It's biting cold; when Miles breathes, condensation hangs heavy on the air. He'd rub his hands together, but it isn't an option. He has to hold his gun ready for the bust that will go down any second now. They're working on Jim's Intel tonight; it will be the fifth big drug bust in three months. It should do serious damage to the Morris organization. The nightclub's office is wired (Jim risked his hide bugging it), and there's a big transaction going on right now. They've also been watching suspicious packages going in and out the club all day. Even better, a street camera has been conveniently redirected to overview the delivery door. Catching the actual act of moving the drugs on camera will be icing on the cake.
Miles waits until they're given the go, and he enters the place among the yells of "Police! No one moves, show your hands!" that is the sweet, sweet music of justice in action. Those fuckers had it coming with their bad Ecstasy. Only last week, that bad shit sent countless teens to the hospital.
The club isn't that big; half a dozen detectives plus four SWAT guys rapidly fill the place. The Onyx used to be a strippers club. It still shows, with disco balls and mirrors set all over, even on the floor. Even though it's now listed as a regular bar, the barmaids still wear tiny string bikinis. There are also alcoves that look like the perfect places for contact dances. Those nooks are emptying, and to Miles' right a girl ties her top back while the squirrelly man that follows her out, eyes round, adjusts his belt.
The front of the nightclub holds a couple of tables, a long bar and a dance floor (jeez, it's a platform with poles, this isn't even subtle). The back holds illegal gambling, though, and that's where they're heading. Miles recognizes a couple of so-low-on-the-totem-pole-they-are-beside-it drug dealers, which isn't surprising. But there are also guys wearing power suits and a handful of women. Miles also spots two of his street informants that he doesn't acknowledge in any way.
The SWAT guys that are on point break the back door and there's quite a lot of yelling and protests after that, of course. Thankfully the pulsing rap music blasting in the club dies to nothing when Jenny, the youngest addition to narc and sweetheart of a cop, goes out of her way to shut off the stereo. The barmaids look pissed; this is bad for business: no one leaves a tip after a bust. More so, some patrons are getting a pat down, just to make sure they won't cause trouble.
It doesn't take much for Miles to be aware of Jim – only a flash of blond hair - and he curses. Of course the asshole ignored orders to back off and make himself scarce. It's dangerous for Jim to be here, he could blow his cover, a fact that he is more than aware of. Right now Miles has the urge to kill the guy with his bare hands.
Miles is the only officer present who knows that Jim is a cop. Jim went under cover pretty much right when he got assigned to the 9th precinct. He reports to either the Captain or Miles, no one else, and they kept the whole sting operation as discreet as possible. Jim's pretty damn great at his job, too, and Miles doesn't want to jeopardize almost a year of hard infiltration work.
Jim stands up from what looks like a black jack table, five feet away from Miles now. There's a pretty but obviously wasted girl – she can't be more than nineteen – wrapped around him as if he's a buoy. Something dark and ugly claws at Miles, like every fucking time he sees Jim touching someone. As the police take control of the bar, Jim casually props the girl against the wall. For a moment, Miles is distracted by how good he looks. Jim is wearing a wide-opened white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and… okay, those are fucking leather pants. Dammit. This is not fair and Miles needs to avoid looking at him, or he'll slip. On the other hand, Jim gives no fucks at all and makes sure to lock eyes with Miles. When the son of a bitch has the gall to smirk, Miles sees red.
The SWAT guys seem to have clear control of the office now. Most of the other officers are securing patrons that are on file or who look like they could have played a part in the Morris operation. Jim, by the value of his work, is on the associate list, so it's not out of line when Miles points at him.
"I'm patting this one down," Miles says, manhandling a Jim that raised his hands up in mock surrender. Of course, he sports the smile of a man who doesn't fear the police and wants his buddies to know it. He even chuckles.
"I don't see why, officer, I'm a law abiding citizen."
Lowlife number three, who was at Jim's blackjack table, snort-laughs and yeah, no. Jim has this need to get into authority's face - may he be undercover or not - but Miles doesn't want to play his game right now.
Miles pushes Jim towards the dartboard, a little out of way of the rest of the action.
"Shut up, asshole," Miles hisses.
"Aww. And I thought you'd be happy to see me," Jim says, thankfully low enough so it's just for the two of them.
This is an insane security risk, and Miles doesn't want to encourage stupid stunts.
"Not like this," Miles says. "Are you insane? I told you to stay away."
"It would have been suspicious. I'm here all the time."
Miles pats Jim down, hands gliding fast against his body in a routine he's done so many times. In this case it feels very different and Jim jokes about it.
"Oh yeah. Missed your hands," he says, throwing him a wink over his shoulder. Of course he's taking advantage of the situation to flirt.
Miles might or might not shove him against the wall.
"Don't play games with me," he says.
Miles realizes, due to Jim's little pleased grunt, that he liked that.
"I'm not," Jim says as Miles finishes frisking him.
The fucker has no weapon, not even a paperclip. On one hand, that means Miles doesn't have any reason to bring him in – which he didn't want to do. On the other hand he hates that Jim leaves himself be so vulnerable in a sea full of sharks.
Jim is saying he's not playing games with Miles, and to be fair he does flirt all the time. Like it's ingrained in his DNA or something. When the flirting's directed at him, Miles doesn't quite know how to deal with it. When it's towards other people, it drives him crazy. Speaking of that particular brand of torture, the girl from earlier has started wailing. Miles sees her reach pitifully towards Jim. Jenny is trying to make her sit on one of the stools at the bar with a glass of water.
"James, James, I want to go home. You told me I could go home."
Jesus Christ. She looks 16 years old right now, at most, with mascara running down her cheeks. Jim tenses, but after quickly assessing the situation his demeanor turns back to charming.
"No worries, sweetheart, " he shouts back. "The lady cop will take you home, and I'll check on you soon. Can you do that?"
"Dammit, she looks fifteen," Miles whispers. Jenny throws Jim a vicious look, too.
Jim huffs and keeps his voice down as he replies, "She is, that's the thing. Better she hangs out with me than with any of those fuckers."
"What kind of fucked up justification is this?" Miles won't lie, his stomach is churning. Jim might not force the girl for sex, per se, but it's statuary rape nonetheless.
"I'm not sleeping with her, asshole!" Jim hisses.
He looks outraged, and then he blanks out, body rigid. Miles immediately realizes he fucked up badly. God, he gets irrationally jealous sometimes, jumps to conclusions, and he knew it would bite him in the ass one day.
"Of course not," Miles says, but he knows the damage is done. Fuck. Jim reads him like a book, and it's obvious that he knows that the thought crossed Miles' mind. "I'm sorry. She was all over you earlier, very convincing. Good job keeping the creeps away."
"You're a moron," Jim says. "I thought I was in an exclusive relationship. I guess I was wrong."
Miles is not proud to admit that the words don't compute at first. They have sex whenever they can manage it - which is way too little since life is unfair - and he doesn't understand when Jim managed to find himself a serious girlfriend. Then it hits him: it must mean that he's the serious girlfriend. Or he was, because he possibly just threw it out the window with his lack of faith? Anyway, there is serious astonishment and gaping on his part. Jim notices, and a corner of his mouth turns back up.
"Oh, now he gets it," he mocks.
Still reeling, Miles fists the back of Jim's shirt and yanks him towards the back door.
"I'm going to check this one's car," Miles announces to his colleagues.
"James!" the little girl cries as they pass near her and Jim shushes.
"It's going to be fine baby," he croons. "They've got nothing on me. Go home, relax, I'll see you tomorrow."
"You should go home to your family," Miles says. He makes eyes at Jenny who looks right back with an expression that says I'm trying. "I'm sure they'll be happy to see you."
"Only when you're ready, we talked bout this," Jim shouts as Miles pushes him out of the club. "Dammit, Miles, her old man beats the crap out of her, if not worse."
That makes Miles' stomach drop. Fuck, some kids have two strikes against them, no matter what.
"Fine, I'll make sure she isn't forced to go back," he whispers, as they step around a detective from the 7th to reach the parking lot. "But don't say my name, idiot!"
"Right," Jim says. "My bad, Slim."
Miles rolls his eyes. Because the nicknames? Always get old fast.
"Where's your fucking car?" he asks out loud, even though he's perfectly aware it's the blue Chevy in the back. Miles has good memories featuring the back seat of that car.
"Relax, officer," Jim says, playing along. "It's right there!"
At last, near the car, they have some sort of privacy. They're far enough from the club that there aren't cops right in hearing range. Also, from what Miles remembers from the layout, Jim parked in the surveillance camera's blind spot. As soon as they are in the clear, Miles lets go of Jim's shirt, though he does push him against the car.
"You are fucking reckless and it's going to get you killed," Miles says.
"It's not," Jim says, turning around and raising his chin. Okay, right, he's pissed. "You do your job, I do mine. Easy."
"Well, you do your job so well some days, I wonder if you want to get out," Miles says.
It's something he thinks about often, though it's the first time he dares voice it. Losing guys under cover for the lifestyle happens, and Jim seems so confortable dealing with them.
Jim sighs. "I do. Of course I do. I hate those sons of bitches, you know that."
Miles leans against the car, as close as he dares due to Jim's mood and the fact that they're more or less visible from the bar.
"I know. I'm sorry. For earlier. Implying –" he's ready to beg to be forgiven for that, really.
"You should be," Jim says, though there's less scorn in his tone now.
"Did you mean it? About us?" Miles asks.
What Jim said about being in an exclusive relationship rattled him. Miles is stupid and emotive, and he should wait for a better moment to discuss this.
"About how I haven't fucked anyone but you for the last ten months?"
Of course Jim has to be crude about it. He lashes out when he's hurt.
"Hey, I haven't either," Miles says. "I just didn't know you considered us being in a relationship at all."
Jim looks at him as if he's an alien. "Jesus Christ, Miles! I risk my cover at least twice a month just to crash in your bed."
"I thought it was just because you needed the rest and didn't feel safe elsewhere," Miles mumbles.
There's no definitive pattern for when Jim comes over. He never announces himself, but it's often after a violent event in Morris' gang. Jim looks particularly harried those nights, like he's holding on with duct tape and a prayer. It's the only cracks in his normally smooth façade that Miles has ever seen. Ten hours after showing up he slinks back out, sometimes not even waking Miles up. It's like losing a part of his soul every time.
He gets a shoulder bump with Jim's answer. "It is. But it's also because I miss you."
"Fuck, Jim, I miss you too. I worry all the time, and I can't help but imagine worse case scenarios. It drives me nuts."
Jim's warm hand closes on his neck and Miles slumps at the contact. It feels a little bit like forgiveness. "You need to have a more faith in me, babe."
Miles snorts, turning on his side and looking up at Jim with a smirk. "In you, yeah. It's those assholes I don't trust."
Jim grins, dimples out in full force. It's a punch to the gut every time, how beautiful he is.
"Is that how it is?" he asks, caressing Miles' temple with his thumb.
"Of course," Miles says. He's a worrier, he can't help it.
"I get that you're afraid I could get hurt or caught, but I'm smarter than them and you know it."
"That's what everybody thinks before they get hurt or caught," Miles protests.
He knows Jim is brilliant at what he does; he can run circles around the morons he's infiltrating, brain wise. But it only takes a tiny slip or a trigger-happy freak with a bout of paranoia to ruin it for everyone.
Jim slides even closer, trapping Miles against the car. Jim doesn't use his 6 inches height advantage often, but right now he's looming, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. That particular expression always frees an army of butterflies in Miles' chest.
"Another thing: I'm not interested in anyone but you. No need to be jealous of a little girl."
Miles wants to be flippant and brush aside his earlier gaffe, but all that he manages to do is to lean forward. He rests his forehead against the top of Jim's shoulder, taking in a shaky breath. They never, ever, discuss what they are to each other. Miles never confessed his feelings, because he thought that apart from the sex his crush was one-sided. He doesn't quite understand why Jim, who could have anyone, ever took interest in him. Hearing that his sentiments might be reciprocated is overwhelming, in a good way.
"Come on, Bug," Jim says, looping an arm around Miles' waist as he murmurs against the side of his head. "You're my little spitfire. You're smart, sarcastic as fuck, fiercely loyal… You never, ever, let me get away with shit. You are impervious to my charm-"
"I wouldn't say that," Miles interrupts, because he's totally entranced, all the time. "I might have a tiny weakness where you are concerned."
Jim chuckles. "You play it close to the vest, then. I like you. A lot. It clicks for me."
Miles loops his own arms around Jim to hug him close. He's so warm and broad, it's heaven. "Yeah, me too. I didn't know."
It would have saved him a lot of anguish to learn this before.
"You also are a fantastic lay," Jim teases and Miles snort-laughs inelegantly.
"I knew it. Of course this is all bullcrap. You're just after my body."
The sex always has been phenomenal, for sure. In fact, that's why Miles thought Jim always came back, nothing more. He didn't even hope they were exclusive.
"Who would blame me?" Jim says.
It's his professional flirty tone, the one that Miles has seen in action so many times on the job it lost most of its appeal. It's one thing to imply Miles is good in the sack, because okay, he likes that, it can stay. But it's another one to hint that Miles is someone whom you'd chose for his physique. It's nice and shit, but he doesn't want to be lied to.
"Yeah, right. Let's be real, my winning personality is my main asset."
"You really don't believe it," Jim says.
He's looking at him as if he's surprised that Miles is missing an important point. It makes Miles bristle, especially since he has no idea what Jim's talking about.
"Believe what?" He'd shove Jim away, but as usual he reads his intent and pins Miles to the car to stay close.
Jim raises his eyebrows and shows dimples again. "That you're a sexy little shit, you self-depreciative fucker."
Miles is surprised enough to laugh. "What?"
"You are. Fuck, Miles, you're attractive. I don't understand why that doesn't compute for you," Jim professes. He looks so earnest for once it makes Miles want to squirm at the intensity. "And there's fucking fire in your eyes, always. Total turn on."
"That's because you enjoy being bossed around in certain circumstances," Miles replies.
He gets what Jim is saying, how it's not just people's looks but their attitude that make them hot. Take Jim: he'd be nothing but a gorgeous but borderline plain blond-haired and blue-eyed pretty boy if it wasn't for the way he holds himself. It's his whole personality that makes him hotter than the sun. But frankly Miles never thought it applied to him. But hey, if the way he acts is good enough to keep Jim's interest, he'll take it. The man likes being challenged and lightly dominated, something that comes naturally to Miles. He's pretty sure that's why they are drawn towards each other like magnets.
Jim smirks and confirms just that. "Yeah, I enjoy that a lot."
He smiles even wider when Miles reaches up to tangle his hand in the hair at Jim's nape. Miles makes a fist that he knows must pull quite a bit and tugs him down a couple of inches. Jim comes willingly and Miles meets him half way in a bruising kiss. It's like a revelation every time, and Miles' whole being comes alight at the contact. They don't see each other that often due to Jim's work and how dangerous it is for him. In between - this time it's been an excruciating 19 days - Miles starts to believe he's building everything up in his head. But no, he's proved once again that this, them, is that good. It's fantastic and he will never get enough of Jim.
They are taking too much of a risk right now, kissing in the back of the parking lot of a bar they just busted. Anyone - crook, cop or stranger - could come out the back door and see them by the fence in the back. It's reckless, what Miles always nag Jim about. But, of fucking course, it makes it even better.
Miles breaks the kiss and takes a good look at Jim's face. His pupils are already blown wide just from a rough kiss and a bit of hair pulling. Miles shakes his head.
"Jesus Christ, what am I going to do with you? You're going to be the death of me."
Jim, who has been holding tight to Miles arms, winks as he kneels down, right there on the pavement. Quickly Miles look around again but there's no one. In fact, Jim's a lot more hidden by the cars, now.
"What a way to go, right?" Jim says with a smile, already working on Miles belt.
"You can't do that here!" Miles protests, although weakly.
"I can, and I will," Jim declares.
Of course Miles' dick is a hundred percent on board with that plan, already hard and straining against the front of his pants.
He should stop this. Jim would put up a bit of a fight and maybe sulk for a day or two, that's all. But deep down Miles doesn't want that. Especially when Jim starts nosing and mouthing at the hard outline of his dick.
"Have you ever heard of sex demons?" Miles asks. He has experienced weird phenomena way too many times to discard the supernatural. "I think you are a sex demon. Temptation incarnated."
Jim grins, looking up. "I can't help myself. Sue me."
"Nah. Suck me," Miles says, caving to the inevitable. He doesn't need to see Jim's face to know he looks smug at having his way.
"The poor leather pants, though," Miles adds, tone mournful. "You didn't even think of the pants, they're going to be ruined."
"Like 'em, huh?" Jim teases. The man has nimble fingers, and the cold night air is a shock against his cock before Jim wraps his hot hand around it. "I had a feeling. I put them on just for you."
That's nice. Miles definitely likes the pants, soft and skin tight. They are absolutely fantastic to showcase Jim's ass and long legs. Of course Jim in them is a menace to society and the virtue of the good citizens of the United States. It's probably illegal more places than not.
"I definitely want to see those pants again."
Jim hums what would probably be a 'uh-huh' if his mouth was free. He then starts sucking him down, wet and slick, and yeah, that does shut Miles up for a little bit. Jim knows every little trick to ratchet up the sensations, and easily goes through exactly what works for Miles.
On course, though, Miles knows what works for Jim, too. Sucking cock is definitely one of Jim's favorite things to do. He loves it, probably could come just from that - a fact that has Miles thank all of the deities above and below every time they do this. But for Jim there is sucking cock because he likes it, and even better giving a blowjob where he's not calling all of the shots. That really reallyworks for Jim. So the hair pulling? Yeah. That's a thing. Miles readjusts his grip in the blond strands and is rewarded by Jim moaning around his cock. He then sets the pace, slowing Jim a little. It might be dangerous as fuck to drag this on, but Miles doesn't want it to end just yet.
"Come on, that's it. Suck me good," Miles croons. "So good for me, so hot there on your knees like a good little cocksucker."
Jim's hands, on Miles thighs, start kneading, a sign he's definitely getting worked up.
"You can touch yourself," Miles allows, magnanimous.
Immediately Jim goes for his own pants and it seems a struggle to get them opened. Miles would laugh about the revenge of the leather pants, but he's enthralled by how his cock is disappearing in Jim's mouth, again and again. Jim's obvious enjoyment makes it even better. Miles can feel when Jim finally gets a hand in his pants by the way he groans, deep and primal.
"Don't forget what you're doing," Miles says, now with both hands in Jim's hair, guiding him lower and lower on his dick.
Jim can take it, they've done this often enough that Miles knows just how much to ask for. He'll recognize the signs if it becomes a bit much. Jim never admits discomfort, but Miles is determined that whatever they do, however rough it gets, it still stays enjoyable for the both of them. Being awesome? Is not a problem right now. In fact, Miles is going fast towards the finish, completely enraptured by the vision before him (so hot, so good) and his world is reduced to JimJimJim. He almost has a heart attack when he hears his name being called out, taking him out of his bubble.
"Hey, Straume, is everything okay?"
Miles head snaps towards the door and Jim freezes too.
It's Bloom, a detective from the 7th, and Miles is stuck, he doesn't know that to say. His heart is pounding: the cars hide Jim and they are too far back for Bloom to see anything anyway, but what if he comes over? Or expects Miles to go back in the club right now? If he wanted to be helpful, Jim could zip him up and straighten Miles clothes so he's presentable, just in case. But no, of course not. After a brief hesitation when Bloom spoke, the son of a bitch goes back to sucking Miles, right there and then. With lots of gusto, too. The asshole must get off on this, Jim's got an exhibitionist streak a mile wide. He probably thinks that it's awesome that they are in danger of being caught.
"All is good," Miles tells Bloom, racking his mind for an excuse to stay back here.
Keeping a straight face and his voice steady while he's getting one of the most enthusiastic blowjob he's ever gotten is a performance worthy of an Oscar. Jim grabs his ass and Miles could brain him, because this is unnecessary. Soon after he gets something slapped into his hand: it's his phone. That Jim got from his pocket. Which... okay, great thinking. Miles waves the phone up.
"Won't be long," he says. "Waiting for Sylvie to call me back on a background check."
"'Kay," Bloom says. "Say hi for me!" he adds with a smile and Miles inwardly roll his eyes. He'll need to back this lie up, just in case.
Just as Miles thinks he's in the clear, Jenny appears in the doorway too and spots him immediately.
Miles is going to die. Brushing Bloom off while his brain is being sucked out of his dick is one thing (they don't know one another that much). But Jenny? A whole different matter. It doesn't help that Jim is totally into this clusterfuck, arm moving fast while he jerks himself off. It's hot as hell.
"Hey, Miles!" Jenny exclaims. "Where's the sleazebag?"
Miles can't do this, he's going to give them away. He grabs Jim's hair again and pulls him off, hard; a lot harder than he ever allows himself. Of course Jim loves it. He whines low in his throat, thankfully quiet enough not to be overhead.
"Had to let him go, had nothing on him that could stick," Miles says. "Is the girl talking?"
She makes a face. "Not about him, at all. She says she doesn't want to go back to her parent's place, and anyway it's two hours away. I'll take her to the group home on 3rd for the night."
"Good idea," Mikes says, and he wishes he could discreetly bat away Jim's hands that are groping up his thighs. Miles risks a rapid glare down and finds the man grinning, obviously thrilled about his little game. Fuck if that doesn't make his stomach summersault, seeing Jim this mischievous and happy.
"That's good," Miles says, looking back up at Jenny. "We'll see about her folks tomorrow."
"We'd need your help in here," Jenny adds.
"Yeah, yeah," Miles says, showing his phone again. He really needs to call Sylvie now, ask her some random question. "Won't be long, I'm coming soon."
Jim chuckles at that and Miles almost laughs too: he didn't intend for it to be a pun. This situation is ridiculous. At long last Jenny goes back in the club and Miles relaxes a bit. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, he can't believe he almost got caught face-fucking a guy who's picture is pinned in the precinct as an associate to Morris. The Captain would have skinned him alive.
"C'mon, Baby, let me finish you off," Jim croons as he pulls Miles closer.
Miles' heart is still jack-rabitting from almost getting caught. Even though he usually argues that he's the more reasonable of the two of them, his cock is still hard. Quite frankly, he hasn't been that turned on in a while. Miles doesn’t know how he got to be so lucky to have Jim want him this much, but he's weak and folds like wet paper. He lets go of Jim's hair – it would be a crime to pull it off altogether, he loves that hair – pets him a little but then put a hand on the back of his neck and squeezes.
"Oh, you're gonna finish me off alright," he says, thrilled to see how Jim's eyes half close in pleasure at being told what to do. "And because of your little stunt earlier, that almost got us caught by the way, thanks for nothing, you'll keep your hands visible at all times."
Jim frowns lightly. "What?"
"No more jerking off for you," Miles clarifies. "Make me come but don't you dare touch yourself anymore."
"But-" Jim protests with a pout and Miles grips his neck a little harder.
"I think I was clear enough," he says. "If you come at all, it will be in by bed later, on my dick."
"Okay," Jim nods and yeah, that's his boy. He often protests for form, but Miles knows how good Jim feels when he finally is allowed to come after been denied orgasms for bit.
Miles takes his cock by the base and pulls Jim closer, feeds it to him and doesn't wait before he trusts in, deep from the get go. Predictably Jim is on board, moaning like a whore. Miles feels like he's been wound up for so long, the desire so sharp, that he just uses Jim's mouth. Obeying in his own way, Jim has both hands clasped behind his back; the blatantly submissive posture is insanely hot. It doesn't take more than a couple of minutes before Miles is on the verge of coming.
"Yeah, yeah, that's it," Miles pants. His whole body is curling towards Jim now, a hand braced on the top of the car while the other is still firmly attached to Jim's nape.
He's going to shoot his load in a second, lost in his own pleasure. Jim tries to whine but it's messed up because Miles' deep in his throat now. When he finally comes, Miles holds Jim's head all the way down, buried to the hilt. It takes everything not to shout as Jim's throat flutter against his cock as he swallows. The pleasure is sharp and gut wrenching, making Miles feels as if his blood has been ignited.
Fortunately Miles remembers himself rapidly enough and pulls out soon after. He's slightly worried when Jim starts coughing, gulping air as if he was about to pass out. Miles falls to his knees in front of Jim and takes hold of his face gently to check him over. There's come on the corner of Jim's mouth, saliva and precome glistening on his chin and some wetness near his eyes; he probably choked until he cried. Jim also looks dazed, eyes slightly unfocused with pupils so dilated he looks as if he has overdosed in amphetamines.
"You were so good," Miles praises, kissing Jim's forehead. Normally he'd clean him up and make sure he gets some cuddles to bring him down safely from subspace. Unfortunately he doesn't have the possibility right now, not here. He uses his thumbs to wipe the tears away, kisses Jim again on the side of his head. "So perfect. I need to go, I'm sorry. Will you be okay?"
"Yeah," Jim says, and thankfully his eyes are starting to clear up already.
It's a charged situation for him, too - in fact, especially for Jim - and it must help bring him back to regular functioning mode faster than normal.
Miles gets up and reaches into Jim's car through the window and takes a couple of tissue papers from the box inside the door. He cleans Jim up a little, who lets him do it patiently, but there's a smirk forming on his lips. Miles knows he's being indulged.
"Okay, great," Miles says. "So I need to go back in, and you'll get out of here before someone sees us."
Jim nods. "No problem, boss."
Sex does make Jim agreeable. If only he was always that pliant. When Miles pulls Jim up, he leans against the car like a satisfied cat. He's still hard, though, and Miles eyes the obscene bulge in his boxer briefs, showcased by the opened leather pants. He's half tempted to do something about it, but reason wins out. Miles fastens the button of Jim's fly instead, who hisses when fingers brush his erection. Once done, the darn pants are not hiding a thing.
"At what time do you think you'll make it? To mine?" Miles asks.
He might have just come, but desire is stirring deep in his gut already, a need for more that is constantly there. He did make a promise.
It's surely one in the morning, or maybe even past that right now. Miles knows he's got several hours of follow up before he can go back his house, even if he defers the paperwork.
Jim sighs and makes a face. "Yeah, about that... No can do."
"Yes, okay, I get it," Miles replies, though it's a disappointment. It's true that seeing each other again tonight is impractical. It makes Miles feel guilty that he didn't get Jim off, or at least let him jerk it earlier.
"Not for a couple of months," Jim says.
That stops Miles in his tracks, "What?"
Jim scans his face and must correctly read worry, confusion and insecurity because he grabs Miles' arm before he can step back.
"I want to, but I can't. There's something big coming up, I feel it, and I can't risk seeing you. I think Riley suspects something about us. He asked where I went last time, and I need to cut all ties for the moment."
"You're supposed to tell me these things," Miles hisses, crazy with worry. "What is that something big?"
"I can't tell. Not right now. Morris has been grooming me up for something huge, and that's our fucking gold ticket. It's one of the reasons I had to be here tonight. I can't always be conveniently away when shit hits the fan."
Miles trusts Jim's judgment even though he constantly complaints about it. It's a game they play, where Miles vents his frustrations because he hates feeling helpless and Jim endures it with a minimum of arguing. But right now, faced with total silence? Miles doesn't quite know what to say or do.
"How long do you need?"
"I'm not sure. Don't contact me. Also I'm ditching my phone, and I won't call in at all. Warn the Captain for me," Jim says and Miles' stomach drops.
"You can't be out there without a way to call for backup!"
"I have to," Jim says, jaw set and a stubborn look in his eyes. Miles knows he's made his mind and won't budge.
"I get it's risky, but no contact at all?" Miles knows how it might sound, but he's so not talking about sex, he couldn't care less about that right now. He just needs to know Jim is okay from time to time.
Jim looks around and it hits Miles, how they're playing with fire right now. Again. Nonetheless Jim grabs his face and kisses him, deep and forceful. It's not the kiss of someone who wants to get away, who's had enough. On the contrary, it's a little desperate, full of regrets.
"I have to keep you safe," Jim says when he breaks the kiss. "I can't risk them finding about you."
"But that's exactly my job description!" Miles protests. How does he not get that? "I'm supposed to help you!"
Jim grins and he kisses Miles again. "You do. I'm doing this for you. So we can put Morris away once and for all, and I can get out."
"Okay, okay," Miles finally relents. He forces his fingers to let go of Jim's shirt that he unconsciously gripped tight. "Please be careful."
"You know me," Jim says with a wink, getting into his car.
"Yes, and that's exactly the problem!" Miles says, bending to give him a last kiss through the window. "Promise me you won't do something stupid."
"I'll do my best," Jim says. "Be careful, too. Don't go and lose your cool if one of Morris' guys taunts you. If we happen to cross paths, you don't know me. You give me shit like you would to anyone else."
"Like I did tonight," Miles says, rolling his eyes. "I know my job, asshole."
"I know. Do you trust me?" Jim asks, nakedly earnest as he rarely is.
"Yes. Of course," Miles replies. He trusts Jim with everything he has.
"Then believe I know what I'm doing, too. That I'm going to help bring them down soon, and that I'm coming back to you after," he says, starting the car.
Choked up, Miles nods. "Okay. Okay. I love you."
So that little confession got out without his express permission. Miles can't regret it when Jim smiles wide, eyes crinkling.
"You're a sap," he teases. Before Miles feels the need to protests, he adds, "and I love you, too. Bye Miles, see you soon."
As the car exits the club's parking lot, Miles doesn't know if he feels elated that Jim said he loves him, or if he's crushed by the weight of how dangerous the next weeks will be. Both, definitely both. But they chose this job, are fully conscious of the risks they take every day, and in the end Miles still believes it's worth it. He's a professional, he can do what he has to do while the guy he's head over heels for does his part to make the streets safer for everyone.
Miles takes a deep breath, makes sure he's presentable, then starts walking towards the club. He also dials the precinct.
"Hey, Sylvie! Miles here. Mind telling me if there's something on a car registered-" He glance to a flashy Camaro. "Kilo Juliet Lima 276?"
"Sure thing honey," Sylvie says, and he can hear her typing.
He's going to back up his earlier lies, and go inside the Onyx to give some lowlifes a bit of hell. Then he'll go back to the office to fill his fucking paperwork. Soon, this is going to be over. He'll miss Jim - will undoubtedly worry himself sick at one point, he's a realist - but if it's to have his man for good in the end, it's a compromise Miles' willing to make.
It's worth it, after all.