expected, and though he'd chuckled softly at Tim's fascination with Buddhist philosophy, Tim had sensed the knife's edge of respect and curiosity in him as well. That only deepened the problem: made it harder for him to avoid blurting out an invitation. He was flirting with disaster, he knew, nearly laughing aloud at the cliché even as he thought it.

Mike seemed to sense the abrupt, darting fit of self-directed humor and he turned perceptive eyes towards Tim. There was a question in his expression, but Tim merely shook his head and strode further along the boardwalk. Mike had to lengthen his stride to catch up. When he did, his moonlit expression was pensive.

Tim chose a favorite spot, settling down on a broad bench and staring out over the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Mike sat down beside him, close, so that their thighs were almost brushing. Tim felt him with every nerve in his body. He shivered, then sighed, closing his eyes.

Mike's breath was a spot of warmth on his cheek as he leaned close.

"Are you sure you're all right?" We can go back, call a cab, if you like..."

"No," Tim replied, leaning in just an inch closer. He didn't dare move more than that. A teensy bit more and Mike's lips would touch his cheek. Tim wanted that contact so badly that it hurt. His body throbbed, the muscles of his shoulders and stomach and legs tightened, cramped, his hands curled into fists. He wouldn't, he wouldn't...he turned his head slowly, coming face-to-face, eye-to-eye with the other man.

There was an odd glint in Mike's shadowed eyes. It was too dark, despite the bright, almost full moon and the street lamp behind them. He couldn't read that expression. He took a deep breath, not knowing what to say, yet not wanting to break that spell of contact between them.

Mike's breath tasted of beer, his eyes were somehow half-closed, yet intently focused at once. Tim felt, suddenly, bizarrely, as though they were drilling into him. Asking a question Tim didn't understand and couldn't answer. Tim's own breath caught in his throat, his lungs expanding, holding, then releasing roughly. At that brush of air, Mike moved suddenly, pouncing forward, as though that expelling of breath was the answer he'd been seeking.

His entire body froze in shock as Mike's warm lips closed down on his. Every ounce of sensation in his body narrowed down into that fierce, electric contact. Mike kissed him swiftly, passionately, thoroughly, his tongue darting at Tim's lips even as he withdrew. Then he pulled back and turned away, the broad shoulders heaving.

Tim sat staring at the other man's hawkish profile, his pulse racing. The kiss had been tantalizing, but too short. Oh so horribly short. Tim suddenly wished desperately that he had prolonged it, instead of sitting there like a moron, letting Mike do it all.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" Mike's voice was a rough whisper. Tim had to strain to hear him. When he realized what the other man was trying to say, he found himself shaking his head violently. But Mike wasn't looking at him. He was staring out over the starlit water, his shoulders hunched tight. Tim could feel the other man's tension, and it coalesced with his own. It made him feel like a fool. A coward. An idiot. As he'd done before, he'd put the weight of this on the other man's shoulders. He'd been too afraid of his own desires to dare speak them aloud, much less act on them. So he'd forced Mike to take the risk. That wasn't fair. He owed him more. Tim knew that much, and his anger at his own fear finally drove him forward into speaking.

"No. I'm glad you did," he whispered. Even with the new resolve, this was difficult to say. Harder than he had imagined. But he would. He did.

"I wanted you too," he added.

Some of the tension leaked out of Mike's shoulders and he slowly turned back to Tim. His face was in still shadowed, but his voice was gentle.

"Are you sure?"

Tim answered with action rather than words. Words were hard. This was easy. Far, far easier than he would have thought. Reaching up to sweep the long fingers of his right hand into Mike's thick dark hair, the heavy strands washing over his skin like the lightest of waves, he cupped the back of the other man's skull and drew him that final space closer, so their mouths could meet again. This time Tim was as much a participant as a recipient, and a powerful tide of desire rose within him as he deepened the kiss.

Mike's tongue sought entrance again, and Tim opened to it. The shock of contact as their tongues collided sent another wave of shivers down Tim's spine to pool in his groin. The muscles there hardened, twitched, tingled. He moaned into Mike's mouth, then returned the caresses he was receiving, tasting the hard slick enamel of Mike's teeth, flitting upward to delve into the rich tangy hollows of his cheek, to stroke the top of his mouth.

Strong arms closed around Tim's shoulders, large hands closing on the length of his spine and tightening. Drawing him closer to the other man's heat. Again, Tim acquiesced, but only long enough to gain position to return the embrace. His right hand stayed entwined in Mike's ebony hair, fingers tracing the sensitive scalp underneath. His other hand splayed out over the solid, broad muscles of the man's back. When Mike shifted position, squeezing Tim close, lifting his head just long enough to gasp for air, then lowering his mouth again, Tim felt the muscles bunch and play, powerful and sleek beneath his palm. That felt incredibly good. Such strength within in his grasp; no need to hold back any of his desire. He clutched harder at Mike, and tasted the other man's groan in his lungs.

God, oh God, how could anything feel this good?

Tim fought with himself, then tore his mouth away from the furnace of Mike's. He wanted to share those kisses forever, but he wanted other things as well. The skin of Mike's jaw was rough, covered in bristling stubble. That felt odd as his lips and tongue swept over it, yet he liked it. Mike tasted of sweat and alcohol, salty and sweet at once. Tim took his time, kissing, nibbling, licking in circles, up the curving arc of Mike's cheekbone, down to the stubborn jut of his jaw, and then below into the musky hollow of his throat. The pulse leapt beneath the touch of Tim's lips, and he stopped and suckled there. The man in his arms moaned aloud, his breath hot on Tim's temples. Those lips touched down on Tim's skin, returning the caress, and then suckling harder. Mike kissed him again, then moved downward…

And slammed into Tim's glasses which twisted against his nose.

They pulled apart sharply, both gasping for breath. Tim reached up to rescue the wayward wire frames, but Mike beat him to it. Gentle fingers pulled the spectacles off, folded them up, and handed them to Tim. He took them silently, sheepishly, the faint edge of an embarrassed smile playing at his lips. Before he could form an apology of any sort, Mike's fingers shifted upward to rub at the reddened skin on the bridge of Tim's nose. The touch was feather-soft, yet hot, the teasing gentleness of it acting like gasoline on a fire. Tim's nerves reacted hungrily. It was all he could do to sit there and let Mike explore, those fingertips circling across his nose, down to his cheekbones, then up again to trace his eyebrows, then soothed the line of Tim's brow. Then those fingers moved downward to stroke Tim's lips, and he opened his mouth to taste them. Two fingers slipped between his teeth and he suckled on them, then pulled back, closing his hand around Mike's. He turned it around, kissed the palm, then lowered their hands so that he could seek Mike for another kiss. Mike surrendered to it willingly, and Tim buried himself into another series of kisses, some light, some deep, some nibbling, and some bruising hard.

Until they simultaneously pulled apart, gasping for breath, chests heaving in rhythm.

"I…I…I…" Tim stammered. "I think we should maybe go somewhere more private," he finally said.

Mike simply nodded and stood. Then he reached out his hand. Tim took it, stood, and together they turned and walked away from the shore.

This was the tough part, Tim thought anxiously. Almost more so than opening the question in the first place. Luckily, his apartment was relatively clean. Amazing, that… but he was still nervous about the impression of him the place might give. It was rather spartan, except for the piles of books. At least it was comfortable, and nothing clashed too badly. Or so he hoped.

Tim took Mike's jacket and hung it over the back of a chair with his own. They moved in common silence, both discarding guns and handcuffs into the drawer Tim opened for them in a cop's ritual, familiar and soothing. It didn't last long, and they were left standing, facing each other, a foot of carpet space between them. Mike looked hesitant, uncertain, and Tim felt the same. It had been easier on that bench with the ocean singing in the background, the moonlight on shimmering on the waves. Almost like they had been in a world of their own. But here the real world seemed to close in around them, emphasizing the seriousness of the step they were about to take.

"Do you want a drink? Some coffee?" Tim offered awkwardly.

"No, thank you," Mike replied politely.

"Uhn…do you, I mean…" Tim stumbled over his words again, then waved his hands through the air as though maybe they could communicate what his voice couldn't. Perhaps they did. Tim would never be sure, but Mike responded by stepping closer.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Tim shook his head vehemently at that.

"No." He paused, licking at suddenly dry lips, his eyes drawn to Mike's own mouth. He remembered how it had tasted. His body tightened. He sought and found the words he wanted.

"Please stay. I want you to stay. I want you."

That was all Mike had needed to hear, apparently, because he pounced the instant Tim vocalized his thoughts. Tim barely had time to take in some air before Mike stole it from him in another searing kiss. 'Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes…' was Tim's last coherent thought before his entire world was subsumed into the raging fire of desire. He was faintly aware of them moving across the room, of fabric being tugged, buttons popped, zippers stripped open as they stumbled towards the bedroom. But how they managed to end up falling, naked and intertwined onto his mattress? Tim wasn't sure, and totally didn't care. All that mattered was the sensation of bare skin on skin, rough and silken, slick with sweat, soft over hard, bunched muscle. The ruffled blankets and sheets rubbed against his back as Mike dropped his full weight onto Tim's longer, but sparser frame.

Their bodies rubbed against each other, chests, groins, legs, and genitals. Their cocks brushed each other, and Tim cried out. So soon, he was already at the edge. His hands clutched at Mike's powerful shoulders and his hips thrust upward. Mike ground him back downward, trapping both of their cocks in the hot, sweat-slicked space between their bellies. It felt so good. Tim rocked upward, taking his fingertips down Mike's spine. Mike dug his teeth into the side of Tim's neck, then released, then suckled hard, moving across Tim's throat, biting and releasing, then soothing with a hard, wet stroke of his tongue, then seizing with his teeth again. Each quick almost painful nip sent an electric current racing down to join the ones quivering in his groin. He wrapped his legs around Mike's and twisted, rolling them over until he was on top. One arm still twined around Mike's back he reached up to take hold of the headboard, moving over Mike, struggling for purchase to increase the pace of his thrusts downward, almost as though he were trying to bury himself into Mike's belly.

Beneath him, Mike groaned, clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer…closer…then abruptly shoving him away. Tim sobbed out, struggling to draw him back, but Mike was whispering hoarsely in his ear, his deep voice only one more sensation feeding Tim's need. But, finally, the words came clear in a dose of liquid fire that stripped his nerves clean, then fired them again.

"Wait…do you have something we can use? Tim…"

Tim rolled on his back, chest heaving, then he fumbled for the drawer in his bedside table. It took far longer than it should, but finally, his straining fingers closed on the tube he was seeking. He drew it out and turned back to Mike who rewarded him with another deep kiss. The desire banked for the moment, but it was like holding a hurricane behind a glass wall. It wouldn't take long to shatter.

"Do you…which would you prefer?" Mike whispered against Tim's lips. That glass wall shook, threatening to break, as Tim sought for an answer. He didn't care. He'd tried both with Chris, and liked both sides of it. Chris had been a tender and careful teacher, almost too gentle. Tim was amazingly turned on by the fury he saw in Mike's storm cloud eyes. And that made the decision for him. He wanted to lose himself in the other man's passion.

"Whatever you want," he offered, his voice rough, rasping at his throat.

Mike's body shivered against his, and those thundercloud eyes darkened to pitch black.

"I want you. I want to be inside you and feel you, every inch of you," Mike responded, and Tim's body nearly melted into the mattress at the sound. He moaned and sank downward, unconsciously spreading his legs and lifting his hips in response to that intimate promise.

"Like this?" Mike questioned and Tim nodded, unable to speak. Mike accepted Tim's choice of position, leaning down to kiss him roughly, even as he stripped the cap off the tube. Yet he took his time, warming the gel in his fist, while his mouth trailed down Tim's chest. Tim sighed deeply as Mike's clever, knowing mouth found his nipples and teased the tiny nubs of flesh into hardness. His hands found Mike's skull, and stroked it through the thick waves of Mike's hair, encouraging him further. But Mike knew what he wanted to do, and he explored Tim's chest fully, licking at his ribs, teasing his belly button, at first ignoring, and later lavishing full attention on Tim's engorged cock.

When Mike took him into his mouth, Tim's entire body arced upwards. As Chris had taught him, there was nothing that could compare to another man sucking him. No woman, however experienced, could come close to giving this kind of absolute ecstasy. Mike, like Chris, seemed to know instinctively just how to please…when to suck, when to lick, how to nibble without causing discomfort, how to prolong each stroke of his tongue…until Tim was writhing beneath him, fingers clutching at Mike's hair, too lost even to guide him. Not needing to do so. All he could do was ride the waves of pleasure that rocked his body until he felt himself quivering on the edge of release. Somehow he communicate that nearness to Mike who drew back, squeezing on him even as he let go. Tim groaned, floating. So close…and he wanted so badly…

And then Mike's probing fingers found him. Slick, coated in slippery gel, insistent fingers. Tim sobbed aloud and lifted his hips, offering himself. If only Mike would get a move on it… but Mike wanted to move slowly. To tease, and stroke, and probe, one slender finger alone, and then two, and then three…twisting…opening…tantalizing, a sharp mix of near-pain and incredible desire. Tim pressed downward, urging, and Mike pushed hard, reaching, and finding a complex of nerves that screamed within Tim. He jerked, convulsing, upward, then downward, his body opening to Mike's penetration. Which pressed on him again, and then withdrew.

Tim protested, but Mike soothed him, moving swiftly upward to cover Tim's body with his own. Mike kissed him, deeply, and Tim moaned, again, into Mike's mouth.

"Easy love," Mike whispered against him. "Easy, just there, now, easy…slow…" The rich, bass sound of Mike's voice accompanied the pressure of his cock against the aching opening to Tim's body, slow, gentle, yet firm, determined, easing them both together. Slick, ready, and desperate, Tim pushed against him, demanding. Needing. And finally, Mike was there, filling him until Tim thought he would burst with the two of them within himself. It hurt, but the pain was subsumed into the ecstasy, so entwined in one long rush of sensation that Tim felt as though he was drowning it. Drowning, yet wanting more. So much more.

"Move, damn you," Tim hissed, and a sharp bark of laughter issued from Mike, even as his body tensed in preparation. Then he did move, sliding out, then pressing back in, and again, slowly at first, then harder and faster, as Tim urged him on, shouting words he didn't understand. He didn't care. All that mattered was that Mike didn't stop filling him, firing that cosmic burst within him with each thrust forward. All that mattered was the hot, rough, intense contact of their bodies against each other, in each other, skin rasping against skin, Mike's hand closing on Tim's weeping cock and squeezing, until fireworks exploded before Tim's shuttered eyes and his body leapt upward into the explosion, his voice crying at the ceiling, as he let go of everything in hot, liquid bursts.

He barely heard Mike's voice echoing him, but he could feel Mike flooding him, the body above him tensing, fingers digging hard and bruising into his hips, then letting go. They collapsed together, sated and exhausted. It was a few moments before Mike shifted, removing himself from Tim, and Tim whimpered at the change. He felt abruptly bereft, alone, and he turned seeking further contact. Mike wrapped his arms around Tim and pulled him close, rolling to the side. Tim sighed softly and shifted in turn, settling down with his back to Mike's chest, face pressed down into the rumpled pillow, and he slept.

Tim supposed that 'mornings after' ought to be difficult, but this one wasn't. Perhaps he simply felt too absolutely pleased with himself. Perhaps the satiated exhaustion of his body communicated it to his mind, making him wonderfully lazy and at peace. Mike seemed to echo that emotion, waking slowly, willing to let Tim draw him into another slow, easy bout of lovemaking. This time they settled for rocking their bodies against each other, letting the warm friction draw them gently into sweet oblivion, then collapsing together.

Mike chuckled against Tim's ear, his breath tickling Tim's skin. Tim turned his head to look into Mike's sleepy eyes, the gray color surprisingly bluish in the sunlight that filtered through the half-open blinds. Mike smiled in response to Tim's questioning look.

"It's nothing, just… I really needed this."

Tim found himself returning the grin, understanding fully.

"Yeah, me too."

They shared that open grin for a moment, then Mike dropped his head on the pillow and sighed.

"Guess we ought to get going. I've still got a pile of paperwork to do before I catch the train this afternoon." His voice was resigned, not unhappy, but not happy either. Tim knew that Mike's stay would be short, but he hadn't quite conceptualized that he'd be leaving so soon.

"Do you have to…" Tim started, the stopped, forcing himself not to ask the impossible.

But Mike was as perceptive as ever. He reached up to tenderly stroke Tim's cheek.

"'Fraid so, lover. I'm still on probation of sorts back in Manhattan and I daren't screw it up now."

Tim frowned at him, even as he leaned into the touch, pressing his lips against Mike's fingers.

"What happened?" he asked.

Mike grimaced. "About three years ago I punched out a politician in front of the news cameras…"

"You did what?" Tim exclaimed, his eyes widening.

Mike barked a short rough laugh.

"I punched him out. And the bastard deserved it…he'd literally gotten away with murder. There I was stuck protecting him from the crowd who wanted to pummel him, then he opens his big mouth, and before I knew what I was doing…" he clenched his fist and waved it in the air.

"Good God, I'm amazed you didn't end up walking a beat." Tim replied.

Mike's mouth twisted wryly.

"Close enough…got assigned to Staten Island. Spent three years hunting down stolen lawnmowers. Then I got a lucky break on a case…well, actually, it turned out to be a mess, but I handled it. That got me reassigned to the 17th precinct in Manhattan on a probationary basis and then this case came up, and…"

"Here you are," Tim finished.

"Yeah," Mike sighed. "I'd love to…" His voice trailed off again, and Tim leaned down to quickly kiss him.

"It's OK. You've got to go back. Maybe…another time," he added wistfully.

Mike's expression hardened with purpose.

"Oh, you can count on that," he said.

Tim felt like he was grinning inanely, but he couldn't help it. So he buried the smile into a kiss, and Mike responded heatedly. They explored each other with a now-comfortable familiarity, then Mike leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

"I hope I haven't caused you any trouble here."

"What?" Tim asked. "Why…" and then it occurred to him.

"You heard the rumors, right?" he demanded.

Mike turned over to stare into his eyes.

"Yes. I'm sorry, but when I heard - well, I hoped - "

"That's OK ," Tim tumbled backwards to sprawl out on the mattress. His turn to stare at the ceiling. "I knew what people were saying. Guess it's kinda silly to fuss about it now."

"Nothing wrong with being gay," Mike told him gently.

"Oh, I'm not gay," Tim replied.

"What?" Mike leaned up over him, resting a supporting palm on the other side of Tim's body.

"I'm bi," Tim said, leaving out the 'curious' part of it. He was well past being curious now. It felt more like - like - pure purring satisfaction.

Mike took that seriously, though. The edges of his lips turned upwards, though his gaze was steady.

"Me too."

"I figured as much," Tim replied. He had, although he hadn't really taken the time to think about it. But when he said it, it became obvious. "You seemed to be too much of a ladies' man to be gay. I saw the way you looked at Renee."

"I saw the way you looked at her too," Mike reminded him.

Tim shrugged.

"Yeah, well…she wants a friend, so…"

"Don't they all," Mike complained.

Tim laughed warmly.

"I know." Then he paused. "What about you? What do you want?"

Mike, too, thought for a moment before speaking.

"I want - hmmm - I'm not sure." His expression was open, but clearly uncertain.

"Fair enough," Tim said. He reached up to brush the silken, dark bangs back from Mike's eyes. "I'm not too sure myself. More than friends, though."

"I can go for that," Mike replied. "But we can take it slow, see how it goes?"

"Deal," Tim responded, his earlier lazy happiness reasserting itself. His hand slipped downward to curl around the nape of Mike's neck and pull him downward. "How about we talk about it again - later." Then their mouths met, and Mike gave him all the agreement he needed within the sweet confines of that kiss.

End

Return to Stories Page