Title: A Fistful Of Warm Rain (1 of 4)
Author: jesse
Fandom: Law&Order (original flavor)
Pairing: Briscoe/Logan
Rating: R this chapter, for adult dreamings
Summary: A cold winter night, a hot sauna ....
Archive: Yes to Rareslash, yes to list archives, anybody else please ask
Email: jesse.bee@lycos.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making money
Author Notes: The blame can be laid at the feet of culturevulture73, as always, for hooking me into this g, but a little of the blame for posting can be tossed at Python, who was kind enough to tell me she thought one of my previous stories was hot. Well, this one's a little hotter. eg
######################
A Fistful Of Warm Rain
10/20/03
jesse
######################
"I think," Lennie Briscoe said with a long sigh, his baritone voice deep with satisfaction, "that I am *finally* starting to get warm."
"Startin' to, hell. I'm tryin' to remember the last time I was this damn hot." Mike Logan breathed in the cedar-scented air and shifted on the damp wooden seat of the sauna, yet more wetness trickling uncomfortably down his neck. It felt like his *hair* was sweating. "1991, maybe. The summer Phil and I caught that case with the nutjob claiming 4th Amendment rights for a bush in Central Park."
Lennie snorted. "Heard about that. Talk about the inmates running the asylum. This, on the other hand .... " He sighed again and closed his eyes, settling himself more comfortably against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him on the bench he occupied, across from Mike's. The tiny sauna had one on each wall, with not even two feet of space between them. "I could get used to this."
//So could I, if I don't die of frustration first ....// Mike locked his jaw against the frisson that shivered him from shoulders to toes. His partner's tone had been practically orgasmic, and every nerve in Mike's body had stood up and taken notice.
He was overheated and underdressed, half the country away from home, stranded in luxury in the middle of a Chicago blizzard. Life was just too fucking strange, sometimes.
They were in the Windy City to transfer a prisoner, something Mike never really liked doing. It always felt vaguely disloyal to him, as if the NYPD was giving up something they'd won fair and square. Lennie, on the other hand, had opined with his usual pragmatism that if the Chicago taxpayers wanted to foot the bill for the mook's trial, who was he to argue?
The transfer had gone smoothly enough, but nonetheless they were still here, having gotten caught in weather that was bad even by Midwest standards, snow heavy enough to shut down O'Hare Airport and half of the Chicago metro area.
It'd been dumb blind luck that when they'd gotten through to the 2-7 with the news that they were stuck, ADA Claire Kincaid and her boss, EADA Jack McCoy, had been in Van Buren's office. Whether because he liked them or because of his soft spot for Claire, who liked them, McCoy had made an offer of help - a cousin of his who was in management at one of Chicago's swankier hotels.
Which was how they had wound up, on a night when everybody and his dog was trying to get a room, in this ridiculously high-end suite in the Westin Chicago River North, one of the best hotels in the city. For which the NYPD was only paying peanuts. McCoy's cousin, an attractive woman with the EADA's dark eyes but thankfully not his nose, had booked Mike and Lennie in with the comment that "with a night like this, we may wind up selling out under price anyway, since so many travelers are stuck here in the city. So the suite might as well get used by someone who will appreciate it."
"Appreciate" just wasn't going to cover it, somehow. Mike knew he'd had a completely dumbfounded expression on his face as he'd looked around the - well, suite wasn't even a good word. Lennie had whistled, long and loud. "Jesus Christ, I don't think either of my *houses* was this big."
Among the many amenities the hotel had was same-day, in-house laundry service, and cousin McCoy had offered to have their clothes cleaned. As neither of them had much more than what they were standing up in, it was an offer they'd gratefully accepted. This, of course, left them pretty much stark naked in the interim. Not that the thought of lounging around in the oversized, plushy hotel bathrobe, eating room service, had bothered Mike too much. At least, not then.
It was Lennie, cheerfully opportunistic hedonist that he was, who suggested that as long as they were stuck in the buff for a while, they might as well try out the little sauna he'd discovered off the bathroom.
"I am frozen clear through, Mike. Besides, God only knows when I'll get an opportunity like this again, especially on somebody else's tab."
Which was how Mike had come to be sitting in this increasingly muggy, dim-lit, cedar-lined little room with only a towel around his waist, trying not to stare at his equally undressed partner and wondering how in the hell he was going to manage to get out of here without thoroughly embarrassing himself.
That he was attracted to Lennie, he had known for a while. No big shock there -- Mike had long ago come to terms with his own bisexuality. Mostly. Personality had always been a big turn-on for him and Lennie had it in spades, along with a sarcastic wit and gallows humor even sharper and blacker than Mike's own. They hadn't been working together six months before Mike had realized that the deepening friendship between them was turning physical as well, at least on his own part.
//It was everything about him: the way he talks, the way he moves, that crooked smile. And if it had only been physical, it would have been no problem.//
//But you woke up that one morning and realized that what you were feeling wasn't something you knew anything about. You didn't just want to fuck him through the mattress, you wanted to, well, *be* with him on a long-term basis, mattress or no. Those couple of women you thought you were serious about before - it was never anything like this.//
//This is a dull ache under the ribs that never goes away. Is it love? I don't know. And I've still got no clue when it happened.//
//But I know damn well what I'm gonna do about it. Nothing.//
Because Lennie'd made pretty clear his feelings about /amore/ in general: having struck out twice before, the only thing he was in the market for now was some good sex, not a relationship. //And for once in *your* life it's not just about the sex, is it, Mike?//
Lennie had also made it clear early in their partnership that the idea of same-sex love didn't offend him in the least, but he'd never given any definite sign that he might swing both ways himself.
And the NYPD could be ... unhealthy ... for those whose sexual preferences ran contrary to the accepted norms.
//You've finally fallen in love, if that's what this is, and he's not interested in being anything more than friends. Somewhere, Michael Logan, God is laughing his ass off at you.//
So Mike had locked his desires away and kept them to himself, and gone on with his life. Dated a lot, bedded quite a few willing women he could have in an attempt to keep from thinking about the man he couldn't. Tried to ignore the small, subtle awareness that it felt almost like he was cheating. And most times it worked, too - most times he could work and joke and laugh with Lennie as he would with any close friend, stand close at a crime scene, touch his arm to get his attention, and fool himself that there was nothing more, nothing sexual, to the contact.
Most times. With every breath he took now, Mike got the spicy edge of Lennie's aftershave, intensified by the heat, and fought the urge to lick his lips.
Now was *not* one of those times.
~~~~~
Author: jesse
Fandom: Law&Order (original flavor)
Pairing: Briscoe/Logan
Rating: R this chapter, for adult dreamings
Summary: A cold winter night, a hot sauna ....
Archive: Yes to Rareslash, yes to list archives, anybody else please ask
Email: jesse.bee@lycos.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making money
Author Notes: The blame can be laid at the feet of culturevulture73, as always, for hooking me into this g, but a little of the blame for posting can be tossed at Python, who was kind enough to tell me she thought one of my previous stories was hot. Well, this one's a little hotter. eg
######################
A Fistful Of Warm Rain
10/20/03
jesse
######################
"I think," Lennie Briscoe said with a long sigh, his baritone voice deep with satisfaction, "that I am *finally* starting to get warm."
"Startin' to, hell. I'm tryin' to remember the last time I was this damn hot." Mike Logan breathed in the cedar-scented air and shifted on the damp wooden seat of the sauna, yet more wetness trickling uncomfortably down his neck. It felt like his *hair* was sweating. "1991, maybe. The summer Phil and I caught that case with the nutjob claiming 4th Amendment rights for a bush in Central Park."
Lennie snorted. "Heard about that. Talk about the inmates running the asylum. This, on the other hand .... " He sighed again and closed his eyes, settling himself more comfortably against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him on the bench he occupied, across from Mike's. The tiny sauna had one on each wall, with not even two feet of space between them. "I could get used to this."
//So could I, if I don't die of frustration first ....// Mike locked his jaw against the frisson that shivered him from shoulders to toes. His partner's tone had been practically orgasmic, and every nerve in Mike's body had stood up and taken notice.
He was overheated and underdressed, half the country away from home, stranded in luxury in the middle of a Chicago blizzard. Life was just too fucking strange, sometimes.
They were in the Windy City to transfer a prisoner, something Mike never really liked doing. It always felt vaguely disloyal to him, as if the NYPD was giving up something they'd won fair and square. Lennie, on the other hand, had opined with his usual pragmatism that if the Chicago taxpayers wanted to foot the bill for the mook's trial, who was he to argue?
The transfer had gone smoothly enough, but nonetheless they were still here, having gotten caught in weather that was bad even by Midwest standards, snow heavy enough to shut down O'Hare Airport and half of the Chicago metro area.
It'd been dumb blind luck that when they'd gotten through to the 2-7 with the news that they were stuck, ADA Claire Kincaid and her boss, EADA Jack McCoy, had been in Van Buren's office. Whether because he liked them or because of his soft spot for Claire, who liked them, McCoy had made an offer of help - a cousin of his who was in management at one of Chicago's swankier hotels.
Which was how they had wound up, on a night when everybody and his dog was trying to get a room, in this ridiculously high-end suite in the Westin Chicago River North, one of the best hotels in the city. For which the NYPD was only paying peanuts. McCoy's cousin, an attractive woman with the EADA's dark eyes but thankfully not his nose, had booked Mike and Lennie in with the comment that "with a night like this, we may wind up selling out under price anyway, since so many travelers are stuck here in the city. So the suite might as well get used by someone who will appreciate it."
"Appreciate" just wasn't going to cover it, somehow. Mike knew he'd had a completely dumbfounded expression on his face as he'd looked around the - well, suite wasn't even a good word. Lennie had whistled, long and loud. "Jesus Christ, I don't think either of my *houses* was this big."
Among the many amenities the hotel had was same-day, in-house laundry service, and cousin McCoy had offered to have their clothes cleaned. As neither of them had much more than what they were standing up in, it was an offer they'd gratefully accepted. This, of course, left them pretty much stark naked in the interim. Not that the thought of lounging around in the oversized, plushy hotel bathrobe, eating room service, had bothered Mike too much. At least, not then.
It was Lennie, cheerfully opportunistic hedonist that he was, who suggested that as long as they were stuck in the buff for a while, they might as well try out the little sauna he'd discovered off the bathroom.
"I am frozen clear through, Mike. Besides, God only knows when I'll get an opportunity like this again, especially on somebody else's tab."
Which was how Mike had come to be sitting in this increasingly muggy, dim-lit, cedar-lined little room with only a towel around his waist, trying not to stare at his equally undressed partner and wondering how in the hell he was going to manage to get out of here without thoroughly embarrassing himself.
That he was attracted to Lennie, he had known for a while. No big shock there -- Mike had long ago come to terms with his own bisexuality. Mostly. Personality had always been a big turn-on for him and Lennie had it in spades, along with a sarcastic wit and gallows humor even sharper and blacker than Mike's own. They hadn't been working together six months before Mike had realized that the deepening friendship between them was turning physical as well, at least on his own part.
//It was everything about him: the way he talks, the way he moves, that crooked smile. And if it had only been physical, it would have been no problem.//
//But you woke up that one morning and realized that what you were feeling wasn't something you knew anything about. You didn't just want to fuck him through the mattress, you wanted to, well, *be* with him on a long-term basis, mattress or no. Those couple of women you thought you were serious about before - it was never anything like this.//
//This is a dull ache under the ribs that never goes away. Is it love? I don't know. And I've still got no clue when it happened.//
//But I know damn well what I'm gonna do about it. Nothing.//
Because Lennie'd made pretty clear his feelings about /amore/ in general: having struck out twice before, the only thing he was in the market for now was some good sex, not a relationship. //And for once in *your* life it's not just about the sex, is it, Mike?//
Lennie had also made it clear early in their partnership that the idea of same-sex love didn't offend him in the least, but he'd never given any definite sign that he might swing both ways himself.
And the NYPD could be ... unhealthy ... for those whose sexual preferences ran contrary to the accepted norms.
//You've finally fallen in love, if that's what this is, and he's not interested in being anything more than friends. Somewhere, Michael Logan, God is laughing his ass off at you.//
So Mike had locked his desires away and kept them to himself, and gone on with his life. Dated a lot, bedded quite a few willing women he could have in an attempt to keep from thinking about the man he couldn't. Tried to ignore the small, subtle awareness that it felt almost like he was cheating. And most times it worked, too - most times he could work and joke and laugh with Lennie as he would with any close friend, stand close at a crime scene, touch his arm to get his attention, and fool himself that there was nothing more, nothing sexual, to the contact.
Most times. With every breath he took now, Mike got the spicy edge of Lennie's aftershave, intensified by the heat, and fought the urge to lick his lips.
Now was *not* one of those times.
~~~~~