For a moment Logan isn't quite sure how to answer that question. He hesitates, tries to speak, fumbles over the words and then sighs in frustration. He lets his head fall into his hands, his fingertips massaging his temples in slow circles. His fingers brush over his eyebrows, run down along his nose and smooth out over his cheeks until they slide from his face.
"I don't know," he says honestly, and looks at the clock next to the chair. The glowing numbers tell him it is just past six. Where did the time go? "But I think this is a pretty good place to start." He reaches for the phone and, unbelievably, inexplicably, Mike Logan does the unthinkable...and calls in sick.
A slow smile spreads across Goren's face. "Never would have thought it of you," he remarks, and taking the cordless from Logan's slack fingers, proceeds to do a wonderful imitation of someone dying from tuberculosis. When he sets the phone down again, he is sitting on the couch and the hacking cough and croaky voice are gone. "You're so thrilled to not be tracking down stolen lawnmowers on Staten Island anymore, I figured I'd never get you to call in sick."
"Work isn't everything," Logan says softly, not meeting Goren's eyes. He doesn't know how to face this beautiful man, or how to reconcile the horrors of his past with his growing desire. His throat constricts, and he falls silent. It is only with an effort that he can speak again. "So what now?"
"That's up to you, Mike." Goren drinks from his coffee. Logan loves his lips. The way Goren speaks has to be the most attractive thing about him – the sudden changes of cadence and tone accompanied by facial expressions that flash from sympathy to disgust in the blink of an eye, the very unpredictability of any given conversation. "What do you want to do?"
A thousand ideas flit through Logan's befuddled brain. He picks up his own coffee to buy time, making a great show of sipping it thoughtfully. All he can think about is Goren. Goren on the job, Goren talking to suspects on the street, Goren in the interrogation room. "I just want to be with you," he says at last, and as he looks up, he knows it is the right answer.
Goren spreads his arms. It is an easy gesture, full of meaning without coming across as supercilious. Logan admires that about him, Goren's ability to use his body and to employ movement and gesticulation without ever seeming grotesque. "Then be with me." Goren pats the couch next to him. "I don't bite. Usually."
Logan's knees are weak as he stands. He moves himself and his coffee across the room to the couch and as he sinks into the comfortable material, realizes he is brain-dead. He feels tongue-tied, stupid. He can think of a million things to say but cannot bring himself to voice any of them. He opens his mouth and the words die unspoken when his eyes meet the endless depths of Goren's. And suddenly he is mad with desire.
With a trembling hand Logan strokes Goren's cheek, follows the curve of his chin, his thumb just grazing the swell of the lower lip. He is totally, breathtakingly transfixed by Goren's mouth. Logan feels himself get ready to become a puddle on the floor, to liquefy completely just looking at the man, just barely touching him. He shudders momentarily, takes a breath, and before he can stop himself, leans in and presses his mouth against Goren's. It is light pressure, returned by the other detective, and there is no wild scramble for tongue, no sense of invasion or hurry. There is just the sensation and the moment and utter comfort in the kiss.
They are breathing in time. "Can you feel my heartbeat inside you?" Goren murmurs against Logan's lips, and Logan is almost positive he is dreaming. "The slow, steady pulse of my love? Melt into me, Mike. Surrender completely and know I would never hurt you. I want you to trust me...with your every thought...I would scour the world to answer your every wish."
His hands skim lightly up Logan's chest and his fingers lace behind Logan's head, pulling him down. And every one of Logan's senses sharpens to razor accuracy until he is surrounded by Goren, until his whole body is aching, until he stops thinking entirely.
Logan leans into Goren, fully returning his gentle kisses, and when he breaks a kiss for a necessary breath the faint sunlight streaming in through the window catches Goren's eyes and turns them to darkest gold. He is painfully aware of Goren's nearness, of their knees pressed against each other as they sit awkwardly on the edge of the couch. His clothes, the only thing separating him from Goren, feel thin and inadequate. He yearns to feel skin on skin, to hold the other man in his arms, kiss the smooth suppleness of Goren's shoulder, lose himself in Goren's soft thick hair.
"Mike," Goren whispers. "I love you. I tried not to for so long, I..." His voice cracks, and Logan is awed at the effect he has on this man, the epitome of calm, cool and collected, the perfectly controlled and always emotionally secure Goren. "I can't stop," he finishes with breathtaking honesty.
Logan threads his fingers into Goren's hair, traces the lines of his forehead and ultimately smiles. "You don't have to stop." He leans his forehead against Goren's. The other man is warm, reassuringly real. This is not a dream. "I hope you never stop."
Goren's eyes are glinting and dark, so intense it makes his breath catch, and Logan is starting to learn that means desire. Goren leans in, bends his head and places a single, soulmelting kiss on the side of Logan's neck. He rests his lips against Logan's skin, breathing lightly, and says softly, "You're so beautiful."
Logan touches Goren's face, and Goren lifts his head. He kisses Logan, insistently, and Logan responds with blind, wonderful passion, stoking the heat between them until Logan feels sweat begin to bead on his forehead. He draws back, breathless, and dimly realizes that Goren is unbuttoning his shirt. He welcomes the cool air on his chest as the shirt falls to the floor, and then gasps as Goren's fingers find more nerve endings than he thought he possessed.
Goren fixes Logan with a stare that builds fire in his veins, and reclines on the couch, pulling Logan down on top of him. Goren drops light kisses along Logan's collarbone to the hollow of his throat, his fingertips caressing Logan's chest, and Logan thinks he could die happy. Slowly, Logan is divested of his clothing until Goren's hands can run the full length of his body uninterrupted, and finally Logan's fingers are permitted access to their goal – the belt of Goren's robe.