Rating: PG-13 (Language and Situation)

Spoilers: Up to Fearless Fourteen (FF), but it's more like up to Lean Mean Thirteen (LMT).

Pairing: Morelli/Dickie. Yeah. I know. I'm going there.

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are mine.

A/N: To the Queen of Snark- Ms. Margaret, who loves her some crack (pairings). Remember children, crack kills in any form. Unfortunately for this dynamic duo, it only makes you question your sexual orientation.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go take a shower and scrub my skin raw.

"I'm a babe. I'm a babe. I'm a babe," I muttered as I walked off to find Ranger. "Damn Margaret anyway…"

..::Sharing is Caring::..

Dickie had fallen low before. He banged Joyce Barnhardt on his kitchen table, for crissakes. But hiding out with the guy banging his ex-wife was a rung lower than he'd care to inspect.

Morelli's dilapidated row house in the 'Burg was a far cry from his high rise apartment in downtown Trenton. It was obvious that Morelli had tried to make some improvements but mostly it was covered in empty beer cans and stacks of take-out boxes from Pino's.

Dickie just had to remind himself that this was better than being on the run. This was better than watching his back and nervously looking over his shoulder each time he was alone.

But just barely.

Morelli had a reputation. Dickie wanted no part in that, no matter how loose his boundaries were.

"Tell me again why I can't just get a safe house?" Dickie gingerly took a seat on the leather couch that had seen better days. Morelli's burly, slobbering dog, Bob, was busy gnawing a cross-trainer by the door, but had his mongrel eyes set on Dickie's expensive Italian loafers. He gave the dog a long look before turning to Morelli. "The victim always gets a safe house."

"Yeah, well this ain't some TV show." Morelli flipped through the channels, eyes glued to the flat-screen TV attached to the wall. "A safe house isn't in the Trenton PD budget."

"Then at least somewhere-"

"Listen, Dickie, I don't like this anymore than you do. It's not like I asked to be saddled with babysitting some schmuck in a suit; but find your balls and deal with it."

Dickie crossed his arms over his chest, lip curled up in disgust. The sofa smelled of stale beer and dog slobber. He was worried what else might be soaked into the cushions.

Morelli pulled a bottle from one of the two six packs on the coffee table and twisted the cap open. He flipped the lid on the floor and took a long pull from the bottle, nearly emptying it with one gulp.

Morelli tipped his head towards the six pack. "You want one?"

Dickie eyed the label. Cheap brand. Stale hops smell. No way. "You have anything else?"

Morelli eyed him, unanswering as he muttered under his breath to himself. He settled on a baseball game- the Mets. Dickie huffed in disgust. Of course this idiot would like the Mets.

Morelli turned the game up and drowned out any other attempt Dickie might make to talk to him. Dickie fidgeted on the sofa before glancing over at Morelli. "Is there really any reason to watch the Mets other than to watch them lose?"

Morelli finished his beer and grabbed another. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"At least find the Yankees game."

Morelli slowly put his beer bottle down and gave Dickie a look from out the side of his eye. Dickie shrank back against the far side of the couch.

"You say one more thing and you won't have to worry about the hit out on you." Morelli picked up his beer again and downed it. He leaned forward to grab another, not bothering to glance at Dickie. He twisted off the cap with more force than necessary and Dickie nearly pissed his pants. "I'll kill you myself."

Dickie put his hands up in surrender. "I-"

The doorbell saved Dickie the trouble of apologizing and Morelli got up from the couch with cat-like reflexes as he made his way to the door. Dickie watched as Morelli reached for the gun in his shoulder holster and peeked through the spy hole. "State your purpose."

"Pino's."

Morelli instantly relaxed and nudged the dog out of the way. "Move Bob."

Morelli took out his wallet and threw a glance over his shoulder at Dickie. "I don't suppose you'd shell out for your half."

Dickie snorted.

"Yeah, I didn't think so." Dickie thought he heard Morelli muttered the word asshole under his breath, but he couldn't be sure with Morelli's back to him. Morelli flipped out the cash and exchanged it for several boxes of food. He kicked the door closed and flipped the lock and made his way back over to the couch. Morelli dropped the boxes on the table, taking one for himself and flipping the lid open to a meatball sub. Morelli sat the box on the floor and whistled. "Bob, come eat."

Bob made his was over to Morelli, shoving Dickie's legs out of his way as he took the shortest path towards the sandwich. Dickie watched as in no time flat everything was annihilated. Box and all.

"That's just not healthy."

Both dog and owner gave Dickie a look that said mind his own business. He tentatively reached out and lifted the lid to a pizza box- the works.

Dickie wrinkled his nose and dropped the lid. He slid the pizza box to the side and lifted the next lid- plain.

Morelli propped his foot up on the coffee table and started scarfing down his slice. His eyes were glued on the TV even as he reached for another beer. "For a man who fucked Joyce on a kitchen table, you're pretty picky."

"This dick doesn't discriminate." Dickie looked for napkins or maybe a plate and fork. His gaze slid towards the kitchen, filled with dirty dishes and probably moldy food in the cabinets. He suppressed a shudder to his very core. This man lived like Stephanie. "I just prefer to eat like a human instead of a mutt."

"Ever hear the saying, "Don't bite the hand that feeds you?" Morelli tossed the dog a slice of pizza. Bob's canines gleamed in the low light almost as much as the whites in Morelli's eyes. Both seemed too feral to keep in confined spaces. "You might want to keep that in mind."

Dickie slumped back into the couch, too concerned for the way Morelli and Bob were eyeing him to really worry about slobber and unidentified odors. He ate two pieces of pizza while Morelli finished off the rest of the beer and half the other pizza.

Morelli got up and went to the kitchen. The fridge lent an unhealthy glow to the dark kitchen as Morelli cursed under his breath. Morelli darted a glance from around the fridge door to Dickie and swore more. "Fucking out of beer."

Dickie opened his mouth to smart off but Bob growled, squinting one eye up at Dickie and he promptly shut his yap.

Cabinet doors were opened and closed. Bottles slid from one side to the other. Morelli came out of the kitchen with a full bottle of tequila.

Morelli pointed the bottle at Dickie. "I assume you're not too much of an asshole that you can't drink tequila?"

"I prefer to drink tequila with friends only."

Morelli snorted as he sat down on the couch and cracked the bottle open. "You aren't my type."

"I've heard everyone is your type."

"Funny. I've heard the same about you, asshole." Morelli took a generous gulp of liquor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Stephanie I presume?"

"She sure knows how to run her mouth."

"Yeah and she knows how to use it too." Morelli arched his brow as he drank straight from the bottle. He pointed at Dickie. "You a giver or receiver?"

"What?" Dickie sputtered. "What the fuck does that matter?"

"Don't fucking worry about it." Morelli took another drink and handed it over to Dickie. "Unless you're angling for something?"

"No." Dickie snatched the bottle away from Morelli and gulped the tequila down until his throat was on fire and his mind was swimming. The tequila burned a path down his throat to his stomach and killed whatever nerves fluttered around.

He pulled the bottle away long enough to take a deep breath and Morelli jerked the bottle away. There was something about the way Morelli was looking at him that Dickie thought maybe there was something else going on under the surface. Except Dickie didn't have the balls to figure it out. Better to just let it go and wait until he passed out before turning his back on Joe Morelli.

Morelli wiped the bottle on his shirt sleeve and took another drink. He settled into his side of the couch and sank back into the cushions. Dickie did the same. "You're too fucking tense."

"What do you mean?" Dickie's words were beginning to slur. It was a lot warmer in the living room than it had been just a few minutes prior.

Morelli made a motion with his finger, twirling it around towards Dickie. "Loosen up, asshole. You're not in a courtroom."

Morelli grabbed Dickie's tie and gave it a tug before snorting and returning to the bottle.

Dickie breathed a sigh of relief when Morelli let go. "Oh."

He tugged at his collar and loosened his tie. Unbuttoned the first button and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Dickie held out his hand and made a grabbing motion towards the bottle. Morelli eyed him as he took another swig.

"Give it to me, Morelli."

Morelli's dark eyes were glazed over as he brought the bottle back to his lips. Dickie watched as he tipped the bottle back, but didn't take Morelli didn't take his gaze off Dickie. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Dickie nervously laughed. The tequila had gone straight to his head. Everything was fuzzy. He felt warm all through his veins. Dickie's gaze flicked from the bottle up to Morelli's gaze. "Just give it to me, Joe."

Morelli slapped the bottle into Dickie's hand and it became of ritual until the fifth of tequila was empty. The TV was mindless commentary. Dickie wasn't really paying attention to it. He was paying attention to the man sitting on the couch beside him. The tension in the room was heavy and Dickie flicked several more buttons loose from his shirt. Morelli looked cool and calm, lounging in his t-shirt and jeans. His gun holster still hanging from his broad shoulders, framed his toned arms.

Dickie shut down that train of thought.

His head lolled back and caught Morelli's gaze. "She ever talk about me?"

"No," Morelli grunted. "Why?"

Dickie's shoulders slumped further. "You know you're fucking my ex-wife."

"Not the first time." Morelli shrugged his shoulder and his gaze cut back to the TV. "I'm not the last either."

"She fucked you over."

"You fucked her over." A muscle ticked in Morelli's jaw. "I just fuck her."

They sat in silence. An empty tequila bottle sat between them. Dickie focused his eyes on the TV for a brief second before closing his eyes. There was a faint smile tugging at his lips. The game was in the ninth with the Mets down by two runs. "I told you the Mets were going to lose."

"I told you to shut your mouth." Morelli dropped the bottle on the floor and grabbed a fistful of Dickie's shirt. Dickie's eyes flew open and his vision filled with a dark eyed tequila demon. "And if you can't shut it, I'll have to find a way to do it for you."

..::::..

Sunlight streamed through the blinds. The sheets were scratchy against his skin. The room smelled faintly of sex- fresh and stale. Dickie threw his forearm over his eyes and groaned.

He was in Morelli's bed.

Naked.

Dickie scrubbed a hand over his face. The tinkling of a cell phone sent the man in the shower swearing. The shower stopped and he heard Morelli swearing even more as Dickie heard slick feet skidding over wet tile. Dickie lay in complete silence trying to overhear any snippet of conversation, Morelli's side, and his agitation was apparent.

"It's work, ma."

"Sure, ma."

"I said it was work, ma. I can't talk about it. Don't you be talking about it. I can't have people knowing about this."

"I'm sure Stephanie wouldn't be happy about it, ma. I got no choice. It's work."

"I gotta go, ma."

Morelli threw open the bathroom door. Steam rolled into the chilly bedroom. Dickie slid his arm up enough to get an eyeful of Morelli standing in the doorway with nothing but a pair of boxer briefs riding low on his hips. Dickie's boxer briefs. The finely spun cashmere ones he spent a pretty penny on.

He looks better in them than I do. Dickie groaned in defeat. Morelli's ass would be the death of him. Dickie was sure of it.

But one thing was for sure. Stephanie was right.

Morelli was better.

..::The End (Thank God)::..

.

..::Bonus::..

.

"Oh for fuck's sakes Joe!" Stephanie stared at Morelli, jaw dropped, eyes wide. She held her hand out to stop him from coming any closer to her. "Are those Dickie's underwear?"

Written: May 10, 2012

Originally posted: July 25, 2012