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After the royal fiasco of the Thrombey affair, Benoît Blanc had only one thing in mind: to abandon the disastrous weather affiliated with this equally disastrous family and secure himself several weeks of vacation under the Californian sun with his husband, who also needed some time off after the mission he’d been assigned on.
A mission the detective knew nothing about.
Now, not because his spouse was a particularly enthusiastic devotee to the confidential seal the US government thought placed on his mouth – hell, no, Jake wasn’t enthusiastic about that at all and would always tell everything that happened to him to the detective once he got back home – but because Benoît himself rarely wanted to know what kind of mind-blowing dangers awaited the love of his life when he left.
Benoît wouldn’t survive the wait and the anguish, which was why he let himself be drown by work and cases in the absence of his lover.
Because, you see, his husband was a ridiculously gifted fighter pilot for the Navy.
Lieutenant Jake Seresin. Callsign: Hangman.
“There’s no fuckin’ way I’m callin’ myself Jake Blanc, darlin’. Hope you know that. Have a reputation to maintain and, no offense, but that ain’t it”
“Well. That’s fair, that's not a pretty name I’d be gifting you with. But I can’t go around calling myself Benoît Seresin either as it somehow revokes the mystifying character I’ve built for myself this far.”
“Hm? I really like it, though, y’know. Branding you mine and all that.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And it sounds badass, I mean. Detective Seresin?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Seresin?”
“Oh fuck, I love it.”
“You love the sound of your own name, is all.”
“I love you too?”
“Thanks, sweetheart. What about this – we keep our names, for our professions’ sake and everything, and. You get to call me whatever you want once you’re home.”
“I just wanna call you mine, BB.”
“I am.”
Right.
So here he is, soft linen pants brushing against his ankles, pink shirt with rolled-up sleeves, blue silk bandana tied around his neck and a travel bag in hand, a pair of fancy sunglasses – from his fancy man – perched up his nose.
Romantic vacations. They can do that.
As he comes down the stairs of the airport, he's soon embraced in the warm, blinding light of the Californian sun in which is bathing the hallway.
His eyes scamming the huge room in search of the most familiar face of his life, Benoît’s heart speeds up a bit – it’s been four weeks, a whole damned month away from Jake.
And as much as he’s particularly satisfied with himself for the outcome of his most recent case, which has allowed a young immigrant nurse to win the jackpot and every ounce of respect she deserves, he couldn’t be happier to leave people kill each other in his absence so that he could be with his husband again.
After a few minutes, Benoît catches sight of Jake despite the relentless movement of the crowd separating them.
He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt of a pale green matching his eyes and covered in coral flowers. A ridiculous thing that Benoît offered him just for fun and a ridiculous thing that Jake actually pulls off like a king. Unsurprisingly.
He’s leaning – of course he is, Jake’s a leaner – against a pillar, crossed-armed and slightly frowning – probably chewing on a toothpick.
Being so far for so long, there had been moments where Benoît almost wondered if Jake was even real at all, but now?
In this instant, it all comes back to him – the arrogant beauty of Jake's face, the muscular lines of his body which he can almost feel at his fingertips for all the memories of their nights together are imprinted there, both biting and delicate.
Exhaling on a smile, Benoît finally lets the feeling sink in and thinks: Home, at last.
He crosses the room with effort – apologizing to a young girl who steps on his toes, frowning at a couple who stands there unwilling to move out of the way, offering help to an elderly woman who’s cursing after the wheels of her case – and then, fudging finally, he finds himself in Jake’s personal space, the younger man staring dumbly though lovingly at him.
There’s an attractive stubble on his jaw, his hair’s longer – his eyes have turned noticeably softer.
Jake's lips part beautifully-
“Fancy seein’ you here, sir,” Jake says with a drawl, leaning away from the pillar, yet it’s missing the tease, somehow. It sounds raw.
Benoît swallows the lump in his throat, ignoring the high speed hammering thing beating in his chest. He keeps his cool though.
“Greetings, stranger. I’m looking for a cab, would you be so kind as to-”
He doesn’t have time to finish, as a fistful of his shirt gets hauled forward and his last words end up being swallowed by the man’s mouth on his.
The longing, the irrepressible need coils low in his lower stomach, pools like a river of fiery, burning liquid licking at the inside of his veins and suddenly, Benoît feels more alive than he's ever been.
Met with the wonderful heat of Jake's tongue slipping between his lips, the man's hands cupping his face, a little forcefully, warmly eager, Benoît gasps into the kiss.
His fingers let go of his bag, he barely hears it fall loudly to the floor, way more appreciative of Jake's moan into his mouth, and his hands come rest on his husband's waist, grasping, drawing him in even closer, pressing their bodies flushed-
Home, home, home-
They kiss for a lifetime, in the middle of a timeless place, parting and gasping for air only minutes later, their foreheads pressed together.
A pretty shade of pink has spread on Jake's cheeks and is now coloring his lips, stretched a lazy, playful smirk only he has learned to master - the jade of his eyes shines with absolute bliss.
"Damn," Jake rasps, gazing into Benoît's eyes. "Here's the sky I belong to."
Benoît snorts. "Sweet-talkin' me already?"
"I've missed you," his husband speaks on a shaky breath, vulnerability on full disclose - which isn't a regular thing so Benoît finds himself leaning in again, stealing several kisses, Jake's hands running in his hair.
"I've missed you so much, darlin'," Jake says again against his mouth, practically whining now, bordering on desperate.
Benoît's heart breaks a little, his arms now fully circling Jake's waist.
"Life turns so cold when you leave," he whispers, bathing in the sight of Jake's tanned skin and heated eyes. "I miss you more every second each time."
Jake's smile softens, his fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
"Love it when you get all poetic on me, babe."
"Yeah, well. I love it when you shut me up-"
There.
Jake ends up kissing him again, and nothing could matter more that than. The reality of it all makes his toes curl and his mind stutter.
And this is where I belong myself.
In the mouth of the mystery he'll spend his life trying to solve-
Jake's love for him.