Fic: Larger than Lifesize (We Become) NC-17

[neevebrody.livejournal.com]

THIS is the PWP that begged for a plot.

title: Larger than Lifesize (We Become)
author: neevebrody
rating: NC-17
words: ~7,300
warnings: a bit of angst
legal: Neither the characters nor Joe Flanigan belong to me. Damn.
beta: Combat pay (and cookies) to mischief5 for her awesome beta work/hand holding (I still tinkered) and thanks to my wonderful melagan for the words: "obstinate bastard." ♥
AN: I've given Vincent a surname here, which fits with my personal canon for this pairing, since we are given so little in actual canon. The title comes from the song Lifesize by A Fine Frenzy, particularly the lines: "all for love, we become, larger than lifesize, wondersome, great in the eyes of someone." To me, that epitomizes this pairing.


Larger than Lifesize (We Become)

The sound of Brendan's key in the lock dissolved what, for the past few hours, had been an iron grip on Vincent's stomach. In three strides, he was at the door. "Jesus, Brendan—are you—Freya called, said you—mmphh." The slamming door seemed to shake the entire apartment as Vince found himself against the wall, struggling to breathe as Brendan swallowed the rest of his words.

Brendan's mouth was hot and rough. Someone's low moan thrummed between them, vibrating against Vincent's tongue as he helped Brendan shed his jacket. Not at all the greeting Vince had expected, but not unwelcome. He wasted no time getting with the program, searching Brendan's mouth, quick hands pulling at his tie. Brendan let him go just long enough to pull the faded blue tee shirt over Vince's head, and then Brendan's hands were everywhere. Hot irons searing Vince's skin as they moved over his chest, around to his back, then up to cup his face.

Bits and pieces of Freya's phone call crept into Vince's thoughts and he tried to keep up. A hostage situation. Brendan caught in the middle. The buttons of Brendan's shirt were slick and uncooperative, and Vince's own lust flared white hot at the sound of the last few skittering across the floor. Not the first time, Freya had said, and he got it that things hadn't gone as planned the other time. With a clean jerk, he pulled Brendan's shirttail free of the navy pinstripes and snaked his hands beneath the undershirt where the skin was damp and hot and begged for his touch.

Funny, kissing Brendan, the touch of his skin, the sound of his voice, had all become as natural to him as breathing, yet he knew next to nothing of Brendan's past. Especially the parts he so efficiently packed up, compartmentalized, and hid away. Those parts that would sometimes darken Brendan's eyes with reticence, anesthetize his words, and leave a chilly tension in his muscles even when they made love.

He pushed all that out of his mind and concentrated on getting Brendan naked, but Brendan parried his every move. Something was different. The way Brendan touched him, the intensity of his kisses, the way Brendan had him pinned to the wall and pressing himself, hot and urgent, into the well of Vincent's hip. Hell, it was all different. It was as if Brendan thought he'd never have another chance to do any of it.

Hot, sticky breath and a wet stripe along his jaw derailed all other thoughts as Brendan dipped and laid claim to his neck. Vince moaned and turned his head, gladly offering more; the barest scrape of teeth shivered over his body as the backwash hardened his nipples. Christ. Even the way Brendan smelled was different: sweat and a bit of fear swirled around his musky arousal. So real Vince could taste it.

Brendan still hadn't spoken a word, just grunts and sighs, guttural, desperate, a possessive hand at Vince's crotch. He barely got another breath before Brendan's mouth was back, tongue pushing inside, hands freely roaming over Vince again, claiming handfuls of flesh, deep and hot, as if he wanted to own every… and that was… Vince knew, and the room started to spin under the weight of it, turning his knees to jelly.

The kisses turned more to deep pulls and gentle prodding that mirrored the rhythmic rocking of their bodies together, and when had that happened? Brendan's pulse throbbed in the puffy swell of his lips. It beat hard and fast on the tip of Vincent's tongue. He closed his eyes against the onslaught and, dear god, finally, Brendan's voice. Scorching Vincent's name across the space between them, over his skin, hot enough to make him nearly come in his pants.

"Yours," Vince breathed, feeling Brendan tremble as the word hung between them. "Oh fuck, Brendan… anything…"

Brendan pressed him harder to the wall with one hand while the other worked quickly to pop the button of Vincent's jeans, Vince helping wrestle them down to his thighs. He mouthed the sweat-laced skin across Brendan's stubbled jaw, down and around to his nape, then back to the curve where it met his shoulder, biting down just as Brendan found his cock. Hot and sweaty, Brendan's hand was rough; jerky, with no finesse but, Christ, it was good. "Anything," Vince repeated, letting his arms hang heavy at his side.

Brendan's tongue left its own slick trail along Vince's body, teasing hot across nipples so hard Vince shuddered when Brendan twisted one between his teeth, pulled hard, then soothed it with a quick breath. Vince carded through the damp hair at Brendan's neck and gently guided him lower.

Like a brand, the authoritative spread of Brendan's fingers burned Vincent's hips, anchoring him as Brendan's mouth hovered, floating warm breath over the head of his cock. He ached for the want of Brendan's mouth on him, and the sight of Brendan thumbing the foreskin over his cockhead to tease the slit brought a gush of precome that practically lifted Vince forward. "Whatever… whatever you want, Bren."

But it wasn’t the heat, wet and consuming him like a brushfire, that broke him. It wasn't even the way Brendan let him push in that had him suddenly pulsing down Brendan's throat.

It was the look in Brendan's eyes as he pulled back, finally looking up at Vince through dark lashes before taking him deep again, and that little growl at the back of his throat as he started to swallow. Right there, Vince pushed back against the pull of his own muscles and let go, the force of his orgasm bending him forward into blackness, jerking and shaking, hands sliding away from Brendan's shoulders down his back. Shaking still with the knowledge that Brendan was safe.

After a moment to clear his head, Vince dragged Brendan up to him. Tasting himself on Brendan's tongue, he rolled Brendan's name around between them, over and over, like some crazy mantra designed to convince him Brendan was really there in his arms.

"I'm all right," Brendan whispered, barely making a sound against Vince's lips. The words settled warm in his chest. That was all that really mattered. Draped around one another, skin against sweat-soaked skin, they stood for a while longer, until Vince's thighs began to tremble, until Brendan seemed to find his voice again, weak, the way his body felt in Vince's arms, imploring Vince to take him to bed.

He cleared his throat and nuzzled the flushed skin behind Brendan's ear. "What you need first is a good hot shower. Then I'll take you to bed."

"No, I need to…" Brendan bowed his head and leaned into Vince. "I wanna feel you, now."

You want to lose yourself in me, Vince thought, tilting Brendan's face upward. Use me to chase away the fear and the anger and anything else this day has dredged up. He swallowed hard at the blown pupils staring back at him, at the kiss-bruised lips that trembled under his thumb, and god, that was just… Leaning forward, he trapped them, as gently as the fingers twining through his hair. "Anything, Bren," Vince replied. Blinking back the sting in his eyes, he added dryly, "Can I at least undress you first?"

Brendan nodded, the hint of a smile half realized then lost. "Vince?" His voice still seemed to quaver under the weight of something. Something Vince thought he understood. Like whenever Brendan left the house on assignment, or when he'd go away for days at a time.

Smoothing the hair away from Brendan's temples, he bracketed the handsome face, locking their gaze. "I'm right here, Brendan. Not going anywhere, except to bed… with you. Just try and get rid of me." With one last kiss, he pushed off from the wall, his legs steady and able to take the weight of both of them, and steered Brendan toward the bedroom.

~~~~

The forty-watt bulb produced scant light to combat the darkness, but offered just enough to comfort, just enough to sheen the outline of Brendan's naked body; the swells and dips Vince knew like his own featured prominently in highlight and shadow. Vince lay on his side, head pillowed on his bent elbow and stroked lazily across Brendan's chest. The sheets were damp with their scent and if Vince could have any moment in time for his own, it would be this one. The thump and whir of the central air unit was familiar and soothing and he closed his eyes as the cool, forced air began to settle over him.

He took a deep breath. The sex had been incredible, but intense; he'd feel the fullness of Brendan inside him for days, but he wasn't complaining. The way Brendan had fucked him had been different, too, but not in the way Vince had expected. Not possessive. Loving, but protective. Brendan had bent him forward, one arm a strong hold around his chest, and molded himself to the contours of Vince's body. Brendan's cheek had buzzed hot against his shoulder as Brendan had pushed into him with short, close strokes. Strokes that had steadily massaged Vince until the coil of pleasure wrapped around the base of his spine had threatened to unravel again and overtake him.

That's when Brendan had flipped him, had held his legs back as far they'd go, and started a different kind of rhythm: urgent, rough, pulling back all the way before plunging in deep. Coming again didn't seem possible, but he'd been wrong. Brendan had leaned forward, determined look in his eyes, taken hold of Vince's cock and kissed him. Hard. Slamming into him faster and faster until, finally, Brendan himself had stiffened like solid rock, then jerked helplessly, filling Vincent, making him shiver with a last spasm of his own.

He trailed his fingers one last time over Brendan's stomach, over dry skin cooled by the curling air, then let his hand rest there. Brendan seemed calm now, eyes closed, his breathing slow and even again, but he was still tight, his muscles twitching occasionally. Any other time, Vince would have already been up and in the shower. Brendan too, but he was satisfied to lie there until Brendan made a move. For that matter, Brendan was a little too quiet. Vince sighed into the crook of his arm and swore not to unsettle that calm, not to ask what he desperately wanted to know.

Brendan could be that way after sex, cool and detached, but it always left Vince with a feeling he would best describe as incomplete. Though to be fair, he'd never known a more passionate lover than Brendan. And rightfully so, he'd worked damned hard on bringing that passion to the surface. He'd broken rules and pushed their boundaries from the very beginning and he loved the way Brendan was so responsive to him. It was indescribable; being on the receiving end of all that repressed lust, all that hidden need to be touched and loved.

Watching Brendan come apart cost Vince a little piece of himself every time but, god, it was so worth it. The way Brendan would shudder with his own abandon, arch his hips forward and throw his head back. And that look on his face when he'd finally open his eyes. Sated, but searching, Vince always thought, for approval and acceptance. He'd always given Brendan that and he loved being the one to put that look there. Loved knowing he was the one who could take all those shattered and lost pieces and put Brendan back together… only he still couldn't figure out how to do that and not leave those damn walls of Brendan's intact. Like now, sometimes they'd go back up even before the sheets were dry.

It seemed no matter how good they were together; no matter how much time had passed, a barrier remained.

Vince gazed over his lover, eyes lingering until they reached Brendan's and found him staring. He grinned, but it quickly faded when Brendan didn't smile back.

"What did Freya tell you?" Brendan asked.

Damn, he certainly didn't figure Brendan would be the one to bring it up. He tried to school what he was sure was a much too concerned look. "Just that you'd been involved with a hostage situation, that you were all right and should be home soon—"

"That's all?"

Vince stared into those chameleon eyes. They held him, glowing green-gold in the lamplight. Those eyes that wouldn't accept even a little white lie. His heart began to beat faster. Screw it, Brendan would just have to be pissed. Freya had thought he should know, and that was good enough for Vince. "No," he answered, somewhat subdued. He slid his hand up Brendan's arm as though, if he let go, Brendan might disappear. "She said you'd been in a situation like this once before, before you guys started working together… a random thing and I—I gathered it didn't go well."

"Anything else?" And there it was, the chill in Brendan's voice and the sudden woodenness in his touch.

Vince shrugged. "Just that the incident also involved some partner of yours…" He let it go at that and pulled a little closer to Brendan, tangling their feet together, grateful when Brendan didn't pull away.

"It's true," Brendan said after a moment then blew out a long breath. He folded one arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling as he spoke. "Happened a year or so before Freya and I met. I was new to the NSA and not sure which track I wanted to follow, so I opted for a co-op program with local law enforcement. We worked in tandem with local LEOs and I'd gotten to know this detective from the 2-7 while on a stake-out together."

Adrenaline slashed its way up Vincent's chest, and he had to take a deep breath to keep it from racing over his entire body.

"She was brash and ambitious, but she was one hell of a cop. On the fast track for a gold shield. Had a lot of high-profile collars, her name in the papers, yadda, yadda…"

A slow warming crept over Vincent's skin, but he pulled the edge of the sheet over him just the same. He suddenly felt very naked.

"… we kind of hit it off and worked well together on a few other cases, but she wasn't really my..." Brendan turned to him. "Vince, we were… we had more than a professional relationship."

Those eyes held nothing for him, no apology, and no justification. The words just hung between them, colored in a shade of sadness he couldn't quite place. Vince nodded. Did Brendan still have feelings for this person, or was it that he didn't really want to tell him about it?

Brendan turned away and continued. "One day I was over having lunch at Liebman's Deli. It was near the 2-7, and Sharon and I were supposed to meet there. She was detained for some reason, so I went ahead and ordered. The place was quiet for lunchtime and, looking around, I notice this guy sitting alone, drinking coffee and muttering to himself, which isn't all that unusual, but the guy just seemed buggy, you know. He kept looking over at this table of teenagers, getting more agitated by the minute."

"So you, being you, decided to go over and see what his problem was."

"Only the guy jumps up before I can get there and grabs one of the girls sitting at the table." Brendan paused before going on. "He's got this huge fucking knife, waving it around until he can back himself and the girl into a corner. Two old ladies are losing it at a table near the door and the owner comes around the counter cursing a blue streak for the guy to get the hell out of his shop. That's when he puts the knife to the girl's throat and orders the owner to lock the door and pull the shades." Brendan took another breath and Vince finally let go of his arm, satisfied and maybe a little frightened that Brendan wasn't going anywhere but to the end of this.

"The girl's crying—she's thin, wearing jeans and a Giants football jersey. The whole place is going apeshit, and all the time, I'm trying to edge my way carefully into a position where I can take a shot, until the guy finally notices me. I've got my hand inside my jacket, but he's faster, just whips the girl around in front of him, and then—there was no way—nothing I could do." Brendan's voice turned as vacant as his stare. "It was too dark and I—there was no doubt in my mind he'd kill that girl… so I—I backed off.

"Then the guy starts ranting about cops, about city management, about the Mission where he was staying – corner of Eskew and 12th Street – and how nobody does anything about the conditions. So I told him I had contacts at City Hall and maybe he'd like to talk with the Mayor or something. I was just blowing smoke, but it seemed to calm him down. He flicked his knife toward the counter and the phone, but I told him my cell would be quicker."

Brendan paused again. His face wasn't blank anymore, but difficult to read. It had to be torture to be able to remember every detail so vividly and Vince ached thinking how many times Brendan might have relived the incident. He suddenly wanted to cradle Brendan in his arms and tell him to stop, that he didn't need to hear any more, that it didn't matter… but if Brendan could talk this thing out, maybe it would stop haunting him. "And then what happened?" he prodded.

"I called Sharon. Hell, it was her turf—she was right around the corner. The guy had no idea I was talking to a cop. I told her about the Mission and his ranting, trying to get her to see what a fruit loop he was without saying hostage-taker outright. It was a damn thin line. And then she wanted me to get his name. I was sure he wouldn't give it to me, but he did. Sylvester Arnold." Brendan shrugged. "I think he really believed I was getting him an appointment to see the Mayor."

"I try and tell her without giving it away that I think we can diffuse the situation easily. I check with Arnold if that's all right, would he go with these people from the Mayor's office and he agrees. I cup my hand over the phone and ask if he'll let the girl go while he waits. In fact, just let everybody go, and he says he will, but not until he sees that they mean to take him. When I tell Sharon again that this will work, and she knows what I mean, she tells me not to trust the guy, just to keep him talking until she gets there."

Vince shifted and let Brendan's words wash over him. Brendan had trusted her.

"I laid it out as best I could, thought she trusted me to assess the situation. Jesus, even Arnold trusted me… kept thanking me for helping him, for chrissakes." Brendan breathed deeply and turned over to face Vince. He took Brendan's hand and held it, brushing dry lips over the knuckles before daring to look back into Brendan's eyes.

"She called me once she was outside," he went on. "Told me she had a plainclothes with her and I tell Arnold they're ready. He starts to walk toward the door and then stops, flicks the knife again wanting me to let them in. The second I get the door open, she comes in and makes the guy—next thing I know, she's drawing her weapon, on her radio, an ESU team storms in. She doesn't even look at me; everyone has their weapon trained on Arnold." Brendan's voice faltered. "And I see it in Arnold's eyes, Vince… he doesn't give a shit, he's gonna fucking do it. And I'm trying to fight my way back to him, screaming for the cops to back off."

Brendan stopped; he seemed not to breathe, and when he continued, his voice was cold and clear, like he was reciting by rote, unaffected, professional. "But the girl goes down before I can get to them. Some asshole slams me into a table and I hear three shots. Sharon finally comes over in the mad rush to get Arnold and the girl out of there—satisfied look on her face. Christ, for a minute, I think she's going to thank me." His mouth seemed to form a smirk all on its own. "Seems they'd been looking at Arnold as a suspect in a string of homeless murders in the Mission District. Information she could have shared with me but didn't."

"Bren—"

Brendan kept going, as if he hadn't heard. "Donna Kaye Stimson. That was the girl's name. She didn't—" His voice finally broke. "She was fourteen years old. Fourteen fucking…"

Breath caught hard in Vince's chest and held there as Brendan curled into him. "Jesus, Brendan, that—it wasn't your fault. You did—"

"Bullshit! I called her." He tried to pull away.

"And what makes you think anyone else would have acted differently? Procedures… you know th—"

"What I know… Vince… is it didn't have to end that way. I trusted her, and all she cared about… it didn't have to end that way."

Brendan was soaked in sweat as he ran shaking fingers through Brendan's hair. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against dampened skin. "What happened to Arnold?" he asked. He really needed to know now, needed Brendan to purge it all. He'd take it if necessary, keep it and hold it, and if Brendan ever needed to think on it again, Vince would be there.

"Ended up in surgery for nine hours. DNA, fingerprints… neither one a match for the evidence they'd collected on those murders." Brendan's eyes were no longer vacant and Vince tried to avoid them. "He died two days later," Brendan finished.

Vince sighed. That left… "And Sharon?"

Brendan shook his head. "Last time I saw her was in the hallway the day of the Internal Affairs investigation. From what I heard, the incident didn't keep her from her gold shield. Someone later told me she'd transferred. New Mexico or Texas, I don't know."

"So that's why you always refused to work with a partner… until Freya."

Brendan didn't meet his eyes and gave him a lame, "Well, for the record, they foisted Freya on me. I had no say."

"Now who's the bullshitter? You and Freya are great together. You trust her, Bren. You've learned to depend on her." He hooked Brendan's chin and lifted it. Those eyes could be distant, but they didn't lie. And maybe now wasn't the right time, but he didn't seem to be able to stop himself. "So why can't you do the same with me?"

"I trust you," Brendan answered, stiffening.

"Then you don't trust yourself," Vincent countered. "You hold back. What, you think I can't tell?"

Brendan looked at him; eyebrows hopelessly knit together, lips forming a tight, thin line. Vince had hit a nerve. "It's not easy for me. I trust you… it's just…"

He let go of Brendan and hefted himself up on his elbow. "Just what?

Brendan answered him by sitting up and turning his back. It was like a goddamn forbidden door, a room he was prohibited from entering without any explanation, and Vince was sick and fucking tired of being kept out. "Perfect," he snapped, getting up. Since his jeans were still in a heap on the foyer floor, he took a fresh pair from his dresser. "Just shut me out like you always do." He pulled the dark denim up over his bare hips and tucked himself in.

"I don't," Brendan answered, a little too forcibly.

"Like hell you don't," Vince shot back, rifling through the drawer for a suitably worn tee shirt. "I told you a long time ago I wanted all of you, but you just can't do it, can you?" The bed squeaked as Brendan stood up. The weight of his stare was unbearable.

"What are you doing?" Brendan asked.

Against his better judgment, Vince looked up. Brendan's face held confusion and hurt. He understood that Brendan had taken a big step in telling him about Sharon, about the entire incident, and as bad as he felt for Brendan, it wasn't about that. It wasn't any one thing. "Until you're ready to do this once and for all, I think I'll go for a walk."

"Do what?" Brendan asked as he bent down and stepped into his trousers.

Vince scrubbed his hand across his face then looked Brendan in the eye. Dammit, he'd started this, so he may as well just get it out in the open and be done with it. "I know what it took for you to tell me about this, I do, but I don't need to hear about every stakeout you've ever been on or every suspect you've ever interrogated or even every woman you've ever fucked." Vince took a step closer. His heart beat wildly and his ears grew hot and… fuck. "What I need is all of you, Brendan. Whether we're having dinner, having sex or watching the Knicks, not someone who holds back out of fear."

Brendan's eyes blazed; his face flushed scarlet to the tips of his ears.

Vince turned and walked away. He got as far as the end of the hallway.

"Oh, no." Brendan grabbed his wrist from behind and shoved him back against the wall, fist white-knuckled, stretching Vince's shirt. "You started this shit, now let's finish it. I am not afraid of—"

"Oh, come on, Brendan. I'd like to leave this apartment once on my own with seeing that look on your face."

An arc of red spread over Brendan's chest to match the flush on his face. "What look?"

"The one that says you're scared shitless I won't come back." He exhaled sharply and let that settle between them, his head pounding with a mother of a headache. "It's that same closed door in your eyes sometimes after we have sex." He touched his fingertips to Brendan's cheek, his voice softening a little. "It just gets better and better, but you still leave me behind… a part of you… a place I can't get to. I—"

Brendan's smirk was as good as a slap. "Yeah, that's your answer for everything isn't it, Vince? Sex."

Brendan hit the opposite wall so hard it shook, knocking a framed picture to the carpeted floor. Heat flared in Vincent hard and fast and the only thing he could think was to get out of there before things turned any uglier. He had his hand on the front door knob when Brendan caught up with him, grabbed him and pinned Vince's arms behind his back.

"You fucking bastard, you aren't going anywhere until this is over. Go wherever the fuck you want then, but we're going to finish this."

"Ah, there it is… tough guy." He fought against Brendan's hold. "You always pull that shit… make the wall that much thicker, so I won't even bother. That's what you want, isn't it, Brendan? You just want me to give up and let you hide whenever you want… and, maybe I should… maybe…" He paused, listening to Brendan's forced breathing.

When he spoke, Brendan's voice was dangerously calm, even over the tremulous undercurrent. "You got anything else on your chest… you better get it off right now."

"No, I'm done. It's your turn. Why don't you just admit it… you think one day I'm just going to walk out on you. Christ, you probably prepare yourself every day to come home and find me gone." His shoulders began to ache. His pulse throbbed in his ears with every word, and each one seemed an echo of his own fear. God, could he just please go back to bed with Brendan and start this day over?

Brendan's grip loosened, but his words pierced the air as he raised his voice. "What the hell difference does it make anyway? Why is that so fucking important to you?"

Vince jerked his arms away and ran both hands through his hair; his head was literally going to explode. "Because, Brendan, goddamn it…" He pressed hard against his temples. "…because I love you… you obstinate bastard. That clear enough for you?" he asked, turning his head to the side. "Need me to spell it out?" He imagined the look on Brendan's face and, for a moment, the room seemed a vacuum: no sound, no movement. He was barely breathing, and then all the fight was gone, leaving him weak. "Jesus, how is it possible you don't know that?"

He shivered as Brendan's warm hands finally slid up his back and hooked over his shoulders, closing his eyes at the phantom breath across his neck. He waited for Brendan to say something, praying he hadn't fucked things up for good. But all Brendan did was pull him closer. Not that that surprised him much; it might be next week before Brendan found the words, if then. But it was important to have said it and he hoped it would prove worth opening that particular vein.

Vince cut his eyes at the door and took a deep breath.

When it was clear Brendan had nothing to say, Vince pulled away, edged past him and stepped into the kitchen. He was carrying a folded sheaf of papers when he returned. "First off, if I even had it in mind to bolt, I wouldn't do something like this." He slapped the papers into Brendan's hand then headed for the door.

As Brendan started to ask where he was going, he waved him off. "I just really need that walk," he replied without turning around.

~~~~

Brendan took a step to the door. The need to call Vince back burned like a hot coal on his tongue, but he didn't do it. That would play right into Vince's argument and he'd be damned if… The things Vince had said slowly began to click. He was finally hearing them, processing them and the only explanation for the tightness in his chest and what little anger he had left was that Vince was right.

Okay, so Vince was right… so it was time for him to face this and deal with it. No big deal, right? Right… just the entire relationship riding on it, Brendan, that's all. He rolled the papers Vince had given him between his hands and stared at the empty space where Vince had stood seconds before. Then there was that other thing Vince had said.

From the moment Vincent Karvelas had walked into his life, there'd been something between them. Dislike and annoyance, he recalled, were the first to come to mind. But, if he was honest, that had only been a convenient mask for his own confusion. He used it to hide an attraction he didn't understand. But Vince would never let it rest, and once Brendan had given in and slept with the man, once he'd given away a part of himself he hadn't even gotten to know yet, the fear that he wouldn't be able to keep what he'd found had crept in and made itself at home.

Since then, he'd only gotten himself in deeper and had lived a slave to that fear. He unfurled the roll of papers and blinked stupidly as he flipped through them all. He could barely feel his feet as he walked to the den and collapsed on the couch, heart pounding, and his stomach knotted with cramps. He wasn't sure for how long, but he sat there staring at nothing in particular until his eyelids grew heavy.

~~~~

It was dark and he was falling… until he jerked awake. Pain pinched his neck as he straightened up and his head felt so heavy as he tried to orient himself. Still in the den. Lights were all on. How long had he…? An annoying chirping sounded somewhere in the apartment. He jumped up and stumbled his way to the bedroom, adrenaline pushing him down the hall by its own sheer force, his heart beating with a totally different rhythm. Where was Vince? He fumbled around the bed for his cell phone, hoping it wasn't the local police or the hospital. Finally. It lay forgotten beneath the bedclothes they'd kicked away. He took a deep breath and answered. It was Freya.

~~~~

"Where is he?" Brendan asked, brushing past Freya and up the steps into her apartment. He'd only been there a few times, but when he didn't see Vince anywhere in the big open space, he turned back to her and repeated his question.

The look she basted him with as she passed was all too familiar and never failed to make him feel five years old.

"What?" he said to her back, as he followed her toward the kitchen. "You said Vince was here." A tan sports jacket and a few books caught his eye as he passed the dining room table, causing him to do a double take; they certainly didn't belong to Vincent.

When he turned back, Freya was right there, eyebrow cocked with a glance in the direction of the table. "That is not your concern. Here," she said, handing him a steaming mug. "I made coffee."

He took it, face warming and ears prickling in silent acceptance of her admonition. Shaking off his thoughts of who might belong to that jacket, he took a seat at the kitchen island and mumbled his thanks.

Freya leaned on the island, her own mug in hand, and smiled at him. "He's all right." She nodded toward the spiral staircase. "I put him in the guest room. Told him he could stay the night, but then I thought I'd better call you."

"Yeah, thanks for thinking of me."

"He's a big boy, Brendan."

He sipped the hot, black coffee, looked up at Freya and said nothing. He didn't have to.

"So, you two had a fight?"

Oh, shit. Had Vince talked to her? He took another sip, trying to clear his mind without the aid of cartoon theme songs… Freya really hated that.

"You want to talk about it?"

He looked into the blackness of his mug. "Coffee's good."

"Brendan?"

"Not especially, no," he answered. He didn't even want to think about what she might know already.

"Okay then," she said brightly. "I'll talk." And after pouring them more coffee, she did.

~~~~

He opened the door slowly and crept inside the guest room. The hardwood floor moaned in protest, not at all conducive to stealth. The figure on the bed stirred and the coffee stung his empty stomach as he came around the side. Silvery light from the windows bathed the sleek wood of the room in a kind of translucent brilliance, throwing a shimmery spotlight on Vince in particular. He stared down at the man who shared his bed and owned his heart. Afraid? Damn right, he was afraid. One thing was sure… he could never go back to the way his life was before. Vince had changed everything.

Looking around, he found a chair and pulled it up beside the bed. When he turned back, Vince stirred again and blinked his eyes open. "Hey," Brendan said as he sat down.

Vince ground the heel of his hand to his eye and squinted up at Brendan. "Thought Freya wasn't gonna call you." His voice was thick and sleepy.

"She changed her mind, thought I'd be worried." He shifted and crossed and uncrossed his arms over his knees. "We, uhm, had coffee and talked… or rather she talked and I listened."

Vince grinned, or maybe he was just trying to focus. "Were you?" he asked.

"Uh, was I what?" Brendan was painfully aware of sounding like a giant dork.

"Worried."

Half a dozen thoughts were scrambled inside Brendan's head. Questions, things he really wanted to say, but the way Vince looked – all tousled and warm – what he really wanted was crawl into bed with him and start over. But then, that wasn't facing up to anything, was it? And it sure as hell wasn't dealing.

"Look, Brendan, I'm sorry…" Vince pulled himself up and scrubbed a hand across his chin. The sound made Brendan think of how many times he'd been awakened by that rough stubble digging into his shoulder. "I never meant to make it seem this was all on you. C'mere."

The empty spot beside Vince called him like a Siren. And he was almost up out of his seat, but… oh, hell no. If he got himself tangled up in those arms and legs and lips, he'd never do this. And he had to do this. "No. No, you were right."

Vince sat up and crossed his legs, still rubbing his eyes. Brendan looked from the bare feet to the worn sandals on the floor and tried to think of just when Vince had put them on.

"Vince." He sighed, rubbing his palms over his thighs. He stopped when he saw Vince watching. "I'm a 'feet on the ground' kind of guy… you know, rules, logic… I'm used to analyzing a situation from every angle… and, well, you know that… but I think, well, I think I may have made the mistake of doing that with our, uh, with…" Oh yeah, you're floundering, Dean, in major danger of going under here. He stood up and began to pace. "If. If I held back… it was so when the day came that you decided to move on, you wouldn't… what I mean is…"

"Take so much of you with me?" Vince finished for him.

Brendan swallowed hard at that. His ears had gone pink, he was sure of it. It was damned disconcerting to have someone know him so well. Kind of like Freya, but… not. He turned back to face Vince. Jesus, hostage negotiations, takedowns, security risks, he could take all that in stride, but this was… hard. "Something like that."

Vince stuffed the pillows behind him and leaned back. "See, Bren, that's something I don't understand. You take risks every day. You—"

"That's my job," he snapped. "I can't change that… I don't think about that… I do what I do to catch the bad guys, to protect people, to keep order and to keep them safe."

"Funny," Vince said, staring down at his hands. "That's the thing I love most about you." He looked up then, looked as if he wanted to say more, but they just stared at one another, a long, drawn out, emotional chasm between them. "It's just," he continued after a few moments, "you're right, you don't think about those risks, but I do. I think about them."

Something Freya had mentioned nudged his brain and made him blush warm. He'd honestly never thought of things from Vince's side, at least not anything having to do with them. Was it possible that this strong, beautiful man had fears of his own?

"It just seems strange to me that the one risk that could net you everything is the one you're afraid to take."

Brendan stopped his pacing. He'd always seen their relationship through the eyes of what it couldn't be instead of what it could. Was he even ready for what it could be? A cold shiver ran along his spine. "That's also the one where I can lose it all," he pointed out.

"That's why it's called a risk, Brendan." Vince shifted, like he was making room for Brendan to sit down. "I realize what my past must seem like, okay. I was unattached, I moved around, so what? Did you ever think that might have been because I never found a place I wanted to stay?"

Brendan turned his eyes to the floor.

"Look, I can't sit here and promise you we'll never have problems. I can't guarantee you anything, Brendan. Just believe that I'm happy—I've found the place I want to stay."

And for a second, he wished Vince really could make that promise, write it in blood, carve it in stone… something, anything.

"There are no sure things, Bren, and if we're honest with ourselves… we wouldn't want it any other way. We're not special… we're no different from anyone else. Some things we'll have to work at, some we won't… so, we'll work at them… both of us." Vince patted the bed next to him.

Brendan sat down, but he kept his kiss brief. "There seems to be an application to law school back at the apartment. You care to explain that?"

Color shaded Vince's cheeks. Brendan always found that so damn cute, especially if Vince bit his lip at the same time to try to keep from grinning, which he did, and then said, "Told you…tired of not pulling my own weight."

"But law school? I didn't even know… why didn't you say any—"

"You never asked."

Okay, that was fair enough. Now that he thought of it, he had never asked Vince anything about his past, and the only things Vince had ever told him were amusing stories, apropos of nothing, or a few things here and there about his family.

"You never asked about anything… like you didn't want to know too much about me."

Brendan pulled back and looked down at Vince's hands folded in his lap.

"It's something I've wanted for a long time," Vince said quietly. "Something my Uncle Mikolas always wanted for me…"

Vincent's uncle had meant the world to him; the only real father Vince had ever known. Brendan knew that, and it made him feel sorry and maybe a little foolish that he'd been reluctant to know about Vince's past. Definitely one of those things they could work on.

"…I promised him before he died. He left me a small trust fund from his estate and the boat, only the money was just for law school. I decided it couldn't hurt to take a couple of years and work to save up the rest." Brendan started as Vince touched his shoulder and stroked fingers down his arm, looking up at him from beneath dark wisps of hair. "It'll mean long hours and lots of studying… I'm not sure I can do this without you, Bren."

There might have been a multitude of eyes and ears on him, eagerly awaiting his response. He cleared his throat and traced the curve of Vince's lip. Looking into Vince's eyes, he spoke clearly. He needed Vince to hear it, to believe it. "You won't have to," he said softly. To seal it, he leaned in close. "Clear enough?" he asked, kissing Vince again. "Sure I don't have to spell it out for you?"

Vince shook his head and, thank god, gave him one of those toe-curling grins. "No… just take me home."

"I'm proud of you," Brendan said with one more kiss.

"Well, save that. I'm not in yet. I mean, it's not Columbia or even NYU, but—"

Brendan pressed his fingers to Vince's mouth. Even rumpled, sweaty and humble, Vince smelled good. "Let's go. You can take me to bed for another…" he looked at his watch, "…two and a half hours and tell me all about it."

Vince pursed his lips in a mock pout. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it?"

Brendan would have grinned back, but he was too busy fending off a stream of shivers from the brush of Vince's hand across his cheek, the fondness that shone in Vince's eyes, and how he could make "home" sound like home.