Untitled
Pairing: M/m
Original
Waking up to the sounds of street noise just outside the window, Baxter Ryan stretched out naked beneath the thin sheet. Summer was still heavy in the air, and his cooling unit could not keep up with the oppressive swelter.
Arm thrown over his head, he pushed the sheet down past his hips hoping the stingy cool would help his sleep heated skin. Baxter stared up at the ceiling, scratching low on his belly. He could hear the tread of his neighbors.
Corrine, it would be, the steps were not that heavy. Most likely rocking the new baby on her shoulder while starting breakfast for George.
Lucky bastard.
Rolling out of bed, he stretched once more catching his reflection in the speckled mirror above the dresser. Not bad, he patted his stomach. His job demanded and kept him in shape, even pushing forty. Soft hair curled on his pecs, narrowing down to a trail towards his groin, thick and curly around his dick and balls.
Not bad at all, he smirked to himself. His bathroom was no more than a shower, a toilet, and a sink. The tepid water did not encourage a luxuriating lukewarm bath.
Dressing took even less time, standard trousers, shirt, tie, and jacket despite the heat. Halting, he stared back at his bed with its rumpled sheets. It had been some time since he had rolled around with a willing body. His hand had kept him decent company.
Faint sounds of a baby crying made him realize that maybe; just maybe, he had gotten lonely somewhere along the way.
*~*
The bagel from his local deli sat like a rock in his gut as he sat at his desk in the squad room. No new cases, just a stack of cold where he had left them day before. Still, the unrelenting heat brought out the mean and he would have a new case before his shift really got started.
“Ryan,” the sound of his name made Baxter look toward his commanding officer’s shoebox of an office. Needing no more of a summons, he cursed quietly when he banged his knee on the ancient metal desk. He flushed at the thought of limping, a sign of weakness.
Or stupidity.
Despite his years on the job, he had been on the same desk for almost five as a detective. Brass paid more, but he was comfortable. He did not buck for high profile cases or more authority.
Jess O’Malley told him over a beer countless time that he wanted to wring Baxter’s neck.
Now his friend and his boss merely stared him down as he stood before the desk waiting for the subtle nod that it was okay to sit.
“The chief has been looking over your record, Bax.” O’Malley began. Baxter did not whether or not to roll his eyes or hunch his shoulders. It seemed he and Jess had this conversation every six months or so.
“He has a new plan for you.”
The ready, pat arguments died on his tongue. He blinked owlishly caught off guard.
“You are to go to the station house on Roosevelt and pick up Sean Flannigan, a uniform that is showing potential. Chief says if you don’t want the bars, you can train someone who will.”
Baxter felt the heat crawl up his neck and burn his ears. He spoke without thinking, relying on his friendship rather than good sense.
“That’s bullshit, Jess, I have a high success rate of closing cases on my own and now I have to nursemaid a probie?”
O’Malley merely stared him down, dark gaze unwavering until Baxter closed his lips and gave into the need to hunch his shoulders.
“I could say you brought this on yourself, Baxter, but we’ve had that conversation too may times to count. You don’t want to play the political game, fine, but you are still an officer of the law and you will follow orders.
Flannigan should be receiving the news about now, clearing out his locker. A second desk will be moved in. Kid will be in your pockets whether you like it or not. Go pick him up. Who knows, you’ll probably have a case by the time you get back.”
*~*
He opted to walk, folding his jacket over his arm. Giving his bare arms a chance to breathe in the heat of the day. Traffic was busy, business was busy, and he dragged his feet.
He never really played well with others. He preferred to do things his own way.
Knowing officers and detectives in the Roosevelt house, he shot the shit and shook hands. His peers seemed to know why he was there, and their jaws flapped easily.
“We’re gonna miss Flan, he’s a good kid.”
“Take care of him, wine him and dine him before you break his murder cherry.”
“He’s gonna make you look good, Ryan.”
Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah.
Their commander was a hard assed woman name Allie Landeau.
“Commander.”
Baxter watched as a long lean form unfolded out of the chair across from Landeau. Cap under his arm, shoes shiny, blonde hair military short, he got his first look at his new trainee.
And the spit dried up on his tongue.
Kind blue eyes met his own soberly from a face that was fucking gorgeous.
“Detective Ryan, meet Sean Flannigan.”
Damn if his cock did not twitch.
He was so screwed.
Original
Waking up to the sounds of street noise just outside the window, Baxter Ryan stretched out naked beneath the thin sheet. Summer was still heavy in the air, and his cooling unit could not keep up with the oppressive swelter.
Arm thrown over his head, he pushed the sheet down past his hips hoping the stingy cool would help his sleep heated skin. Baxter stared up at the ceiling, scratching low on his belly. He could hear the tread of his neighbors.
Corrine, it would be, the steps were not that heavy. Most likely rocking the new baby on her shoulder while starting breakfast for George.
Lucky bastard.
Rolling out of bed, he stretched once more catching his reflection in the speckled mirror above the dresser. Not bad, he patted his stomach. His job demanded and kept him in shape, even pushing forty. Soft hair curled on his pecs, narrowing down to a trail towards his groin, thick and curly around his dick and balls.
Not bad at all, he smirked to himself. His bathroom was no more than a shower, a toilet, and a sink. The tepid water did not encourage a luxuriating lukewarm bath.
Dressing took even less time, standard trousers, shirt, tie, and jacket despite the heat. Halting, he stared back at his bed with its rumpled sheets. It had been some time since he had rolled around with a willing body. His hand had kept him decent company.
Faint sounds of a baby crying made him realize that maybe; just maybe, he had gotten lonely somewhere along the way.
*~*
The bagel from his local deli sat like a rock in his gut as he sat at his desk in the squad room. No new cases, just a stack of cold where he had left them day before. Still, the unrelenting heat brought out the mean and he would have a new case before his shift really got started.
“Ryan,” the sound of his name made Baxter look toward his commanding officer’s shoebox of an office. Needing no more of a summons, he cursed quietly when he banged his knee on the ancient metal desk. He flushed at the thought of limping, a sign of weakness.
Or stupidity.
Despite his years on the job, he had been on the same desk for almost five as a detective. Brass paid more, but he was comfortable. He did not buck for high profile cases or more authority.
Jess O’Malley told him over a beer countless time that he wanted to wring Baxter’s neck.
Now his friend and his boss merely stared him down as he stood before the desk waiting for the subtle nod that it was okay to sit.
“The chief has been looking over your record, Bax.” O’Malley began. Baxter did not whether or not to roll his eyes or hunch his shoulders. It seemed he and Jess had this conversation every six months or so.
“He has a new plan for you.”
The ready, pat arguments died on his tongue. He blinked owlishly caught off guard.
“You are to go to the station house on Roosevelt and pick up Sean Flannigan, a uniform that is showing potential. Chief says if you don’t want the bars, you can train someone who will.”
Baxter felt the heat crawl up his neck and burn his ears. He spoke without thinking, relying on his friendship rather than good sense.
“That’s bullshit, Jess, I have a high success rate of closing cases on my own and now I have to nursemaid a probie?”
O’Malley merely stared him down, dark gaze unwavering until Baxter closed his lips and gave into the need to hunch his shoulders.
“I could say you brought this on yourself, Baxter, but we’ve had that conversation too may times to count. You don’t want to play the political game, fine, but you are still an officer of the law and you will follow orders.
Flannigan should be receiving the news about now, clearing out his locker. A second desk will be moved in. Kid will be in your pockets whether you like it or not. Go pick him up. Who knows, you’ll probably have a case by the time you get back.”
*~*
He opted to walk, folding his jacket over his arm. Giving his bare arms a chance to breathe in the heat of the day. Traffic was busy, business was busy, and he dragged his feet.
He never really played well with others. He preferred to do things his own way.
Knowing officers and detectives in the Roosevelt house, he shot the shit and shook hands. His peers seemed to know why he was there, and their jaws flapped easily.
“We’re gonna miss Flan, he’s a good kid.”
“Take care of him, wine him and dine him before you break his murder cherry.”
“He’s gonna make you look good, Ryan.”
Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah.
Their commander was a hard assed woman name Allie Landeau.
“Commander.”
Baxter watched as a long lean form unfolded out of the chair across from Landeau. Cap under his arm, shoes shiny, blonde hair military short, he got his first look at his new trainee.
And the spit dried up on his tongue.
Kind blue eyes met his own soberly from a face that was fucking gorgeous.
“Detective Ryan, meet Sean Flannigan.”
Damn if his cock did not twitch.
He was so screwed.