Brian Cassidy didn't remember this particular squad room ever being quite so dead, and though he wasn't exactly ready to hope for massive criminal drug activity, he was more than a bit bored.
So much for playing cowboy. And Christ, but there seemed to be even more paperwork involved around here than there had been back in sex crimes.
Not that he didn't like it. Because, really, to be honest, he'd had more fun in narcotics than sex crimes had ever allowed for. Too serious, and far too permanent, especially the way the knowledge of what people could do to other people had gotten into his head like never before during that stint. And drugs...it just wasn't the same. Yeah, there was of course the whole shoot-'em-up, live forever, always out for number one and fuck whoever gets in the way mentality that Cassidy just couldn't seem to ignore as thoroughly as he would have liked, but it was different, honest to God.
He would be just fine, thank you, if he never had to look at another rapist or their victim ever again.
No, Brian Cassidy could honestly say he did not miss that unit one bit. Okay, well, maybe just one bit. But then again, what he missed wasn't really a bit; it was more a middle-aged Jewish detective with a frequently nasty wit to him.
He'd gotten lucky pulling John Munch as a partner, and he knew it. Indeed, he must have used up whatever decent cards he'd had in his divinely-dealt deck, because his new partner was a jackass if ever he'd met one. He was pretty sure he had, and Griffins was about twenty times worse.
Speaking of Griffins, Cassidy had absolutely no idea where the old buffoon had wandered off to this time, so he took advantage of that uncharacteristic silence and the dull atmosphere of the squad room to slouch low in his chair, close his eyes, and let his head fall onto the desk with a perfectly audible *thunk*.
Damn, that hurt.
Cassidy groaned and picked up his head, but after feeling the dull throb, just let it fall again, and when he heard the voice behind him, he actually entertained a brief thought of having caused some bit of brain damage with such light blows to his forehead.
But no, not quite. That really was Munch behind him, saying with his usual sly mockery, "Brian, you never let me know you were into masochism. And here I thought we were friends."
Shit, that was him, all right. Cassidy managed to pick up his head again, enough to swivel his chair around and stare up at the unflinchingly amused John Munch. "You...I..." Cassidy frowned, wondering when he would be able to put together the coherent sentences he'd mastered somewhat back in elementary school. He finally settled on a strangled "Hi," and deemed it safest to just leave it at that for the moment.
Right. As if anything were really safe around Munch; sure enough, he picked up on just the right - *wrong* - thing and pounced, eyes glinting with wily sarcasm as he leaned against a nearby desk. "Too sad, too sad, Brian. Though I should have known that transferring to the most neandarthal division of the force might eventually devolve even you to the more rudimentary of speech patterns."
Hell, maybe he was a masochist. After all, there had to be some reason he'd actually *missed* that abusing tone. "Sorry, John, guess we can't all be as astutely verbose as you."
"Of course not. That privilege is reserved for the truly worthy, such as myself." Munch cocked his head to the side and peered at Cassidy carefully. "So is something wrong, or are you using your head as a battering ram because the desk made you angry?"
Cassidy managed a small shrug, too focused on all the questions swirling in his head to be bothered with an actual answer. "That first thing you said...What are you doing here?"
Munch had picked up some small knickknack from the desk he was leaning against, and was now examining the small form of some non-existent animal with great care. "Not a whole lot. We caught a case, this hooker who was raped and killed, but it turned out to be linked to some big drug bust you guys are apparently working on, so I came to pass on everything we found out."
"Mighty generous of you."
"Yeah, well, don't give me credit. Cragen caught some heat from someone or other, as I hear it." Munch tossed the figurine aside and shrugged. "Look, Bri, can we talk?"
"We're talking. Looks like I'm not the only one devolving lately."
"Funny, Brian. Funny. In private? It's...been awhile. I think we should clear some stuff up."
Quite frankly, Cassidy did not need to be hearing the words 'private' and 'up' from Munch. Not right then, and certainly not right there. But to hell with it, because he was standing up and nodding towards the interrogation rooms. "Yeah, sure. It's dead today; the tanks should be empty."
Munch followed him back, and Cassidy hadn't even quite registered that the door to the observation room had closed when Munch was yanking him backwards, holding one hand over his mouth and wrapping the other arm securely around his body. A swift weave under Cassidy's right arm, and Munch had him locked around the torso, holding him back and still and *right* against him.
Cassidy's first reaction, one born more of instinctual desperation than any sort of training on the part of New York's finest, was to reach up, to clutch at the fingers clamped over his lips and struggle to pry them away.
Too bad his wasn't such a fighting soul. Munch's hand stayed right where it was, but more importantly, the other one *didn't*, and as soon as Cassidy managed to form a coherent understanding of the fact that the lazy but determined swirl across his chest was aggressive in a way that he couldn't describe as bad but still hesitated to describe as good, he was done for.
His eyes darted through the one-way glass, noted that the table in the interrogation room was slightly askew from any sort of perfectly centered position, and the chair was not pushed in. And after that he just went very, very still, because words Munch had probably hissed quite a few seconds ago were just now sinking into his brain.
"Speak much Latin, Brian?"
Barely registering the question enough to shake his head vigorously, Cassidy thought it would be very ironic indeed if Munch had finally managed to prove his conspiracy theories correct only by being taken over by some sort of alien pod people.
Alien pod people who were slipping Latin words into his ear with a cutting, rumbling edge to them, and Cassidy was more than certain that Munch was not saying 'Hi, how are you?' in a dead language.
"Numquam non paratus," Munch was saying, his lips hot and soft and so pliable as they scraped Cassidy's earlobe he had to squeeze his eyes shut and concentrate just to stay still. "Do you know what that means?"
Again, Cassidy managed to shake his head, but slower this time, because by the time he managed to do so, Munch had distracted him again, letting his hand fall lower, and lower still, and Cassidy realized that something was very, very wrong.
It wasn't normal, for someone's fingers to be so nimble as to unfasten his pants with only one hand in such a fluid motion. Not normal at all, but that recognition was yet another thing that came too late to do any good, because Cassidy was, at that point, more than glad to have the pressure of taut and unforgiving fabric loosened from around the quandary he had to call an erection.
But then Munch just...stopped. Stopped cold, and viciously, and tauntingly. Barely a single motion, but for his hand lifting away from Cassidy's mouth and his fingers brushing the elastic of Cassidy's boxers, and his lips, moving again. "Really? What, they never made you take Latin in high school? My, what *is* the world coming to?"
"Search me," Cassidy managed to mumble. He winced slightly as soon as the words were out, and then just shrugged it off. Munch was, after all, already doing a rather fine job of searching him, without any encouragement whatsoever from Cassidy on the matter. "I took Spanish," he continued, wishing all the while that his voice wouldn't crack like a pubescent teen when he was...tense, like this. "And, uh, is there a particular reason you're drilling me on my educational background right now?"
Way to go, Brian. Go with the easy, non-confrontational questions.
Not that he really had any other choice. What with the hand, digging into the jut of his hip and dipping between cotton and flesh with unmistakable intent, and the very sudden jolt to his brain that the lump pressing against his backside had absolutely nothing to do with Munch's car keys.
Cassidy groaned a little bit, realizing he was very much in for it this time, and almost missed Munch's next words. "Never unprepared," the older man was saying.
"Please, Brian, do me the honor of paying a bit of attention." Munch's voice was wry, more amused at Cassidy's reaction than disgruntled with it. "That's what it means. Numquam non paratus. Never unprepared. Understand?"
Cassidy could only describe his situation as a dilemma. This was work, and *that* was Munch. Ex-partner, pretty-good-guy, someone-to-be-like, Munch. Not someone-to-felt-up-by Munch. No, indeed. Nice, platonic Munch.
But it *was* Munch, with a very warm hand and very warm breath, and a voice that never seemed to fail to indicate illicit undertones to his speech. And the problem, as far as Cassidy could understand it with his higher reasoning temporarily hindered, was that there was just absolutely no way he was going to be able to garner the will to pull away.
Especially since Munch had just enclosed his dick in a warm fist and was rubbing a thumb over the head.
Cassidy pressed backwards. Cassidy *rubbed* backwards, and this time it was Munch that groaned.
And not just a little bit.
"Yeah, John," Cassidy finally mumbled, feeling up-to-date on the situation for the first time since Munch had appeared in the squad room. "I think I get it."
He hadn't really thought he knew Munch well enough to be expecting the doubtful retort that came next, but there it was, right on schedule. "Oh, do you now? Care to enlighten me, oh knowledgeable one?"
"Sure." Carefully and methodically driving all doubts from his mind, Cassidy eased Munch's hand away from his cock and turned, pressing his chest against Munch's and giving him a look that would have been an icy glare if not for the sparkle of mischievous intent that lurked in his eyes.
Munch narrowed his own eyes, and his tongue flicked out across his lips as he trained his gaze on Cassidy's own mouth, which was drawing closer, and closer still, and stopping so close to Munch's face that the older man had only to tremble for their flesh to connect.
But he didn't. He sucked in a deep breath, pressed his head back against the door and waited for Cassidy to follow suit, which he did, stopping yet again just short of meeting Munch's lips. The intensity on his face spoke volumes, all of which Munch completely misread. So absorbed in trying to figure out just when the kid was prove all his assumptions wrong and kiss him already, he failed to notice that his pants were being unzipped with stealthy care.
Rather shoddy police work, really, but he did have other things on his mind.
Cassidy suddenly grinned, a self-satisfied smirk if ever there was one, and he laughed at the way Munch's entire body stiffened when he dug his hand down into white cotton boxers and took hold of the throbbing erection there. "Was that your 'prepared' reaction, John?" he hissed, his breath mustily reminiscent of coffee as it exploded out under Munch's nose.
Munch blinked. It seemed to be the only appropriate response, at least in the short span of time he needed to formulate something verbal. Finally, licking his lips yet again, he forced a careless shrug. "This really isn't the time to be arguing semantics, Brian. If you truly wish to brush up on word definitions, I'm sure we could arrange -"
Cassidy cut him off, pressing his lips against Munch's own narrow set. He intended to maintain control here, to keep the tables firmly turned on every single one of his ex-partner's expectations, but no sooner had he slipped his tongue out to ease into Munch's mouth, he was stumbling backwards, being driven deeper and deeper into the tiny room until he hit the opposite wall and tugged his hand away from Munch's cock to grasp the thin man's shoulders and steady himself.
Munch didn't seem inclined to allow steadiness, to any degree; he tore at Cassidy's mouth and pressed himself into the solid younger body, rocking up and forward in smooth motions that Cassidy had to envy for their control. Meanwhile he could only clutch desperately at the fistfuls of jacket he had found and concentrate on the tongue sliding against his own, stroking and tasting and doing everything Cassidy couldn't quite wrap his brain around as really happening.
He felt the hot tension creeping through his body. He couldn't really help but notice it, as it was the most excruciatingly demanding heat he'd ever had the pleasure to feel. He thrust back against Munch helplessly, using the wall as leverage, and at last managed to tear his mouth away and gasp for breath as Munch buried his face in his neck and licked absently, caught up in their motions against each other.
Munch came first, winding his arms around Cassidy and going still with one long, muffled groan that vibrated against Cassidy's neck in a fluctuating dissonance. Then he sighed, long and relaxed, and he drew back to stare at Cassidy's strained face.
He stared, and stared some more, until he finally lifted an eyebrow in an expression of affected patience that belied the playful glimmer in his eyes, as well as the way he dropped to his knees with all the practiced ease a man of his age could still manage.
Cassidy tried, he really did; he put all the effort he could muster into *not* releasing an extended groan when the warm slickness that was Munch's mouth slipped around his cock and then drew back, but once he felt the stroking tongue and carefully nibbling teeth moving their way across his over-heated skin, he lost it with a hoarse rumble and one uncontrollable thrust into Munch's mouth.
Sliding along the wall to the floor seemed the only natural thing to do right then, and since Cassidy wasn't in much shape to defy nature, he did it, letting his legs sprawl out around Munch as he caught his breath and stared at the older detective. "So," he finally mumbled.
Munch winked, then produced a handkerchief from his pocket, which he used to clean himself with a slight grimace. "Succinct as usual, Bri. Makes me proud."
Cassidy managed to slowly haul himself to his feet and, after refastening his pants, reached to help Munch up. "I aim to please."
Munch looked far too amused at that. "Brian, Brian, Brian," he said wryly, shaking his head, "what am I to do with you?"
"You ask that now?" Cassidy blushed. "Ah, John...what was that? And I don't mean - I mean...why..."
Munch patted his shoulder. "Perhaps that should be a lesson for another day. I should be heading back to work, and I'll be needing to stop at home to...clean up, prior to that."
"Another day," Cassidy echoed.
"Yes, Brian, another day. Such as tomorrow, maybe." Munch flashed a wicked grin. "I know where to find you, after all."
Cassidy was rather silent as he watched Munch leave, his eyes tightened thoughtfully. After a few minutes, he coughed, checked the state of his clothes, smoothed his hair, and headed back out to the squad room.
The day was suddenly looking up. And tomorrow...Yeah, tomorrow was definitely a *whole* 'nother day.