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Mike wakes up suddenly, unsure what's set off his sense of alarm, but staying still as he listens for a hint. Someone's breathing in his hair. There's an arm around his waist, and the chest pressed against his back is cool from the air conditioning that's thrumming quietly under the window.
It's getting spooned that woke him, Mike figures. The cooler skin of his bed partner against his back triggering the fight or flight he'd never gotten fully rid of since the Rangers.
Mike considers the weight of the arm around his waist. It's heavy in the way that means his bed partner is asleep. He doesn't remember bringing anyone back to the room. He and Nick are in Atlantic City for a conference. They're sharing the room. They'd gone out after the last panel of the day and gambled a bit, enjoying maybe two too many drinks when they'd met a couple of guys on a business trip and hit it off. He hopes he hadn't left Nick to beg for a couch or some floor space so he could have a hook up with one of those guys, neither of whose names he remembers.
He turns slowly, keeping his breathing even as he makes certain not to jostle the bed. He stops short as he sees his bed partner and his own hand in the same moment. Nick's the one who's sharing his bed, and Mike is pretty fucking sure the gold ring around his own left ring finger has been drawn on with Sharpie.
Nick's face shifts. His hand opens and closes against Mike's side. He yawns and snorts and flops onto his back, his arm lifting off of Mike to drop onto the mattress on his far side. The quiet thump of his hand hitting makes him stir and squint open his eyes.
Mike isn't sure what to say when Nick startles at the sight of him, so he doesn't say anything. He and Nick have built an unlikely but strong friendship. When Mike had joined SVU, Nick had given him the sharp look of so many other cops who had assumed Mike's assignment had been his dad's doing, but two weeks later, Nick had seen Mike's boxing gear, and they'd had their first real conversation. It'd been nothing to be friends after that; it'd been one of the easiest friendships Mike's ever grown. Nick had gleefully teased him about his father, and Mike had countered with jokes about Nick's inability to wear only gray shirts. Mike had seen Nick struggling with his anger and offered to do some yoga with him. Nick had come fiercely to Mike's defense when other detectives had muttered about nepotism. The more time they spent together, the closer they got, and every step of it just felt like a natural choice.
If waking up together with--Mike realizes at a glance to Nick's left hand--matching Sharpie rings is too weird for him, Nick will say so.
"Um," Nick says. He licks his lips, grimaces, then tries again. His face tightens further.
Mike realizes his own mouth tastes the same and chuckles. "I feel like we should be hungover."
"Yeah," Nick agrees. He sits up and looks around the room. "Oh," he says, gesturing to the small table by the balcony door. There are two, empty gallon jugs labeled 'Water'. "That explains the lack of hangover. When the fuck did we stop for water?"
"No idea," Mike says. He wants to mention the fact that they're in bed together or that they have matching rings. He doesn't know how, so he falls into what he does know. He gets out of bed and walks to the coffee maker to start a pot. He's glad to discover he's wearing his usual sleep pants and a quick glance shows they're clean. He looks over his shoulder and spots the waistband of Nick's own sleep pants just above the line of the sheet puddled in his lap. Good. That'll keep things simpler.
Because Mike has sometimes thought about what it might be like to kiss Nick or press their bodies together, and a drunken fuck in the Atlantic City La Quinta is not what he's had in mind.
"Who the fuck is Hot Steve and why is he in my contacts with that name?" Nick says.
"I'm gonna assume he was one of the guys we met at the casino," Mike says. "That part I remember."
"Oh, yeah," Nick says, sounding distracted.
Mike goes into the bathroom to fill the coffee carafe. When he walks back out, Nick is staring at his phone in shock. "That is not a look you want to have on your face after we got blackout drunk with a couple of traveling salesmen."
Nick doesn't reply, just keeps staring at his phone. Mike doesn't move from the space between the bed and the coffeemaker, worried at the way Nick's face smoothes out into the bland non-expression of cops everywhere who don't want to give away that a suspect has just incriminated themself.
"Hey," Mike says quietly because the silence is beyond eerie. "What's happening?"
Nick shakes his head slowly, then looks up at Mike. "Um. You should see this."
Mike puts down the carafe and walks over to sit on the bed next to Nick. Nick leans close so he can show Mike his screen.
Hot Steve: You two are fucking ridiculous. Cannot believe you yelled at me to film this, but here it is.
"Okay," Mike says slowly and holds his breath as Nick turns up the volume on his phone and taps the button to play the video.
It's them, laughing and jostling each other in a booth at a casino restaurant. There's a gold Sharpie on the table in front of them, and they're holding hands.
"Okay, okay, I'm filming," says a voice that Mike figures must be Hot Steve.
"Dearly bedrunked," says a second voice from off-camera, "we are gathered in this questionable casino booth because Mike and Nick both loudly proclaimed it would be tacky to get real-married in Atlantic City while drunk or sober."
"So tacky!" Video-Mike yells.
"Tacky, tacky, tacky," Video-Nick agrees.
"Oh my god," Nick mutters.
Mike just hums in agreement. He doesn't know what else to do.
"Okay," says the Not-Hot-Steve voice, "You guys want to recite personal vows or have me wing it?"
"I have vows!" Video-Mike says and slaps the table.
Mike closes his eyes and fights the urge to bury his head in a pillow. Nick pats his bicep in a reassuring way, and Mike leans into it with appreciation.
"Nick!" Video-Mike yells, then presses a finger to his own lips while looking around in concern. "Nick," he says in a stage whisper, "I thought you were super hot the first time I met you, and I really like being your friend, and I can't wait for the kissing part of this."
"Same!" Video-Nick also stage-whispers. "But we gotta do rings first. It's rings then kiss. I know because I was married."
"You're so smart," Video-Mike says.
"I know," Video-Nick says.
This time, it's Mike patting Nick's bicep as he groans in embarrassment.
They both watch in silence as their drunken selves very seriously draw on their rings.
"Where the fuck did we find a gold Sharpie?" Nick asks.
"Fuck if I know," Mike replies.
"You may now kiss each other," Not-Hot-Steve says in the video.
Mike is struck with fear. Please no, he thinks. Please do not let his only kiss with Nick be a drunken bit of dumbassery he doesn't even remember.
"We can't kiss," Video-Mike says.
"Yeah," Video-Nick agrees. They're both looking into the camera with complete, drunken sincerity. "I am waaaay too drunk to consent."
"Saaaaaaaame," Video-Mike says, his eyes huge.
"Okay, that's enough," Nick says, tapping the video to pause it. He tosses it aside and covers his face with his hands. "I…"
Mike tries to give him space to speak, but Nick doesn't say anything. He just keeps his face covered, and Mike can't help but stare at his drawn-on ring.
"I'm glad we didn't kiss," Mike says into the silence and wants to bury himself in a pillow again when Nick drops his hands and goes stone-faced. "I didn't--"
"Yeah, it keeps it from being weirder," Nick says, not meeting Mike's eyes.
"That's not what I meant," Mike says in a rush. "I meant I'm glad we didn't because I wouldn't want to not remember it."
The air conditioning is the only sound in the room for a handful of Mike's hard-thumping heartbeats. But then Nick turns, which makes the sheets rustle, and there's the quietest rasp of his palm against Mike's arm.
"Yeah?" Nick asks. "Because I wouldn't--I mean--I've wanted to, but I didn't know how to tell you."
Mike feels his smile take over his face. "Really?"
Nick's grin is shy but honest. "Yeah."
Mike watches Nick watch him, and he gets an idea. He holds up his left hand. "Well, we're fake-married and sober, so I think we have to kiss now. Legally."
Nick laughs, and then he's in Mike's lap, easy as that. "Seems fair."
The kiss is warm and slow and tastes of laughter and terrible morning hygiene. Mike knows he'll remember it forever for all the right reasons. He cups Nick's face and makes the kiss longer and softer. When they pull away from each other, there's a smudge of gold on Nick's cheek, and Mike knows he'll never forget that, either.