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perpetual_motionTitle: When to Hold Them
Author: Perpetual Motion
Pairing: Jack/Mike Cutter
Fandom: Law & Order
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Take the wins you get.
Dis: Bullshit and lies.
Author's Notes: For once, it's not a post-ep!
When to Hold Them
By Perpetual Motion
It’s been a week of hearings and motions and a not guilty verdict that makes Mike feel like he needs to brush up on the intricacies of “reasonable doubt”.
“Come on,” Jack says, one hand holding his jacket, the other holding his helmet, “I’ll buy you a drink.”
Mike wants to wallow in his failure, wipe off his white board and go home to drown himself in cheap beer and a crossword puzzle. “Sure,” he says instead, because at least if he’s drinking with someone else, he’s not entirely sad and bitter.
“I’ve got my bike, but we can take the subway.”
Part of Mike screams for the subway. It’d be safer, he thinks, not to be pressed up hard against Jack as he takes corners a bit too fast and leaves Mike breathless. But then again, it gives him a reason to be pressed against Jack. “The bike’s fine.”
The problem with fucking your boss, Mike decides as Jack takes a corner, and Mike has to tighten his grip, is that finding a bar is a challenge. Jack’s face is all over the news, given his decision, finally, to actually run for DA. And Mike’s making a name all by himself.
They end up in Chelsea—a fact that makes Mike smirk on the inside—and Jack pulls up in front of a club with thumping bass and pretty, glittered boys waiting on the outside. Mike gets off the bike and nearly loses his footing when Jack slides his fingers between the buttons on his shirt. “See something you like?” He asks, all smirk and bravado.
“Take off your shirt.”
Mike unbuttons and pulls off his shirt, leaving him in a grey undershirt and his almost-tight jeans. “Good enough?” He stumbles backwards when Jack kisses him. It’s a hard kiss, Jack’s teeth grazing his lip, and Jack’s fingers digging into his hip. Mike breathes out when Jack pulls away. “Well.”
“Let me buy you a drink.”
“Sure,” Mike says, in a bit of a daze from the kiss.
The bar’s lucite with blue lights, and Mike presses against Jack when Jack crowds against his back. “Little possessive?”
“Everyone’s looking at you.”
Mike scans the bar. He’s getting a few looks, but most of the oiled-up, pretty gym rats are staring right at Jack. “Sure,” he says instead of arguing, and Jack sliding an arm around his waist is enough of a win to count.
“What’ll you have?” The bartender is young, spikey-haired, and tattooed up both arms. He’s paying more attention to Jack than Mike.
“Cape Codder,” Mike orders, and doesn’t miss Jack’s eye roll. “They’re refreshing.”
“So’s Scotch.”
“And Scotch for the silver fox,” says the bartender.
Mike laughs at Jack’s widened eyes. “And you think they’re looking at me.”
Jack leans down, lips close to Mike’s ear. “Want to fuck in the bathroom?”
It’s a monumentally bad idea. They’re only anonymous on the theory that no one here has seen Jack’s face in the papers. Mike slides off the barstool and follows Jack into the bathroom. There are two people already there, but they’re making out against the sinks, and they don’t seem to have any interest in Mike and Jack stumbling into a stall together.
“What—” is as far as Mike gets before Jack drops to his knees and opens Mike’s pants. “Oh,” Mike breathes when Jack sucks his cock. “Okay.”
Jack sucks harder, fondling Mike’s balls with his left hand. He pulls up so he’s only sucking on the head of Mike’s cock, and he presses the index finger on his right hand against Mike’s anus.
“More,” Mike mutters. He groans more loudly than he means to when Jack slides a finger inside of him. “God.”
Jack pulls off Mike’s cock completely. “I could fuck you right here.”
Mike bucks, and it feels like a loss when Jack sucks him in and pulls off again. “I hate you.”
“Sure,” Jack says, and pushes his finger against Mike’s prostate.
“Lotion,” Mike says. He fumbles for the pocket of his jeans, fingers refusing to follow along when Jack rotates his tongue around the head of his cock. It’s another ten seconds before Mike pulls the lotion from his pocket and holds it out for Jack to see. “Lotion.”
Jack pulls off completely and jerks Mike with slow, measured strokes. “I think this will work,” he says quietly. He takes his hand off Mike’s cock open the bottle. He watches Mike flush, and he turns his head and takes Mike’s cock back into his mouth. Mike bites his lip, and Jack slides a slick finger into Mike’s ass.
“You make too much noise, someone will notice.”
Mike thinks about the couple who’d been making out at the sink. “They’ll probably just watch.” He sucks in a breath when Jack slides in another finger. “God.”
Jack twists his fingers and stands up. He presses his nose into Mike’s neck and smiles when Mike claws at his arm. “I’m going to sit down, and you’re going to slide onto my dick.”
“Yes,” Mike hisses, and he makes a pained sound when Jack removes his fingers and steps away.
Jack sits on the toilet seat and pulls Mike to him. He pushes Mike’s pants down past his hips before undoing his own jeans. “Come here.”
Mike backs against Jack and lets Jack line him up. There’s an excruciating moment when he starts to slide down. Mike swears under his breath. “Fuck.”
“Easy,” Jack says against his back, mouth pressing between Mike’s shoulder blades. “It’ll pass.”
It does, little by little, as Mike works himself down, and Jack massages his thumbs into Mike’s lower back. “Ungh,” Mike manages when he’s flush against Jack’s lap. He reaches an arm backwards and wraps his fingers in Jack’s hair. “Now,” he whispers, and Jack complies.
The thrusts aren’t deep, but they’re strong, and Jack presses his teeth against Mike’s shoulder when Mike swallows back a noise that would have been a yell. “Harder,” he grits out, and Jack complies, finding a little more power to put into his hips. When Mike twists his head around to kiss him, Jack bites the exposed line of his neck instead. Mike yells, short and brittle, and Jack digs into the flesh of his thighs with his fingernails.
“I’m not…” Mike stutters out, and then he’s bearing down, hand untangling from Jack’s hair to brace against the wall of the stall. His other hand presses into the other wall, and Jack’s got one hand on his lower stomach, and the other pulling at his cock. Mike throws back his head, but no sound comes out. Jack’s pulling just hard enough to knock the air out of him.
“Jack.”
“I’m right here.” Jack noses into Mike’s hair and breathes in deep. He ruffles the fringe at Mike’s ear when he breathes out. “Right here.”
Mike groans loudly, fingernails scraping the wall, and then he’s coming. Jack’s the only thing that keeps him upright, and he doesn’t come down until Jack starts moving again. It hurts, just a little, and Mike rides with it. “Come on,” he whispers to Jack, and it’s only a few more thrusts before Jack’s holding him very still and pressing all along his back. “That’s it.”
“What you do to me,” Jack mutters, but there’s laughter in his tone.
“You can stop whenever you want.”
“I can’t.”
Mike grins at the admission. “Thank fuck.”
It’s forty-five seconds before Jack shifts and tries to hold steady while Mike eases off of him. He takes the toilet paper Mike hands him and wipes himself down, tucks himself in, and tries to look presentable. He brushes Mike’s hands aside as he tries to do up his jeans and buttons them himself, leaning in to kiss him slowly, tongue tracing the indents from Mike’s teeth on his lower lip. “I think we’ve got drinks waiting.”
“Yeah.” Mike smoothes Jack’s hair and scrubs a hand through his own. “Suppose so.”
The couple at the sinks are still making out, and they don’t break their streak when Mike and Jack walk by. Their seat at the bar is open, and the bartender gives them a nod when Jack sits, Mike pressed against his back.
“Cape Codder, and a Scotch,” the bartender says and puts the drinks on the counter.
“Thanks,” Mike mutters and reaches for his drink. He hooks his chin over Jack’s shoulder and looks at the two of them in the mirror behind the bar. “We’re idiots,” he says in Jack’s ear.
“Better the pair of us together than out destroying other people separately.”
“I suppose.”
There’s a perfect world, Mike thinks, where he could date his boss and no one would think twice. There’s a perfect world where they could go to dinner and to the movies and be seen out in public without it causing some serious shit. In reality, there’s a bar in Chelsea with a staff that doesn’t consider bathroom sex a violation of the rules, and Jack is warm against his front. It’s been a week of losses, and Mike drinks his Cape Codder to Jack’s disgusted head shake and takes the win he can get.
Author: Perpetual Motion
Pairing: Jack/Mike Cutter
Fandom: Law & Order
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Take the wins you get.
Dis: Bullshit and lies.
Author's Notes: For once, it's not a post-ep!
When to Hold Them
By Perpetual Motion
It’s been a week of hearings and motions and a not guilty verdict that makes Mike feel like he needs to brush up on the intricacies of “reasonable doubt”.
“Come on,” Jack says, one hand holding his jacket, the other holding his helmet, “I’ll buy you a drink.”
Mike wants to wallow in his failure, wipe off his white board and go home to drown himself in cheap beer and a crossword puzzle. “Sure,” he says instead, because at least if he’s drinking with someone else, he’s not entirely sad and bitter.
“I’ve got my bike, but we can take the subway.”
Part of Mike screams for the subway. It’d be safer, he thinks, not to be pressed up hard against Jack as he takes corners a bit too fast and leaves Mike breathless. But then again, it gives him a reason to be pressed against Jack. “The bike’s fine.”
The problem with fucking your boss, Mike decides as Jack takes a corner, and Mike has to tighten his grip, is that finding a bar is a challenge. Jack’s face is all over the news, given his decision, finally, to actually run for DA. And Mike’s making a name all by himself.
They end up in Chelsea—a fact that makes Mike smirk on the inside—and Jack pulls up in front of a club with thumping bass and pretty, glittered boys waiting on the outside. Mike gets off the bike and nearly loses his footing when Jack slides his fingers between the buttons on his shirt. “See something you like?” He asks, all smirk and bravado.
“Take off your shirt.”
Mike unbuttons and pulls off his shirt, leaving him in a grey undershirt and his almost-tight jeans. “Good enough?” He stumbles backwards when Jack kisses him. It’s a hard kiss, Jack’s teeth grazing his lip, and Jack’s fingers digging into his hip. Mike breathes out when Jack pulls away. “Well.”
“Let me buy you a drink.”
“Sure,” Mike says, in a bit of a daze from the kiss.
The bar’s lucite with blue lights, and Mike presses against Jack when Jack crowds against his back. “Little possessive?”
“Everyone’s looking at you.”
Mike scans the bar. He’s getting a few looks, but most of the oiled-up, pretty gym rats are staring right at Jack. “Sure,” he says instead of arguing, and Jack sliding an arm around his waist is enough of a win to count.
“What’ll you have?” The bartender is young, spikey-haired, and tattooed up both arms. He’s paying more attention to Jack than Mike.
“Cape Codder,” Mike orders, and doesn’t miss Jack’s eye roll. “They’re refreshing.”
“So’s Scotch.”
“And Scotch for the silver fox,” says the bartender.
Mike laughs at Jack’s widened eyes. “And you think they’re looking at me.”
Jack leans down, lips close to Mike’s ear. “Want to fuck in the bathroom?”
It’s a monumentally bad idea. They’re only anonymous on the theory that no one here has seen Jack’s face in the papers. Mike slides off the barstool and follows Jack into the bathroom. There are two people already there, but they’re making out against the sinks, and they don’t seem to have any interest in Mike and Jack stumbling into a stall together.
“What—” is as far as Mike gets before Jack drops to his knees and opens Mike’s pants. “Oh,” Mike breathes when Jack sucks his cock. “Okay.”
Jack sucks harder, fondling Mike’s balls with his left hand. He pulls up so he’s only sucking on the head of Mike’s cock, and he presses the index finger on his right hand against Mike’s anus.
“More,” Mike mutters. He groans more loudly than he means to when Jack slides a finger inside of him. “God.”
Jack pulls off Mike’s cock completely. “I could fuck you right here.”
Mike bucks, and it feels like a loss when Jack sucks him in and pulls off again. “I hate you.”
“Sure,” Jack says, and pushes his finger against Mike’s prostate.
“Lotion,” Mike says. He fumbles for the pocket of his jeans, fingers refusing to follow along when Jack rotates his tongue around the head of his cock. It’s another ten seconds before Mike pulls the lotion from his pocket and holds it out for Jack to see. “Lotion.”
Jack pulls off completely and jerks Mike with slow, measured strokes. “I think this will work,” he says quietly. He takes his hand off Mike’s cock open the bottle. He watches Mike flush, and he turns his head and takes Mike’s cock back into his mouth. Mike bites his lip, and Jack slides a slick finger into Mike’s ass.
“You make too much noise, someone will notice.”
Mike thinks about the couple who’d been making out at the sink. “They’ll probably just watch.” He sucks in a breath when Jack slides in another finger. “God.”
Jack twists his fingers and stands up. He presses his nose into Mike’s neck and smiles when Mike claws at his arm. “I’m going to sit down, and you’re going to slide onto my dick.”
“Yes,” Mike hisses, and he makes a pained sound when Jack removes his fingers and steps away.
Jack sits on the toilet seat and pulls Mike to him. He pushes Mike’s pants down past his hips before undoing his own jeans. “Come here.”
Mike backs against Jack and lets Jack line him up. There’s an excruciating moment when he starts to slide down. Mike swears under his breath. “Fuck.”
“Easy,” Jack says against his back, mouth pressing between Mike’s shoulder blades. “It’ll pass.”
It does, little by little, as Mike works himself down, and Jack massages his thumbs into Mike’s lower back. “Ungh,” Mike manages when he’s flush against Jack’s lap. He reaches an arm backwards and wraps his fingers in Jack’s hair. “Now,” he whispers, and Jack complies.
The thrusts aren’t deep, but they’re strong, and Jack presses his teeth against Mike’s shoulder when Mike swallows back a noise that would have been a yell. “Harder,” he grits out, and Jack complies, finding a little more power to put into his hips. When Mike twists his head around to kiss him, Jack bites the exposed line of his neck instead. Mike yells, short and brittle, and Jack digs into the flesh of his thighs with his fingernails.
“I’m not…” Mike stutters out, and then he’s bearing down, hand untangling from Jack’s hair to brace against the wall of the stall. His other hand presses into the other wall, and Jack’s got one hand on his lower stomach, and the other pulling at his cock. Mike throws back his head, but no sound comes out. Jack’s pulling just hard enough to knock the air out of him.
“Jack.”
“I’m right here.” Jack noses into Mike’s hair and breathes in deep. He ruffles the fringe at Mike’s ear when he breathes out. “Right here.”
Mike groans loudly, fingernails scraping the wall, and then he’s coming. Jack’s the only thing that keeps him upright, and he doesn’t come down until Jack starts moving again. It hurts, just a little, and Mike rides with it. “Come on,” he whispers to Jack, and it’s only a few more thrusts before Jack’s holding him very still and pressing all along his back. “That’s it.”
“What you do to me,” Jack mutters, but there’s laughter in his tone.
“You can stop whenever you want.”
“I can’t.”
Mike grins at the admission. “Thank fuck.”
It’s forty-five seconds before Jack shifts and tries to hold steady while Mike eases off of him. He takes the toilet paper Mike hands him and wipes himself down, tucks himself in, and tries to look presentable. He brushes Mike’s hands aside as he tries to do up his jeans and buttons them himself, leaning in to kiss him slowly, tongue tracing the indents from Mike’s teeth on his lower lip. “I think we’ve got drinks waiting.”
“Yeah.” Mike smoothes Jack’s hair and scrubs a hand through his own. “Suppose so.”
The couple at the sinks are still making out, and they don’t break their streak when Mike and Jack walk by. Their seat at the bar is open, and the bartender gives them a nod when Jack sits, Mike pressed against his back.
“Cape Codder, and a Scotch,” the bartender says and puts the drinks on the counter.
“Thanks,” Mike mutters and reaches for his drink. He hooks his chin over Jack’s shoulder and looks at the two of them in the mirror behind the bar. “We’re idiots,” he says in Jack’s ear.
“Better the pair of us together than out destroying other people separately.”
“I suppose.”
There’s a perfect world, Mike thinks, where he could date his boss and no one would think twice. There’s a perfect world where they could go to dinner and to the movies and be seen out in public without it causing some serious shit. In reality, there’s a bar in Chelsea with a staff that doesn’t consider bathroom sex a violation of the rules, and Jack is warm against his front. It’s been a week of losses, and Mike drinks his Cape Codder to Jack’s disgusted head shake and takes the win he can get.
