FIC: "Over", Mike Logan/Lennie Briscoe
Title: Over
Author: hawkeyecat
Fandom: Law & Order: The Original Series
Medium: Television
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Mike Logan/Lennie Briscoe
Theme: A is for Amuck: In a frenzy to do violence or kill; in or into a jumbled or confused state; in or into an uncontrolled state or a state of extreme activity; crazed with murderous frenzy.
Disclaimer: Hah. I wish.
Word Count: 566
Author’s Notes: Spoilers for Season 4, Episode 17 “Mayhem”. Yes, Gotham and New York are one and the same. Edited at jessebee's suggestion.
So much for Lennie’s tickets. The game was too far over for it to be worth the drive, and the day had been too long for it to be enjoyable. Besides, Mike really needed to get his shirt and coat cleaned up. The guy with the burrito had done a number on them. All he wanted to do at this point was get something to eat and a cold Guinness, followed by collapsing on his couch in front of the TV. Maybe he’d just stay there for the night. Five cases, two detectives, and one day was heavy, even by New York’s standards. Maybe it was par for the course in Harlem alone, but this was all of Manhattan. People everywhere killed each other, he supposed; it was somehow basic for big groups, and it didn’t get much bigger than Gotham.
Lennie was saying something, he realized. “…couple calzones sound good?”
Mike shook his head to clear it. “What?”
“You go off on me there?” Lennie looked amused. “Asked if you wanted to grab a couple of calzones and go see if we can catch the highlights on ESPN.”
“Sounds good.” Mike caught himself mid-yawn. “’ll get my car.”
Lennie’s voice lowered, rich and warm. “We could just take one.”
“I am too tired to drive, now that you mention it.” He slid into the passenger’s seat of Lennie’s unmarked.
As he closed the driver’s door, Lennie smirked over at him. “And you say you’re not easy.”
“Feed me, and I’m yours.”
“We’ll order in.” Lennie started the car, and Mike leaned back into the seat. The interminable day of death was finally over.
At Mike’s building-Lennie always insisted his apartment was too small for one guy, let alone two, even though they might frequently be attached at the hips-Mike made a beeline for the elevator. His couch sounded like a really great option just then. He sagged against the wall and waited to reach his floor.
Despite the whack he’d taken from the frying pan to his arm earlier, his hands seemed to be working fine as he unlocked the door. Mike was about to flop down on the couch when Lennie’s arms reached around and pulled him close. Suddenly, relaxing into Lennie seemed like a much better option than the couch cushions.
After a kiss pressed to his neck, though, Lennie let go, and Mike grumbled his discontent.
“Food’s not going to appear on its own,” Lennie pointed out. “One of us needs to order it.”
Mike toed off his shoes and lined them up next to the couch before stretching along it. “Like I told you, feed me and I’m yours.”
“Like you weren’t already?” Lennie headed for the take-out menus before Mike could come up with a reply.
When the calzones arrived, Mike was still sprawled out on the couch, his head in Lennie’s lap, fingers combing idly through his hair. They ate in front of the TV, and Mike didn’t mention that, between the tomato sauce and the shape of the thing, the calzone reminded him of some horrible combination of Burrito Guy and D’Angelo, the Bobbitt imitator. He opted against the beer, figuring it wasn’t the best thing to drink around Lennie, and settled for water to cool the burn of the steaming marinara against his tongue. It seemed that even the most hellish days could end well.
Author: hawkeyecat
Fandom: Law & Order: The Original Series
Medium: Television
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Mike Logan/Lennie Briscoe
Theme: A is for Amuck: In a frenzy to do violence or kill; in or into a jumbled or confused state; in or into an uncontrolled state or a state of extreme activity; crazed with murderous frenzy.
Disclaimer: Hah. I wish.
Word Count: 566
Author’s Notes: Spoilers for Season 4, Episode 17 “Mayhem”. Yes, Gotham and New York are one and the same. Edited at jessebee's suggestion.
So much for Lennie’s tickets. The game was too far over for it to be worth the drive, and the day had been too long for it to be enjoyable. Besides, Mike really needed to get his shirt and coat cleaned up. The guy with the burrito had done a number on them. All he wanted to do at this point was get something to eat and a cold Guinness, followed by collapsing on his couch in front of the TV. Maybe he’d just stay there for the night. Five cases, two detectives, and one day was heavy, even by New York’s standards. Maybe it was par for the course in Harlem alone, but this was all of Manhattan. People everywhere killed each other, he supposed; it was somehow basic for big groups, and it didn’t get much bigger than Gotham.
Lennie was saying something, he realized. “…couple calzones sound good?”
Mike shook his head to clear it. “What?”
“You go off on me there?” Lennie looked amused. “Asked if you wanted to grab a couple of calzones and go see if we can catch the highlights on ESPN.”
“Sounds good.” Mike caught himself mid-yawn. “’ll get my car.”
Lennie’s voice lowered, rich and warm. “We could just take one.”
“I am too tired to drive, now that you mention it.” He slid into the passenger’s seat of Lennie’s unmarked.
As he closed the driver’s door, Lennie smirked over at him. “And you say you’re not easy.”
“Feed me, and I’m yours.”
“We’ll order in.” Lennie started the car, and Mike leaned back into the seat. The interminable day of death was finally over.
At Mike’s building-Lennie always insisted his apartment was too small for one guy, let alone two, even though they might frequently be attached at the hips-Mike made a beeline for the elevator. His couch sounded like a really great option just then. He sagged against the wall and waited to reach his floor.
Despite the whack he’d taken from the frying pan to his arm earlier, his hands seemed to be working fine as he unlocked the door. Mike was about to flop down on the couch when Lennie’s arms reached around and pulled him close. Suddenly, relaxing into Lennie seemed like a much better option than the couch cushions.
After a kiss pressed to his neck, though, Lennie let go, and Mike grumbled his discontent.
“Food’s not going to appear on its own,” Lennie pointed out. “One of us needs to order it.”
Mike toed off his shoes and lined them up next to the couch before stretching along it. “Like I told you, feed me and I’m yours.”
“Like you weren’t already?” Lennie headed for the take-out menus before Mike could come up with a reply.
When the calzones arrived, Mike was still sprawled out on the couch, his head in Lennie’s lap, fingers combing idly through his hair. They ate in front of the TV, and Mike didn’t mention that, between the tomato sauce and the shape of the thing, the calzone reminded him of some horrible combination of Burrito Guy and D’Angelo, the Bobbitt imitator. He opted against the beer, figuring it wasn’t the best thing to drink around Lennie, and settled for water to cool the burn of the steaming marinara against his tongue. It seemed that even the most hellish days could end well.