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perpetual_motionTitle: Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mock Trial Regionals [15/?]
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order
Pairings: Ed/Lupo, Jack/Mike Cutter, Mike/Connie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jack, Mike, mock trial regionals, and Lennie trying to help.
Dis: Bullshit.
Author's Note: As per the usual, some credit for this goes to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amazonqueenkate, who was chatting with me when I laid down the basics. Mike Cutter, in high school, was probably an awkward kid, and the only person who really got him was his mock trial coach, Mr. McCoy. If you're not connecting the dots yet, you may want to get off the trolley. In short: High School AU, because it can be done.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen
Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mock Trial Regionals [15/?]
By Perpetual Motion
“I booked the rooms for you,” Lennie says and hands Jack a sheaf of papers with hotel information and payment agreements. “Separate rooms for you and I and four to a room for the team.”
Jack does the math in his head. “We’ve got a team of thirteen, and we’re left with an extra male.”
“Flip you for him.” Lennie’s tone is dry. “But don’t forget I wouldn’t be getting dragged along if it weren’t for you losing it.”
“I’ll take the odd man out,” Jack grouses good naturedly. “I’ll grab the guys before they leave tonight and get one of them to crack.”
“Start with Profachi. He’s an easy sell.”
Profachi, it turns out, is not an easy sell. He stares at Jack like Jack offers him cyanide. Jack’s not terribly surprised to get the same look from the rest of the boys, save Mike who just looks uncomfortable and terrified. Jack understands; he’s feeling a bit of it himself.
”Come on, men,” Jack cajoles, resting his butt on the edge of his desk, “someone’s going to have to bite the bullet.” There’s another long stretch of silence, and Jack starts to feel uncomfortable. He hates being forced to choose. It only causes problems during the trip.
“I’ll do it,” Mike says quietly, his eyes not meeting Jack’s.
Jack is fairly certain he’s about to swallow his tongue. “I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Cutter.”
“Sure,” Mike says, and stays firmly seated as the other guys hurry out of the room. Glad, no doubt, to have gotten away with not volunteering. Mike looks at Jack, who is still seated on the edge of his desk. “No one else was going to offer.”
“I could have picked someone else.” Jack says tersely.
“Yeah,” Mike looks at his feet. “But I didn’t want you to.”
“We can’t do this.” Jack’s starting to feel like a broken record. “There are rules, Mike.”
“I can be good.”
Jack doubts it, and he doubts himself. It’s a combination for absolute destruction, and he knows he’s going to regret agreeing, but the other option is to reconvene the men and tell them to choose again. The questions it will raise will be more difficult to avoid than the situation that’s already laid out for him. “Okay,” he says resignedly. “Because we don’t have another option.”
“I’ll be good,” Mike repeats.
Jack doesn’t miss the way he’s trying to hide his smile. “Get going, Mr. Cutter. I’ve got work to do.”
“Yes, sir.” Mike’s gone from the room in a half a dozen quick strides, the door shutting behind him with a hiss and a click.
Jack collapses into his chair and throws back his head. “Shit,” he announces to the ceiling. Mike’s promise is genuine, Jack knows, but Mike is also seventeen. And Jack is thirty-nine, and he’s just as worried about his own control as he is Mike’s.
He wonders if there’s any chance at convincing Lennie to give up the extra bed in his room for the trip.
Surprisingly, the first day of regionals goes smoothly. Mike spends his time on the bus trip to Baltimore sitting alone and reviewing his arguments. The rest of the students sit at the very back of the bus, laughing and gossiping and throwing out ideas. Jack sits up front with Lennie, occasionally looking back to make sure no one’s getting too rowdy.
“Question,” Lennie says as the bus driver takes an exit to keep them out of Philadelphia proper.
”Yes?” Jack says, glancing up from the crossword he’s been fighting.
“What’s up with Cutter?” Lennie glances back and squints as Mike shuffles his notes. “I mean, I’ve seen dedication, but he takes it above and beyond. Especially while you were gone.”
Jack tries not to think about when he was gone, hiding out in the city and trying very hard to forget Mike Cutter as anything other than a smart student who needed a mentor. “He’s just built that way, I guess.”
“The others think he’s weird,” Lennie states.
“There’s one on every team, Lennie. At least Cutter’s good.” Jack spares a look at Mike, who is pushing his hair off his forehead and trying to make notes as the bus bumps along. “I remember a few years ago, I had a kid who was just a punk.”
“Lethem,” Lennie says. “I remember him. He thought arguing was a form of conversation.”
“Yeah,” Jack says, making himself look away from Mike before Lennie can take real notice. “Same dedication as Cutter, but much worse at keeping it separate from the rest of his activities.”
“Whatever happened to that kid?”
“He’s trying to get into law school. He called me for a reference.”
Lennie grins at the muted mirth in Jack’s eyes. “How’d that go?”
“He didn’t specify the kind of reference.”
“Never ask a question to which you don’t already know the answer.”
Jack grins, feeling lighter suddenly, even with Mike seven seats away. “Exactly.”
Lennie leans into his seat and looks over his shoulder at a sudden racous bit of laughter. “He looks up to you.”
“Who? Lethem? Not hardly.”
“Not Lethem,” Lennie says while giving Jack a pointed look. “Cutter. Cutter looks up to you.”
The way Lennie’s looking at him makes Jack midly nervous. There’s a subtly to the man that makes him a perfect candidate for telling people they’re being idiots without actually having to spell it out. “I give him leeway when he’s working. He appreciates it.”
“I think he appreciates more than that.” Lenni’s raised eyebrow says more than any spelled out question he could ask.
“It’s handled,” Jack says and looks back at his crossword.
“You sure?”
“Of course.” Jack fights not to look at Mike again. “Seven letter word for troublesome person.”
“Profaci,” Lennie grouses as he stands up and makes his way to the back of the bus.
Jack grins and turns to watch Lennie start in on the group in the back seat. He catches Mike’s eye by accident, and there’s a moment where Jack can’t look away. “It’s handled,” Jack repeats to himself and turns around.
The hotel is situated in the middle of the city, and they make it through check-in in a record forty minutes. Lennie, perusing the schedule, announces that they have two hours in which to shower, change, and get over to Baltimore Central, the high school holding the regionals. “Looks like it’s three blocks west from here.”
“Okay, everyone,” Jack says with a clap of his hands to get their attention, “We’re going to grab an elevator, get upstairs, and I want everyone ready to go in an hour.”
“But-“ from Lynn Bishop, but she immediately cuts herself off at the look Jack gives her. “Yes, Mr. McCoy.”
“Let’s go.”
They manage to fit everyone into one elevator, and Jack rides to the ninth floor with Mike pressed fully against his front. It’s an unfair move, Jack thinks, and isn’t sure, even as they all empty out, that Mike didn’t do it on purpose. He catches the look Lennie throws him, worried and concerned, and Jack rolls his eyes in return.
“An hour, people,” Jack announces as he slides his key card into the door lock and pushes the door open.
It’s a standard hotel room double, with bland carpet, pinkish blankets, and a rattling heating and cooling system. Jack tosses his keycard on the table by the window and checks out the view. If he squints, he can see the harbor. “You take the first shower,” he tells Mike without turning around. “You’ve got to look better kept than me.”
“Okay.”
Jack listens to Mike set down his bags and walk into the bathroom. He only turns around when he hears the shower start. This is a bad idea. This can lead to no good. Jack is very certain his self-control will not last the forty-eight hours he’ll be sharing a room with Mike.
The bathroom door opens, and Mike walks out in just a towel, digging in his toiletries bag for his deodorant. He looks up when he senses movement. Jack is sitting on the far bed, fingers clenched and back completely straight. “What?” Mike asks. Jack doesn’t look angry, but something in the air tells Mike he’s in trouble.
“Nothing,” Jack says. “Hurry up.” He watches Mike walk away and wonders about the muscles that line his back, the firmness of his arms, and the flatness of his stomach. He’d only been gone a month. When he’d left, Mike had been skinny with bony elbows and the awkward stance of a kid dealing with a growth spurt. But now, god, now Mike has the body of a man and posture to match.
Seventeen, Jack reminds himself again. Seventeen and a student. A brilliant, beautiful student who has maturity and sense and a body-
“Stop it,” Jack orders himself, standing up and walking around the room, forcing himself to think of baseball and current events and trying very hard to push out the image of Mike and the lines of his back out of his mind.
”Mr. McCoy?”
Jack’s been so wrapped up that he hasn’t heard the shower shut off. He glances at Mike, wary at the possibility of another glimpse, and he’s relieved to see that Mike’s already dressed in his pants and an undershirt. “So you’ll wear them for competitions?”
“Dress counts as part of the point system,” Mike says with a grin. He finishes drying his hair and throws the towel on the nearest bed. “Your turn.”
It’s all so very casual, the way Mike turns away from Jack to comb out his hair in front of the mirror. Jack could almost believe that they’re nothing more than a student and a teacher, shoved in a room together out of bad luck and trying to make the best of it. He passes behind Mike and catches the barest hint of a tremor in his shoulders. Not so casual after all.
The bathroom is still steamy, and Jack wipes the mirror with the palm of his hand. He recognizes the slightly cagey look in his eyes, but he still somehow looks calm and composed and mostly professional. He puts the water at tepid and stands under the spray for a full five minutes before soaping up and washing off. It’s only as he pushes aside the curtain that he realizes he’s left his clothes in his duffel on the bed. “Great,” Jack tells his reflection. “Just fucking great.”
Mike is wearing his shirt and jacket and has his tie loosely knotted around his neck. He looks up when the bathroom door opens and can’t stop the squirm that runs through his body when Jack walks out in just a towel. All he can do is stare. Jack glances at him, and Mike looks away. “I need to find my notes,” he says, and crouches down by his backpack.
Jack watches the way Mike’s pants tighten over his ass as he crouches. He nearly trips over the edge of the bed as he makes his way to his duffel. “I’ll be out in a minute,” Jack mutters as he gathers up his clothes and heads back to the bathroom.
“Keep it together,” Mike whispers to himself as he finds his notes and moves them to his briefcase. “You made a promise.” He pulls his stopwatch from his pants pocket and sets it for five minutes. The stopwatch shows 2:37 when Jack comes out of the bathroom again. Mike doesn’t break stride, as he crosses from one side of the room to another, carefully laying out his plans one declarative sentence at a time.
As always when Mike is in motion like this, Jack finds himself transfixed. He can’t look away from the way Mike’s stride eats up the floor or Mike’s ability to look at open air and seem to be connecting with some invisible person Jack can’t see. Mike’s statement rolls over him, and all Jack can do is listen.
The stopwatch beeps.
Mike blinks and comes out of his statement and finally notices Jack standing ten feet away. “I’m ready,” he says quietly.
“All right,” Jack says, and he tightens his tie as Mike gathers his materials, and then they head for the door. The rest of the team assembles in twos and threes in the hallway, and Jack and Lennie lead everyone down to the lobby, out the doors, and onto the bus.
The ride to Baltimore Central is quiet, nerves settling in as the bus driver pulls into the designated lot. Jack stands up before anyone can disembark. “You all know what you’re doing. You knew it when we started the semester. You knew it when you took city champs. You knew it when you worked with Mr. Briscoe. You knew it when I got back, and you know it now. Everyone breathe.”
Everyone on the bus takes a collective breath.
“Mr. Briscoe and I are going to get everyone signed in. I want all of you to find the cafeteria and start getting settled.” Jack steps off the bus, Lennie at his back, and the team clambering out more or less as a group.
“I haven’t been to one of these things in years,” Lennie says as they step into the main entrance of the school, the noise level somewhere around pep rally proportions. “I used to co-chaperone with Stone when he was still running things, but you came on, and it didn’t come up.”
“I can usually convince Anita to come with me, but she’s dealing with some sort of falling out with Cyrus Lupo, and you said yourself you’d already booked the rooms.”
“Happy to be back,” Lennie says and grins at Jack.
“Just you wait,” Jack warns as they approach the registration desk. “Jack McCoy and Lennie Briscoe signing in the Manhattan Prep team.”
The girl working the table is wearing a stick-on nametag that says STUDENT ASSISTANT, and underneath, KAY HOWARD. She has curly red hair and a no-nonsense feel as she pulls papers from her stack. “Where is your team?”
“They veered off into the cafeteria.”
“That’s fine.” She pulls a pencil from somewhere within her mass of red hair and makes a note on the top of her pile of papers. “First round starts in twenty minutes. Your team needs to be there in ten. They’ll check in with the judges and have the rest of the pre-trial time to set up. How many teams are you running this year?”
“Two. One team on Case A and one team on Case B.”
“How many per team?”
”Six on Case A and Seven on Case B.”
Kay Howard fills in the blanks and initials at the bottom of the page. “Team captains are responsible for getting the paperwork signed at the end of each round. There’s a twenty minute break between rounds, and we’re hosting two rounds of preliminary tonight, two rounds of preliminary tomorrow morning, quarterfinals and semifinals tomorrow afternoon, and the top four rounds on Sunday morning.”
Jack takes the paperwork when she holds it out for him and gives her a smile. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
Jack and Lennie walk away, Lennie holding back his smile until they round the corner. “We should tell Anita we’ve found her match.”
Jack snorts in amusement. “Hardly. Give her twenty years, then we’ll see.”
The Manhattan Prep team has taken over the full length of a table when Jack and Lennie walk into the cafeteria. Half of them are packing bottles of water into their briefcases and the other half are reviewing their plans for the rounds. Jack hands over the necessary paperwork to Lynn Bishop and Mike. “You’ve got seven minutes before you’re due. Take the time to prep your teams.”
Mike and Lynn nod and gather their respective teams on opposite sides of the table. Jack and Lennie eavesdrop to be certain there’s no plans for a cheap shot or sly manuver, and once the students clear out for round one, they sit next to all the left-over supplies and break into their own routine. Jack still hasn’t finished the crossword from the bus, and Lennie has a book.
“How’s the room?” Lennie asks after fifteen minutes of comfortable silence.
“Fine,” Jack says, knowing exactly where the conversation is going to end. “Yours?”
“The comforter smells like feet.”
“That’s too bad.” Jack wonders on a four-letter word for ‘large garden’. He scratches in ‘farm’ with his pencil and considers fifteen down.
“My shower’s nice, though.” Lennie spares a glance for Jack. He knows when Jack is making a point not to listen and when he’s making a point to look like he’s not listening. The expression on his face is clearly the latter. “How’s your shower?”
“Fine.”
“You’ve used that word already.”
“It maintains.”
Lennie sighs quietly and closes his book. He looks straight at Jack. “I’m worried.”
Jack doesn’t look up from his crossword. “I don’t know why.”
“You left for a month. I know why. You know why. Anita obviously does not know why, or you wouldn’t have returned in one piece.”
“We’re not doing this.”
“No, you’re not doing this. Me? I’m doing this.”
Jack gives Lennie a dark look and puts his eyes back on his crossword. “If it makes you feel better to meddle in my affairs, go ahead.”
“Let’s not use the word ‘affair’, huh?” Lennie leans forward, dropping his voice to something near a whisper. “Look, Jack, it goes like this: You’re talking to a man who knows a lot about fucking up his life. As kind as Anita and everyone else has been to not lord my monumental, pre-Manhattan Prep fuck-ups over my head, the fact of the matter is, they’re there. I’m the guy you need to talk to before you do something really, outstandingly stupid. Because I’m the guy who’s been there.”
It’s cheating. Jack is sure of it. Lennie doing his best to lay himself bare when people could overhear constitutes cheating. It makes Jack put down his crossword. It makes Jack look Lennie in the eyes. “Given that you know why I left, I’m surprised you’re not accusing me of already having done something stupid.”
“A momentarily slip in judgment because you have a nubile youth crawling into your lap doesn’t count.” Lennie cracks a smile, just the slightest upward nudge of his lips. “We would all be so lucky.” The smile drops away, and Lennie is serious again. “But really, Jack. I mean it.”
“I know.” Jack stands up, stretches, and checks his pockets for change. “I’m grabbing a soda. You want one?”
“Sure,” Lennie agrees, because he knows they’re not in the right place to have a long conversation about the stress that’s showing in the way Jack rubs the back of his neck as he crosses the cafeteria to the soda machines.
They pass the rest of the first round in silence, Jack working his way steadily through his crossword, and Lennie diligently working to the end of chapter fourteen. Lynn and her team are back first, and she grins at Jack when she sits near him.
“We took it!”
“I had no doubt,” Jack says with a smile. “Any problems?”
“They took us to town during redirect,” Lynn pulls a disgusted face, “and we’ve already come up with a strategy in case it happens again.”
“Good.” Jack nods to the group in general. “Get yourselves something to eat and report to your next room.”
“Yes, sir,” Lynn salutes and leads away the team.
Lennie chuckles and shakes his head. “My chorus kids don’t get this happy when they win.”
“I don’t think your chorus kids are this obsessive.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
Jack grins. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”
There’s a sudden burst of noise at the doors of the cafeteria, and Jack and Lennie both turn to see Mike’s team practically bowl over another team who’s trying to make their way out.
“We killed them!” Mike shouts to Jack when he’s still halfway across the room. “They started strong, but we,” Mike trips over his feet and nearly takes a header into the table. He steadies himself with one hand and absolutely beams at Jack. “We got it back. We took it.”
“Excellent,” Jack says, but it sounds flat even to him. Mike’s loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button, and Jack can see the sweat that’s pooling in his collar bone.
“Two for two,” Lennie says to try and deflect. “Ms. Bishop just reported a win.”
“Cool!” Mike grins at Lennie. “I’m grabbing a soda,” he announces to the table at large, and the entire team follows him over to the machines.
“Christ,” Lennie says under his breath, “you’ve got it bad.”
Jack breathes out hard and drops his head into his hands. “I’ve got it under control.”
“Sure. Every coach looks at his star player that way.”
“Lennie, shut up.”
Mike and Lynn bring back wins again for round two, and once Jack is handed the line-ups for the next day, he loads everyone onto the bus and lets them congratulate themselves for most of the trip back to the hotel.
“Listen up,” Jack says as the bus turns the last corner to the hotel’s half-circle drive, “it’s eight now. I want everyone in their rooms no later than ten. Before then, feel free to run around the hotel and make a bad impression.”
”But not too bad an impression,” Lennie interjects. “We’re from New York. We have a reputation.”
“I’m from Wisconsin!” Lynn shouts from the back of the bus.
“Duly noted and ignored,” Lennie responds, causing a laugh.
“Ten o’clock curfew!” Jack yells over the laughter. “Anyone caught out after lights out gets to spend their downtime tomorrow making food runs for Mr. Briscoe and myself.”
There’s a collective groan as everyone piles off the bus. Lennie keeps pace with Jack as they follow the team into the lobby. “I can switch you rooms. The kids don’t have to know.”
“As soon as the first one wakes up and comes running for nerves, they’ll know.”
“If you’re sure.”
Jack’s not, at all, but his other option is to run scared. “I’m sure.”
“Fine,” Lennie says with a sigh. “I’m going to my room. When do you want to do first walk around?”
“Quarter to ten. Knock on my door if you need help rounding them up.”
”Will do.”
The group filters off from the elevator, everyone heading into their particular rooms. Jack gets into the room first and looks at the skyline again as Mike walks in behind him. “You did well, Mr. Cutter.”
“Thank you,” Mike says quietly.
Jack turns around, determined to have at least part of the conversation face-to-face. Mike is out of his shirt and tie, and his back is to Jack as he pulls off his undershirt. Jack clenches his jaw to keep from saying anything and just watches the smooth motion of Mike getting shirtless.
Mike turns to throw his undershirt on the bed and catches the look Jack’s giving him. “I…I’m sweaty,” he says after a moment. “This isn’t…I’m not trying…” Mike looks away from Jack and licks his lips. “Look, I know I made a promise, but it’s really hard to stand here and not-“
“Mike.”
The warning is heavy in Jack’s voice, but Mike doesn’t care quite enough. “I want to kiss you,” Mike states. He considers stepping forward, but leans back against the wall instead.
Jack just stares at the line of Mike’s body, shoulders against the wall, back slightly arched, as the very last of his resolve slides away into nothing. He walks across the room and puts his hands on the wall on the either side of Mike’s head. “Be certain.”
“I’ve been certain.”
“God, but you’re brazen,” Jack mutters and presses his mouth to Mike’s collar bone. He tastes of sweat and hotel soap. Jack kisses the side of his neck. Mike grabs Jack’s waistband and tries to pull him forward. “Impatient, too.”
“I’ve had wood since the bus ride. Gimmie a break.” Mike gives Jack’s beltloops another yank, and Jack stumbles into him. “I really was trying to be good.”
“I know,” Jack nips at Mike’s ear.
Mike tries to kiss Jack on the mouth, but Jack angles himself away, and Mike kisses his chin instead. “Come here,” Mike tries to order, his next kiss landing on Jack’s cheek. “Please.”
Jack hides his smile against Mike’s shoulder. “And so polite.”
“Jack,” Mike groans, and there’s desperation in it that matches the grip Mike has on his shirt. “Please.”
So Jack kisses him, tongue sliding in when Mike gasps, and he licks at Mike’s teeth, counting them off with the tip of his tongue. He drops one of his hands from the wall and angles Mike’s head, presses his hips so that Mike’s pinned against the wall, and gives an approving noise when Mike nips at his bottom lip.
“Mike,” Jack says into Mike’s mouth, because he’s waited all day to say it. He starts to pull away, to get his breath, but Mike follows him, launches himself off the wall, and sends them both sprawling onto the near bed. Jack grunts as Mike crawls up his body, knees on either side of Jack’s hips, and tongue thrusting into Jack’s mouth. It’s dirty. It’s undignified. It’s glorious.
It’s interrupted by a knock on the door.
Jack wants to ignore it, wants to keep laying on the bed, Mike’s cheeks hollowing as he sucks on Jack’s tongue. But he has responsibilities and expectations, and he rolls Mike off of him. “I have to-“
Mike’s panting. His eyes are bright and his lips are wet. “I know.’ He licks his lips and holds his breath for a moment. “I’m okay.”
Jack almost grins. He almost crawls on top of Mike and starts kissing him again. It’s only a second knock at the door that makes him move of the bed.
It’s Lennie, with the beginning of a wiseass grin on his face. The grin drops when he gets a good look at Jack, whose shirt is half-untucked. “You-“
“What’s up?” Jack asks, wanting to avoid any confrontation Lennie might be planning.
“I caught Profaci with this,” Lennie holds up an unopened bottle of incredibly cheap wine. “He tried to tell me it was Cabot’s. She told me he’s a dirty weasel.”
Jack runs a hand over his face. “Christ. Great.”
“I told Profaci he’s earned the very special position of my shadow for the rest of the trip.” Lennie’s wiseass grin is back. “And he gets to call Anita personally tomorrow morning.”
Jack gives a short laugh. “Appropriate.”
“I thought you’d like that.” Lennie hesitates for a moment, sliding a glance into the room. Mike’s on one of the beds, shirt off, pillow on his lap and book on the pillow. It’d be less suspicious, Lennie thinks, if the kid would stop shifting every few seconds.
“Anything else, Lennie?” Jack asks in a tone that’s almost casual.
“There’s a lap pool off the sauna,” Lennie returns in the same tone. “I thought Mr. Cutter would find it useful as long as we’re here. I know swim team regionals are next weekend.”
It sounds off hand, like Lennie had really just noticed for no reason. It’s only the hard look he gives Jack that makes it a veiled order.
“I’m sure he’ll find it useful.” Jack tries to put all the sincerity he has into the sentence. “I’ll take the ten o’clock walk around, since you had to start early.”
“Great.” Lennie holds out the wine to Jack. “You hold onto this.”
“Sure.” Jack waits for Lennie to walk into his own room before he closes the door. He turns around and he just stares at Mike. He wants to crawl onto the bed, press a hand to Mike’s crotch, bite the hollow spots on his ribcage, worry his nipples until they’re so sensitive they stand up beneath Mike’s undershirt and button-down.
“I should go swimming,” Mike says resignedly.
”Yeah,” Jack agrees because it’s the right thing to do.
“Okay.” Mike slides off the bed and walks to his duffel. “Coach Fin will be pissed if I don’t practice.”
“Yeah.” It’s all Jack can safely say as he stares at Mike’s back and wonders about the taste of the knobs of his spine. He sits on the un-used bed carefully, dropping his head into his hands as he listen to Mike change in the bathroom.
“We’re not…” Mike trails off.
“No.” Jack spares him a glance and wishes he hadn’t. It’s almost too much, Mike in his small, well-fitting bathing suit. “Go swimming.”
“Okay.” Mike stops at the door and looks at Jack again. “I’m not trying to be difficult.”
He’s out the door before Jack can point out that that’s exactly the problem. Jack sighs heavily and levers himself off the bed. He picks up the bottle of very cheap wine and tucks it into the bottom of his duffel. He’ll hand it over to Anita on Sunday. He wishes there was someway to do the same with Mike.
Part Sixteen
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order
Pairings: Ed/Lupo, Jack/Mike Cutter, Mike/Connie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jack, Mike, mock trial regionals, and Lennie trying to help.
Dis: Bullshit.
Author's Note: As per the usual, some credit for this goes to
amazonqueenkate, who was chatting with me when I laid down the basics. Mike Cutter, in high school, was probably an awkward kid, and the only person who really got him was his mock trial coach, Mr. McCoy. If you're not connecting the dots yet, you may want to get off the trolley. In short: High School AU, because it can be done.Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen
Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mock Trial Regionals [15/?]
By Perpetual Motion
“I booked the rooms for you,” Lennie says and hands Jack a sheaf of papers with hotel information and payment agreements. “Separate rooms for you and I and four to a room for the team.”
Jack does the math in his head. “We’ve got a team of thirteen, and we’re left with an extra male.”
“Flip you for him.” Lennie’s tone is dry. “But don’t forget I wouldn’t be getting dragged along if it weren’t for you losing it.”
“I’ll take the odd man out,” Jack grouses good naturedly. “I’ll grab the guys before they leave tonight and get one of them to crack.”
“Start with Profachi. He’s an easy sell.”
Profachi, it turns out, is not an easy sell. He stares at Jack like Jack offers him cyanide. Jack’s not terribly surprised to get the same look from the rest of the boys, save Mike who just looks uncomfortable and terrified. Jack understands; he’s feeling a bit of it himself.
”Come on, men,” Jack cajoles, resting his butt on the edge of his desk, “someone’s going to have to bite the bullet.” There’s another long stretch of silence, and Jack starts to feel uncomfortable. He hates being forced to choose. It only causes problems during the trip.
“I’ll do it,” Mike says quietly, his eyes not meeting Jack’s.
Jack is fairly certain he’s about to swallow his tongue. “I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Cutter.”
“Sure,” Mike says, and stays firmly seated as the other guys hurry out of the room. Glad, no doubt, to have gotten away with not volunteering. Mike looks at Jack, who is still seated on the edge of his desk. “No one else was going to offer.”
“I could have picked someone else.” Jack says tersely.
“Yeah,” Mike looks at his feet. “But I didn’t want you to.”
“We can’t do this.” Jack’s starting to feel like a broken record. “There are rules, Mike.”
“I can be good.”
Jack doubts it, and he doubts himself. It’s a combination for absolute destruction, and he knows he’s going to regret agreeing, but the other option is to reconvene the men and tell them to choose again. The questions it will raise will be more difficult to avoid than the situation that’s already laid out for him. “Okay,” he says resignedly. “Because we don’t have another option.”
“I’ll be good,” Mike repeats.
Jack doesn’t miss the way he’s trying to hide his smile. “Get going, Mr. Cutter. I’ve got work to do.”
“Yes, sir.” Mike’s gone from the room in a half a dozen quick strides, the door shutting behind him with a hiss and a click.
Jack collapses into his chair and throws back his head. “Shit,” he announces to the ceiling. Mike’s promise is genuine, Jack knows, but Mike is also seventeen. And Jack is thirty-nine, and he’s just as worried about his own control as he is Mike’s.
He wonders if there’s any chance at convincing Lennie to give up the extra bed in his room for the trip.
Surprisingly, the first day of regionals goes smoothly. Mike spends his time on the bus trip to Baltimore sitting alone and reviewing his arguments. The rest of the students sit at the very back of the bus, laughing and gossiping and throwing out ideas. Jack sits up front with Lennie, occasionally looking back to make sure no one’s getting too rowdy.
“Question,” Lennie says as the bus driver takes an exit to keep them out of Philadelphia proper.
”Yes?” Jack says, glancing up from the crossword he’s been fighting.
“What’s up with Cutter?” Lennie glances back and squints as Mike shuffles his notes. “I mean, I’ve seen dedication, but he takes it above and beyond. Especially while you were gone.”
Jack tries not to think about when he was gone, hiding out in the city and trying very hard to forget Mike Cutter as anything other than a smart student who needed a mentor. “He’s just built that way, I guess.”
“The others think he’s weird,” Lennie states.
“There’s one on every team, Lennie. At least Cutter’s good.” Jack spares a look at Mike, who is pushing his hair off his forehead and trying to make notes as the bus bumps along. “I remember a few years ago, I had a kid who was just a punk.”
“Lethem,” Lennie says. “I remember him. He thought arguing was a form of conversation.”
“Yeah,” Jack says, making himself look away from Mike before Lennie can take real notice. “Same dedication as Cutter, but much worse at keeping it separate from the rest of his activities.”
“Whatever happened to that kid?”
“He’s trying to get into law school. He called me for a reference.”
Lennie grins at the muted mirth in Jack’s eyes. “How’d that go?”
“He didn’t specify the kind of reference.”
“Never ask a question to which you don’t already know the answer.”
Jack grins, feeling lighter suddenly, even with Mike seven seats away. “Exactly.”
Lennie leans into his seat and looks over his shoulder at a sudden racous bit of laughter. “He looks up to you.”
“Who? Lethem? Not hardly.”
“Not Lethem,” Lennie says while giving Jack a pointed look. “Cutter. Cutter looks up to you.”
The way Lennie’s looking at him makes Jack midly nervous. There’s a subtly to the man that makes him a perfect candidate for telling people they’re being idiots without actually having to spell it out. “I give him leeway when he’s working. He appreciates it.”
“I think he appreciates more than that.” Lenni’s raised eyebrow says more than any spelled out question he could ask.
“It’s handled,” Jack says and looks back at his crossword.
“You sure?”
“Of course.” Jack fights not to look at Mike again. “Seven letter word for troublesome person.”
“Profaci,” Lennie grouses as he stands up and makes his way to the back of the bus.
Jack grins and turns to watch Lennie start in on the group in the back seat. He catches Mike’s eye by accident, and there’s a moment where Jack can’t look away. “It’s handled,” Jack repeats to himself and turns around.
The hotel is situated in the middle of the city, and they make it through check-in in a record forty minutes. Lennie, perusing the schedule, announces that they have two hours in which to shower, change, and get over to Baltimore Central, the high school holding the regionals. “Looks like it’s three blocks west from here.”
“Okay, everyone,” Jack says with a clap of his hands to get their attention, “We’re going to grab an elevator, get upstairs, and I want everyone ready to go in an hour.”
“But-“ from Lynn Bishop, but she immediately cuts herself off at the look Jack gives her. “Yes, Mr. McCoy.”
“Let’s go.”
They manage to fit everyone into one elevator, and Jack rides to the ninth floor with Mike pressed fully against his front. It’s an unfair move, Jack thinks, and isn’t sure, even as they all empty out, that Mike didn’t do it on purpose. He catches the look Lennie throws him, worried and concerned, and Jack rolls his eyes in return.
“An hour, people,” Jack announces as he slides his key card into the door lock and pushes the door open.
It’s a standard hotel room double, with bland carpet, pinkish blankets, and a rattling heating and cooling system. Jack tosses his keycard on the table by the window and checks out the view. If he squints, he can see the harbor. “You take the first shower,” he tells Mike without turning around. “You’ve got to look better kept than me.”
“Okay.”
Jack listens to Mike set down his bags and walk into the bathroom. He only turns around when he hears the shower start. This is a bad idea. This can lead to no good. Jack is very certain his self-control will not last the forty-eight hours he’ll be sharing a room with Mike.
The bathroom door opens, and Mike walks out in just a towel, digging in his toiletries bag for his deodorant. He looks up when he senses movement. Jack is sitting on the far bed, fingers clenched and back completely straight. “What?” Mike asks. Jack doesn’t look angry, but something in the air tells Mike he’s in trouble.
“Nothing,” Jack says. “Hurry up.” He watches Mike walk away and wonders about the muscles that line his back, the firmness of his arms, and the flatness of his stomach. He’d only been gone a month. When he’d left, Mike had been skinny with bony elbows and the awkward stance of a kid dealing with a growth spurt. But now, god, now Mike has the body of a man and posture to match.
Seventeen, Jack reminds himself again. Seventeen and a student. A brilliant, beautiful student who has maturity and sense and a body-
“Stop it,” Jack orders himself, standing up and walking around the room, forcing himself to think of baseball and current events and trying very hard to push out the image of Mike and the lines of his back out of his mind.
”Mr. McCoy?”
Jack’s been so wrapped up that he hasn’t heard the shower shut off. He glances at Mike, wary at the possibility of another glimpse, and he’s relieved to see that Mike’s already dressed in his pants and an undershirt. “So you’ll wear them for competitions?”
“Dress counts as part of the point system,” Mike says with a grin. He finishes drying his hair and throws the towel on the nearest bed. “Your turn.”
It’s all so very casual, the way Mike turns away from Jack to comb out his hair in front of the mirror. Jack could almost believe that they’re nothing more than a student and a teacher, shoved in a room together out of bad luck and trying to make the best of it. He passes behind Mike and catches the barest hint of a tremor in his shoulders. Not so casual after all.
The bathroom is still steamy, and Jack wipes the mirror with the palm of his hand. He recognizes the slightly cagey look in his eyes, but he still somehow looks calm and composed and mostly professional. He puts the water at tepid and stands under the spray for a full five minutes before soaping up and washing off. It’s only as he pushes aside the curtain that he realizes he’s left his clothes in his duffel on the bed. “Great,” Jack tells his reflection. “Just fucking great.”
Mike is wearing his shirt and jacket and has his tie loosely knotted around his neck. He looks up when the bathroom door opens and can’t stop the squirm that runs through his body when Jack walks out in just a towel. All he can do is stare. Jack glances at him, and Mike looks away. “I need to find my notes,” he says, and crouches down by his backpack.
Jack watches the way Mike’s pants tighten over his ass as he crouches. He nearly trips over the edge of the bed as he makes his way to his duffel. “I’ll be out in a minute,” Jack mutters as he gathers up his clothes and heads back to the bathroom.
“Keep it together,” Mike whispers to himself as he finds his notes and moves them to his briefcase. “You made a promise.” He pulls his stopwatch from his pants pocket and sets it for five minutes. The stopwatch shows 2:37 when Jack comes out of the bathroom again. Mike doesn’t break stride, as he crosses from one side of the room to another, carefully laying out his plans one declarative sentence at a time.
As always when Mike is in motion like this, Jack finds himself transfixed. He can’t look away from the way Mike’s stride eats up the floor or Mike’s ability to look at open air and seem to be connecting with some invisible person Jack can’t see. Mike’s statement rolls over him, and all Jack can do is listen.
The stopwatch beeps.
Mike blinks and comes out of his statement and finally notices Jack standing ten feet away. “I’m ready,” he says quietly.
“All right,” Jack says, and he tightens his tie as Mike gathers his materials, and then they head for the door. The rest of the team assembles in twos and threes in the hallway, and Jack and Lennie lead everyone down to the lobby, out the doors, and onto the bus.
The ride to Baltimore Central is quiet, nerves settling in as the bus driver pulls into the designated lot. Jack stands up before anyone can disembark. “You all know what you’re doing. You knew it when we started the semester. You knew it when you took city champs. You knew it when you worked with Mr. Briscoe. You knew it when I got back, and you know it now. Everyone breathe.”
Everyone on the bus takes a collective breath.
“Mr. Briscoe and I are going to get everyone signed in. I want all of you to find the cafeteria and start getting settled.” Jack steps off the bus, Lennie at his back, and the team clambering out more or less as a group.
“I haven’t been to one of these things in years,” Lennie says as they step into the main entrance of the school, the noise level somewhere around pep rally proportions. “I used to co-chaperone with Stone when he was still running things, but you came on, and it didn’t come up.”
“I can usually convince Anita to come with me, but she’s dealing with some sort of falling out with Cyrus Lupo, and you said yourself you’d already booked the rooms.”
“Happy to be back,” Lennie says and grins at Jack.
“Just you wait,” Jack warns as they approach the registration desk. “Jack McCoy and Lennie Briscoe signing in the Manhattan Prep team.”
The girl working the table is wearing a stick-on nametag that says STUDENT ASSISTANT, and underneath, KAY HOWARD. She has curly red hair and a no-nonsense feel as she pulls papers from her stack. “Where is your team?”
“They veered off into the cafeteria.”
“That’s fine.” She pulls a pencil from somewhere within her mass of red hair and makes a note on the top of her pile of papers. “First round starts in twenty minutes. Your team needs to be there in ten. They’ll check in with the judges and have the rest of the pre-trial time to set up. How many teams are you running this year?”
“Two. One team on Case A and one team on Case B.”
“How many per team?”
”Six on Case A and Seven on Case B.”
Kay Howard fills in the blanks and initials at the bottom of the page. “Team captains are responsible for getting the paperwork signed at the end of each round. There’s a twenty minute break between rounds, and we’re hosting two rounds of preliminary tonight, two rounds of preliminary tomorrow morning, quarterfinals and semifinals tomorrow afternoon, and the top four rounds on Sunday morning.”
Jack takes the paperwork when she holds it out for him and gives her a smile. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
Jack and Lennie walk away, Lennie holding back his smile until they round the corner. “We should tell Anita we’ve found her match.”
Jack snorts in amusement. “Hardly. Give her twenty years, then we’ll see.”
The Manhattan Prep team has taken over the full length of a table when Jack and Lennie walk into the cafeteria. Half of them are packing bottles of water into their briefcases and the other half are reviewing their plans for the rounds. Jack hands over the necessary paperwork to Lynn Bishop and Mike. “You’ve got seven minutes before you’re due. Take the time to prep your teams.”
Mike and Lynn nod and gather their respective teams on opposite sides of the table. Jack and Lennie eavesdrop to be certain there’s no plans for a cheap shot or sly manuver, and once the students clear out for round one, they sit next to all the left-over supplies and break into their own routine. Jack still hasn’t finished the crossword from the bus, and Lennie has a book.
“How’s the room?” Lennie asks after fifteen minutes of comfortable silence.
“Fine,” Jack says, knowing exactly where the conversation is going to end. “Yours?”
“The comforter smells like feet.”
“That’s too bad.” Jack wonders on a four-letter word for ‘large garden’. He scratches in ‘farm’ with his pencil and considers fifteen down.
“My shower’s nice, though.” Lennie spares a glance for Jack. He knows when Jack is making a point not to listen and when he’s making a point to look like he’s not listening. The expression on his face is clearly the latter. “How’s your shower?”
“Fine.”
“You’ve used that word already.”
“It maintains.”
Lennie sighs quietly and closes his book. He looks straight at Jack. “I’m worried.”
Jack doesn’t look up from his crossword. “I don’t know why.”
“You left for a month. I know why. You know why. Anita obviously does not know why, or you wouldn’t have returned in one piece.”
“We’re not doing this.”
“No, you’re not doing this. Me? I’m doing this.”
Jack gives Lennie a dark look and puts his eyes back on his crossword. “If it makes you feel better to meddle in my affairs, go ahead.”
“Let’s not use the word ‘affair’, huh?” Lennie leans forward, dropping his voice to something near a whisper. “Look, Jack, it goes like this: You’re talking to a man who knows a lot about fucking up his life. As kind as Anita and everyone else has been to not lord my monumental, pre-Manhattan Prep fuck-ups over my head, the fact of the matter is, they’re there. I’m the guy you need to talk to before you do something really, outstandingly stupid. Because I’m the guy who’s been there.”
It’s cheating. Jack is sure of it. Lennie doing his best to lay himself bare when people could overhear constitutes cheating. It makes Jack put down his crossword. It makes Jack look Lennie in the eyes. “Given that you know why I left, I’m surprised you’re not accusing me of already having done something stupid.”
“A momentarily slip in judgment because you have a nubile youth crawling into your lap doesn’t count.” Lennie cracks a smile, just the slightest upward nudge of his lips. “We would all be so lucky.” The smile drops away, and Lennie is serious again. “But really, Jack. I mean it.”
“I know.” Jack stands up, stretches, and checks his pockets for change. “I’m grabbing a soda. You want one?”
“Sure,” Lennie agrees, because he knows they’re not in the right place to have a long conversation about the stress that’s showing in the way Jack rubs the back of his neck as he crosses the cafeteria to the soda machines.
They pass the rest of the first round in silence, Jack working his way steadily through his crossword, and Lennie diligently working to the end of chapter fourteen. Lynn and her team are back first, and she grins at Jack when she sits near him.
“We took it!”
“I had no doubt,” Jack says with a smile. “Any problems?”
“They took us to town during redirect,” Lynn pulls a disgusted face, “and we’ve already come up with a strategy in case it happens again.”
“Good.” Jack nods to the group in general. “Get yourselves something to eat and report to your next room.”
“Yes, sir,” Lynn salutes and leads away the team.
Lennie chuckles and shakes his head. “My chorus kids don’t get this happy when they win.”
“I don’t think your chorus kids are this obsessive.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
Jack grins. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”
There’s a sudden burst of noise at the doors of the cafeteria, and Jack and Lennie both turn to see Mike’s team practically bowl over another team who’s trying to make their way out.
“We killed them!” Mike shouts to Jack when he’s still halfway across the room. “They started strong, but we,” Mike trips over his feet and nearly takes a header into the table. He steadies himself with one hand and absolutely beams at Jack. “We got it back. We took it.”
“Excellent,” Jack says, but it sounds flat even to him. Mike’s loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button, and Jack can see the sweat that’s pooling in his collar bone.
“Two for two,” Lennie says to try and deflect. “Ms. Bishop just reported a win.”
“Cool!” Mike grins at Lennie. “I’m grabbing a soda,” he announces to the table at large, and the entire team follows him over to the machines.
“Christ,” Lennie says under his breath, “you’ve got it bad.”
Jack breathes out hard and drops his head into his hands. “I’ve got it under control.”
“Sure. Every coach looks at his star player that way.”
“Lennie, shut up.”
Mike and Lynn bring back wins again for round two, and once Jack is handed the line-ups for the next day, he loads everyone onto the bus and lets them congratulate themselves for most of the trip back to the hotel.
“Listen up,” Jack says as the bus turns the last corner to the hotel’s half-circle drive, “it’s eight now. I want everyone in their rooms no later than ten. Before then, feel free to run around the hotel and make a bad impression.”
”But not too bad an impression,” Lennie interjects. “We’re from New York. We have a reputation.”
“I’m from Wisconsin!” Lynn shouts from the back of the bus.
“Duly noted and ignored,” Lennie responds, causing a laugh.
“Ten o’clock curfew!” Jack yells over the laughter. “Anyone caught out after lights out gets to spend their downtime tomorrow making food runs for Mr. Briscoe and myself.”
There’s a collective groan as everyone piles off the bus. Lennie keeps pace with Jack as they follow the team into the lobby. “I can switch you rooms. The kids don’t have to know.”
“As soon as the first one wakes up and comes running for nerves, they’ll know.”
“If you’re sure.”
Jack’s not, at all, but his other option is to run scared. “I’m sure.”
“Fine,” Lennie says with a sigh. “I’m going to my room. When do you want to do first walk around?”
“Quarter to ten. Knock on my door if you need help rounding them up.”
”Will do.”
The group filters off from the elevator, everyone heading into their particular rooms. Jack gets into the room first and looks at the skyline again as Mike walks in behind him. “You did well, Mr. Cutter.”
“Thank you,” Mike says quietly.
Jack turns around, determined to have at least part of the conversation face-to-face. Mike is out of his shirt and tie, and his back is to Jack as he pulls off his undershirt. Jack clenches his jaw to keep from saying anything and just watches the smooth motion of Mike getting shirtless.
Mike turns to throw his undershirt on the bed and catches the look Jack’s giving him. “I…I’m sweaty,” he says after a moment. “This isn’t…I’m not trying…” Mike looks away from Jack and licks his lips. “Look, I know I made a promise, but it’s really hard to stand here and not-“
“Mike.”
The warning is heavy in Jack’s voice, but Mike doesn’t care quite enough. “I want to kiss you,” Mike states. He considers stepping forward, but leans back against the wall instead.
Jack just stares at the line of Mike’s body, shoulders against the wall, back slightly arched, as the very last of his resolve slides away into nothing. He walks across the room and puts his hands on the wall on the either side of Mike’s head. “Be certain.”
“I’ve been certain.”
“God, but you’re brazen,” Jack mutters and presses his mouth to Mike’s collar bone. He tastes of sweat and hotel soap. Jack kisses the side of his neck. Mike grabs Jack’s waistband and tries to pull him forward. “Impatient, too.”
“I’ve had wood since the bus ride. Gimmie a break.” Mike gives Jack’s beltloops another yank, and Jack stumbles into him. “I really was trying to be good.”
“I know,” Jack nips at Mike’s ear.
Mike tries to kiss Jack on the mouth, but Jack angles himself away, and Mike kisses his chin instead. “Come here,” Mike tries to order, his next kiss landing on Jack’s cheek. “Please.”
Jack hides his smile against Mike’s shoulder. “And so polite.”
“Jack,” Mike groans, and there’s desperation in it that matches the grip Mike has on his shirt. “Please.”
So Jack kisses him, tongue sliding in when Mike gasps, and he licks at Mike’s teeth, counting them off with the tip of his tongue. He drops one of his hands from the wall and angles Mike’s head, presses his hips so that Mike’s pinned against the wall, and gives an approving noise when Mike nips at his bottom lip.
“Mike,” Jack says into Mike’s mouth, because he’s waited all day to say it. He starts to pull away, to get his breath, but Mike follows him, launches himself off the wall, and sends them both sprawling onto the near bed. Jack grunts as Mike crawls up his body, knees on either side of Jack’s hips, and tongue thrusting into Jack’s mouth. It’s dirty. It’s undignified. It’s glorious.
It’s interrupted by a knock on the door.
Jack wants to ignore it, wants to keep laying on the bed, Mike’s cheeks hollowing as he sucks on Jack’s tongue. But he has responsibilities and expectations, and he rolls Mike off of him. “I have to-“
Mike’s panting. His eyes are bright and his lips are wet. “I know.’ He licks his lips and holds his breath for a moment. “I’m okay.”
Jack almost grins. He almost crawls on top of Mike and starts kissing him again. It’s only a second knock at the door that makes him move of the bed.
It’s Lennie, with the beginning of a wiseass grin on his face. The grin drops when he gets a good look at Jack, whose shirt is half-untucked. “You-“
“What’s up?” Jack asks, wanting to avoid any confrontation Lennie might be planning.
“I caught Profaci with this,” Lennie holds up an unopened bottle of incredibly cheap wine. “He tried to tell me it was Cabot’s. She told me he’s a dirty weasel.”
Jack runs a hand over his face. “Christ. Great.”
“I told Profaci he’s earned the very special position of my shadow for the rest of the trip.” Lennie’s wiseass grin is back. “And he gets to call Anita personally tomorrow morning.”
Jack gives a short laugh. “Appropriate.”
“I thought you’d like that.” Lennie hesitates for a moment, sliding a glance into the room. Mike’s on one of the beds, shirt off, pillow on his lap and book on the pillow. It’d be less suspicious, Lennie thinks, if the kid would stop shifting every few seconds.
“Anything else, Lennie?” Jack asks in a tone that’s almost casual.
“There’s a lap pool off the sauna,” Lennie returns in the same tone. “I thought Mr. Cutter would find it useful as long as we’re here. I know swim team regionals are next weekend.”
It sounds off hand, like Lennie had really just noticed for no reason. It’s only the hard look he gives Jack that makes it a veiled order.
“I’m sure he’ll find it useful.” Jack tries to put all the sincerity he has into the sentence. “I’ll take the ten o’clock walk around, since you had to start early.”
“Great.” Lennie holds out the wine to Jack. “You hold onto this.”
“Sure.” Jack waits for Lennie to walk into his own room before he closes the door. He turns around and he just stares at Mike. He wants to crawl onto the bed, press a hand to Mike’s crotch, bite the hollow spots on his ribcage, worry his nipples until they’re so sensitive they stand up beneath Mike’s undershirt and button-down.
“I should go swimming,” Mike says resignedly.
”Yeah,” Jack agrees because it’s the right thing to do.
“Okay.” Mike slides off the bed and walks to his duffel. “Coach Fin will be pissed if I don’t practice.”
“Yeah.” It’s all Jack can safely say as he stares at Mike’s back and wonders about the taste of the knobs of his spine. He sits on the un-used bed carefully, dropping his head into his hands as he listen to Mike change in the bathroom.
“We’re not…” Mike trails off.
“No.” Jack spares him a glance and wishes he hadn’t. It’s almost too much, Mike in his small, well-fitting bathing suit. “Go swimming.”
“Okay.” Mike stops at the door and looks at Jack again. “I’m not trying to be difficult.”
He’s out the door before Jack can point out that that’s exactly the problem. Jack sighs heavily and levers himself off the bed. He picks up the bottle of very cheap wine and tucks it into the bottom of his duffel. He’ll hand it over to Anita on Sunday. He wishes there was someway to do the same with Mike.
Part Sixteen
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on 2008-04-18 03:03 am (UTC)(And I was right. Double yay!)
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