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Chapter Text

Nolan picked up take-out at his favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant. His stomach was unsurprisingly growling, given that he had skipped lunch and was (as usual) hugely grateful to La Estrella for remaining open till 2am.

Which, all things considered, did make him realize he had not exactly been eating on a healthy schedule. As in…breakfast had been a black coffee and a protein bar, scarfed down after his usual 5am run and subsequent quick shower.

By evening, Sam had given him a weird look and asked if she could bring him something back as she was going to get her own dinner. Apparently, Nolan looked “pale, wan and out of sorts.” He didn't quite recall the last time he had been in sorts, but nonetheless opened his mouth to ask her to bring him another of whatever she was getting. At the same time, he reached for his wallet, intending to treat for dinner. Sam was such a thoughtful friend, it was the least he could –

But then Nick Baxter was there, strolling sternly into Nolan’s office with news of yet more complications on their latest case. Dinner slipped by the wayside, even for Sam (was he setting a bad example for her? What with his whole “married to the job” thing?). Nolan had not thought of food again until he left work around midnight and damn near fainted the moment he stepped outside.

What a pain, having a body with routine demands like basic sustenance and survival. He just wanted to go right home to eat a bowl of cereal in the dark, brush his teeth and pass out until the ever-dreaded morning alarm kicked off another long, grueling day of the same.

But Nolan never would have lasted the train ride home without collapsing; his apartment was five more stops from the DA’s office compared to the familiar, cozy little side-street where La Estrella was nestled between a laundromat and a consignment shop.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he had an apartment at all, especially with rent prices in this city being astronomical. He barely left the office except to supposedly go home and “rest,” but he would most likely get more sleep on the couch in his office. His bed only felt like an insincere promise of tranquility with a faint echo of the morning alarm ringing in his ears when he laid down on it.

He didn’t know how he felt about this notion, except that he ought to feel something. It wasn’t as if his passionate pursuit of justice had waned a bit since he took the EADA position; if anything, he was more dedicated than ever. Yet he felt no equivalent investment in himself, not separate from the job, at least. And the lack of caring for his individual selfhood or the mere idea of extended “down time,” much less a personal life, had at some point become numbingly familiar.

He walked into the soothingly small, neat, dimly lit restaurant, where guitar music played softly on overhead speakers and fairy lights twinkled, strings of them wound around fake, but pretty displays of potted red roses along the walls. His vision felt a little too acute, making the mild ambience sting his eyes into blurring exhaustion, while his lower lip throbbed in dull, repetitive background-noise pain. None of which seemed to be good signs.

I’ll figure myself out. Start taking care of me and having a life of my own… just need to eat something first, then I can make a new plan for regaining my humanity before I burn out at the ripe old age of forty-five.

Grateful he hadn’t passed out from malnutrition and dehydration (a dream team with whom he was unsettlingly familiar of late) before making it here, Nolan walked up to the bar. The moment this journey ended, he caught himself on the bar itself with a low grunt as a whoosh of dizziness nearly knocked him over.

Nolan was used to concealing the symptoms of his overworking habits, the way he was always slightly uncomfortable, whether from an aching back and neck (all-night sessions preparing closing statements or poring over evidence, desperately seeking a foothold he could climb to a successful end result), the yawning abyss formerly known as his stomach, or his headaches.

He hated to have anyone worrying about him, so he tried to keep an even stride and a predictable mood, especially as he grew angry with himself if he lost his temper or acted grumpy at the office. He was better than that, dammit, he was a nice person. When he was a person. And now maybe he was just the damn Executive Assistant District Attorney. After working so hard to get where he was, how the hell could he learn to slow down?

The late-night bartender knew Nolan well and didn’t even have to ask his order. Soon enough, while smiling and making small talk in the hope he seemed normal, despite nearly fainting, he got his food and resigned himself to the task of eating it there.

He could barely sit still and enjoy the delicious tacos and cold beer, knowing that there was so much work to be done, and there just wasn’t time for such frivolities. Eating out was something he only seemed to indulge when meeting an associate for a serious discussion or on nights like these, when there wasn’t much choice.

But he managed to clear most of his meal and drink before paying, fighting the urge to snatch his card back from the bartender, Miguel, not out of bitchiness but pure instinctual conviction that if he was not working or sleeping, he was taking up too much space and wasting time. Nolan was always in a hurry.

“Hey, man, you need some ice for that?” Miguel asked, nodding at Nolan’s face. “You don’t seem the type to get into a fight.”

“Oh, that,” Nolan said with a shaky chuckle, rubbing his lower lip over a small cut. “No, I’m fine. I, uh, didn’t start the fight. I recently won a guilty verdict in a case where the defendant’s family didn't exactly appreciate my efforts. The guy’s brother found me when I was walking from work to court for my current case this afternoon, and slapped me right in the street.” He shrugged.

“That sucks, Nolan. They better be paying you good to deal with bullshit like that.”

Nolan nodded in appreciation of the young man’s kind remarks and concern which, while casual, was more than he showed himself. Damn, he did make a pretty sizable paycheck, but he barely ever spent it except to pay his bills and buy his suits for work, keep his neat haircut, buy another huge box of protein bars, cheaper in bulk – only because why not get a deal if it was on offer?

“I’ll be fine, just one of the less pleasant aspects of the job. Have a good rest of your night.” Nolan forced a wan smile, tapping the bar in farewell.

He turned to leave, feeling as if his relationship with gravity had improved from filling his stomach. But there was a distinct loneliness falling over his matter-of-fact demeanor, darkening it more quickly than he liked. Not this again. Nolan much preferred the curtain of melancholy to descend on him right before he fell asleep, as this provided a fast escape.

As he passed a couple sitting close together on the same side of a snug booth, sharing bites of each others’ food and barely able to stop kissing long enough to eat, Nolan’s stomach sank as if he hadn’t had a single morsel to satisfy his own hunger. But this was that other appetite, the longing for…oh, it was stupid and pointless. It was childish.

It was something he supposedly could have anytime he wanted, but shied away from one excuse or another, never quite understanding what he was so afraid of. This was why it was stupid, pointless and childish, yearning for romance when he never put in the effort to date.

It was just another leaky faucet in his mind, where unwanted thoughts and feelings occasionally overwhelmed his dogged common sense and tunnel vision focus on work. And the faucet kept on leaking, the dip-drop of self-neglect slowly accumulating. Maybe someday, he’d suddenly find himself drowning in this sense of painful isolation.

An unexpected sight caused him to break the surface of his carefully submerged anxiety: he saw some work acquaintances. Namely, three detectives he had crossed paths with over multiple cases and with whom he had established respectful, cordial rapports: Cosgrove, Shaw, and Riley.

They were seated at a table facing away from the canoodling couple. And occupying a chair directly across from the semicircle of detectives nursing margaritas and sharing some appetizers, there was a man Nolan had never seen before. He had only made this observation, then noticed that the stranger was majorly suspicious-looking, giving him an instant bad vibe, when he’d already paused by their table with a greeting halfway out of his mouth.

Well, he’d gone and done it now. This was probably an undercover operation. He had to cover up his own error in judgment now and act like he was anything but a lawyer. No problem, right?

In his favor: he had taken off his tie before eating, undone his top shirt button and rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t look relaxed, as that was a bad joke even to consider, but he did look rumpled and not like a man of his professional status.

Cosgrove caught sight of Nolan first, upon which a brief glimmer of worry in his eyes was almost instantly replaced by a casual, gregarious reaction.

“Nickyyyy!”

Nolan’s eyes only widened slightly. What a ridiculous fake name. As if he could ever even be mistaken for a “Nicky”--

Shaw and Riley immediately piled onto Cosgrove’s “delighted” greeting, all three of them giving him hugs, clapping his back, and asking variations of “what the hell you doin’ here, buddy?”

“Pull up a fuckin’ chair, my man,” Shaw encouraged, “We’re orderin’ somemore margaritas in your honor. What the fuck, Nicky? Haven’t seen you in ages, where you been?”

Nolan was impressed at how the three normally rather stern and serious detectives threw themselves into the roles, appearing to be carefree and almost as sketchy as the stranger, so that the aura of “probable drug dealers, and/or pimps, and/or thieves” was completely believable.

“Aw, I don’t wanna put you fellas out,” Nolan managed with a smile that wasn’t even forced.

Actually, the situation was kind of funny. The part of him that should be worried about the stranger and what kind of crime the detectives had gone undercover to thwart was so used to danger and risk that it just joined in the amusement.

“C’mon, whaddaya doin’, Nicky? Like we’d let you out of our sight without buyin’ you a fuckin’ drink,” Riley put in, practically dragging Nolan into the empty chair between their own and the stranger’s.

“Nicky, this here’s Mr. Elliott,” Cosgrove said as soon as Nolan sat down, and the stranger, dressed in all-black with several gold-chain necklaces and a look of conceited avarice in his eyes, eagerly reached out a hand to Nolan’s.

“A true pleasure, Nicky. Heyyy, fellas, you’ve been holding out on me!” Elliott pressed his other hand briefly over Nolan’s, extending the handshake, and then released him with a wink. He held both of his stubby arms out, gesturing towards Nolan – errr, Nicky. “This is more like it.”

Cosgrove suddenly needed to cover his mouth and give a short cough, which Nolan was quite certain he did to prevent himself from laughing. Shaw’s eyes were a bit too shiny and Riley’s mouth kept slightly twitching.

“Mr. Elliott here is looking to recruit new employees for his high-end business concerns,” Shaw elaborated.

“You lookin’ for work, Nicky? Even if you just ain’t gettin’ paid enough by Sinclair’s heir apparent, or whoever the fuck is managin’ your payroll these days,” Cosgrove put in with a laugh, “You should consider a change of scene.”

“Sinclair’s a real dirtbag,” Elliott said derisively. He downed a shot of tequila as if it was water and gestured to the waiter for more. “Streets are better off without him. Boy like you deserves to be treated like gold. I don’t doubt you got the clients linin’ up and down the block for a piece of that, huh, Nicky?”

Nolan’s lashes fluttered quickly. His cheeks turned pink.

Sinclair was a rather infamous pimp who had recently gone down after many years of running a strip club which doubled as homebase for a lucrative prostitution business.

Furthermore, the wealthy kingpin had made a second fortune on selling party drugs. The “two-fer” special of a hooker and a sizable discount of great-quality ecstasy were the recipe to Sinclair’s success.

It hadn’t been Nolan’s case, but another lawyer at the D.A. 's office had worked on it, helping to land Sinclair’s conviction. And he’d heard his share of crazy stories around work during the time of that trial.

If this sleazy-looking guy was attempting to headhunt Nolan from the shaky new management of whoever had taken over Sinclair’s crime ring since his conviction, that meant he thought Nolan was a sex worker.

And to make it even more absurd, Mr. Elliott was behaving as if it was a foregone conclusion that Nolan was attractive enough to be a very successful hooker.

Nolan also didn’t think anyone had referred to him as a “boy” too often, even when he was a kid. Nolan had been accused on many occasions of having been “born old.” But apparently this pimp, a rival of Sinclair’s, took one look at him and thought he’d be a moneymaker. It was too wild.

“Not recently,” Nolan sighed theatrically. He might’ve been laying it on too thick, given that Cosgrove kicked his shin under the table.

After casting a frozen smile at Cosgrove that included a poisonous glare, Nolan added more breezily, “Times’ve been less and less profitable ever since the boss got locked up. Frankly, I feel like I’m doing two jobs, my normal one and then being my own pimp as well. It’s a little draining, without much compensation. I’ve even considered changing career fields.”

“Nah, that’d be a total waste!” Elliott insisted consolingly. “It’s obvious you ain’t bein’ protected proper, look at that lip! Now that is a crime. You need to get a better situation for yourself, pronto.”

Nolan touched his wounded lip with a sigh. When the pimp put it like that, it made it sound like he really did get the occasional slap in the face with no consequences at all to the giver.

“Guess you got yourself a point there,” he admitted.

“Look here, kid, you take my card, give a call in a couple days when that lip heals up. I’ll get you set up in my operation. Matter of fact, there’ll be some familiar territory for you – I’ve just acquired some of Sinclair’s real estate holdings, the ones that went asunder when he did. Including the Honeycomb Hideaway.”

“No kidding,” Nolan remarked, “I’m impressed. Congratulations. That place could sure use a pick-me-up.”

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me. First thing we did’s change the name. It’s called the Garden of Temptation now.”

“Oh, wow,” Nolan pretended to marvel, “That’s so much better.”

Across the table, Riley pressed his lips together, perhaps stifling a laugh.

Elliott nodded enthusiastically. “I know, right! Here you go, Nicky – just give this number a ring this week, when you’re ready, and ask for Cherry. You might be just the jolt of new blood that our operation needs at the moment to get up and running. So many annoying little amateur bitches to corral and try ‘n squeeze a profit outta. A guy like you with some experience under his belt, but still young and hot enough to bring in a large clientele? Perfect. You can set an example for all these young little strumpets!”

The whole scenario and conversation were surreal and nonsensical enough to amuse Nolan exceedingly, despite his genuinely drained spirits of late. He was either awkwardly stuck in the middle of an undercover op involving Elliott, and-or some of the pimp’s associates, or he was in a David Lynch movie. Possibly both.

“Thanks so much, Mr. Elliott, I can already tell you’re a gem,” Nolan proclaimed.

He made a show of drinking a little of the margarita which had been placed in front of him, then stood to leave at the next opportunity.

“Get a good night’s sleep, Nicky,” Elliott instructed him with one of those big, sleazy-fake smiles that ran rampant in the criminal underworld. “And rest up a couple days. You’re gonna need your strength for later in the week!”

“You bet!”

As he made a deft escape, Nolan avoided the gazes of the detectives, not wanting to show his own reaction to any of the wide-ranging possibilities among their expressions. He was doing them all a favor by dipping out of the scene for now, although it seemed that he might be able to help the police in his own unexpected way, if this “new job” turned out to be advantageous to the case they were working.

***

He went to the police station first thing the next day and tracked down Cosgrove, who was having a coffee with some other cop who Nolan didn’t know. One look at the lawyer made Cosgrove roll his eyes and seem to age at least five years.

“Well, well, well,” Cosgrove declared as his friend headed off to another office. He stared Nolan down in the coffee lounge, hands on his hips. “If it isn’t Nicky.”

“Aaaayyyy,” Nolan replied in an attempt at being humorous and “cool” that apparently fell flat. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. I came by to see if I can be of any help in your case. You know, given that this Elliott piece of work made me an offer that no seasoned, yet youthful male escort could possibly refuse.”

“Oh, is that so,” Cosgrove said drily, looking relieved when Riley and Shaw entered the staff room seeking their own morning cups of terrible black coffee from the nearby machine on the counter. “Would you look at what the cat dragged in,” he quipped to his associates.

“Okay, that’s a bit much, Frank.” Nolan frowned, mildly offended. “It’s at least, ‘look who the cat dragged in.’”

This was strangely ignored as Shaw took one look at him and laughed sharply.

“Nicky!” He pointed at Nolan, shook his head, and went to the coffee machine as if this concluded any discussion on the matter.

“What’s going on, Nolan?” Riley asked, appearing to be both more confused and more polite than the other two detectives.

But on the other hand, Riley barely knew Nolan by comparison. If unfamiliarity was what it took for the EADA to be perceived with more seriousness and consideration, Nolan really felt like giving Shaw and Cosgrove a piece of his mind. Was this what he got for going out of his way to be helpful? Unbelievable.

“As you know, the pimp you all are apparently working on for some kind of undercover op gave me his card last night,” Nolan explained.

He kept a holier-than-thou tone but balanced it nicely, he thought, by sounding like a real police expert and using the term “op.” It would perhaps remind them all that this was hardly Nolan’s first rodeo. He had assisted the police hands-on, in plenty of other cases. Sometimes it was because he had the bad luck to become somehow enmeshed in a murder case – as a witness or someone connected to the victim.

He’d also been in the wrong place at the wrong time on several occasions, yet made up for it by giving his expertise and helping the detectives to crack the case. So what if Nolan found it kind of fun and intriguing to work on the other side of the law and order process sometimes? It’s not like he had nothing to offer the cops in exchange for his harmless roleplay experiment.

“Oh, that,” Riley chuckled. “Yeah, the three of us are supposed to be pimps for a smaller operation on the other side of town, and Elliott thinks he’s head-hunting our little menagerie of hookers to plump up his own enterprise.”

“So, what are you really after?” Nolan inquired, resting his hands on a chair in front of a small gray table and trying to act like he fit in at the station.

Nolan had to admit that the bland, beige walls with cracked paint and the clearly below-par coffee and snack amenities were a stark reminder that the police often had much shoddier working conditions than he did at the D.A.’s office. He tried to use this observation and its accompanying, charitable pity to remain patient with the detectives as they failed to take him seriously.

“Not that it’s any of your business, pretty boy, but we’re tryin’ to crack a serial murder case over here.” Cosgrove crushed his thumb into an unopened packet of sugar that was old enough to have crusted internally. He looked pleased when this loosened the contents and allowed him to pour the tiny shreds of sugar into his abysmal coffee.

“You heard of the Dove?” Shaw asked, more conversationally than anything else. He also had an air of “well, he already knows this much, might as well explain the rest.” This was more a general shrug in Nolan’s direction than a mark of trust, but whatever.

“God, yeah,” Nolan said, his interest in helping out now tempered by an automatic twinge of fearful intimidation. “That’s been awful. What have there been – five victims in less than a month?”

“And we’ve been hittin’ a brick wall at every turn,” Cosgrove admitted. Shaw tossed Nolan a file folder, and Nolan peeked at its contents, flipping through the summary of victim names, circumstances and theories as to the killer’s identity.

Riley added, “‘Till the Captain gave us the go-ahead to dig into the killer’s stomping grounds a little more aggressively.”

“You’re trying to gain intel on the movements and habits of the sex workers within the Dove’s usual territory,” Nolan surmised. “Maybe get some kind of protection out there where it can do some good.”

“The thought had crossed our minds,” Cosgrove said, giving Nolan a dubious smirk. “Why, you volunteerin’ your services for that position?”

“I happened upon your little meeting last night, by sheer coincidence. Call me crazy, but we’ve worked together successfully in the past. I felt it would be responsible of me to stop by and see if I could be of any help. And honestly, I feel even more compelled to do so if I can, given the seriousness of this case. I already have an in. If the Dove is someone who works in Elliott’s operation or shows up as a regular, or just skulks around the scene enough, I could certainly get eyes on him and report back to you. I’m not promising anything here, but what’ve you really got to lose?”

“What are you planning to do if you come face-to-face with this ruthless serial killer?” Riley asked, looking sincerely perplexed. “Treat him as a hostile witness? Question him like it’s a court of law?”

“Nothing,” Shaw argued, “Since we can’t put the freaking EADA out on the mean streets and right in the potential crosshairs of the Dove, just on the off-chance that he might stumble upon useful evidence or even a definite lead.”

“I’m touched at your concern for my safety,” Nolan replied tartly. “If you change your mind, my offer stands.”

“Don’t you have legal cases you should be working on? What’s Baxter going to do without his second-in-command while you’re strutting your stuff on the street corner?” Riley stirred cream into his coffee and gave each of his fellow detectives a questioning glance.

Nolan got the feeling he was starting to convince them, and it gave him a small flush of triumph.

“I can only assume that the D.A. will support my desire to help catch a serial killer,” Nolan shrugged. “After all, ours is the office that will ultimately be responsible for putting this bastard away for life. What better way to start on a successful path in that direction than by me personally helping to apprehend this killer?”

***

“Oh, absolutely not,” Nick Baxter chuckled an hour later, when Nolan met with him in his office. “Are you joking? I mean. You must be joking.”

“I’m not joking, primarily because I don’t have time to waste on such a needless and potentially insulting, elaborate, so-called joke. I’m asking you for leave because time is of the essence and lives are at stake, Nick. Of all people, I thought you would be more understanding.”

The D.A. sank into his illustrious leather chair behind his distinguished desk and put his head in his hands with a long, dragging sigh. He looked up at Sam, who stood beside Nolan with an equally doubtful expression.

“Sam, can you please talk some sense into him?”

“He is standing right here,” Nolan corrected Baxter, feeling more than a little righteously indignant.

“That’s right, you are, Nolan,” Sam replied apologetically, turning to face him. “But don’t you think that you ought to leave an undercover operation this complex and dangerous to the experts?”

“I’m hardly a spring chicken, Sam.”

“You’re a lawyer, Nolan.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him that one sensible look of hers that tended to undercut his moments of potentially inappropriate ambition.

“Even if I give you the time off so that you can engage in this frankly insane proposed plan,” Baxter said, flipping through papers on his desk as if he couldn’t really see them at the moment, “What do you want me to do if you get in too deep and land yourself in grave peril? You know my hands will be tied. It’s nowhere near my jurisdiction. You’d have to rely wholly on the police to pull you out before your ass gets seriously compromised while you’re playing a role you have no training for.”

“So, you’re worried about me,” Nolan finally deduced. “You could have just said so, instead of talking down to me for ten minutes straight.”

“We’re both worried about you,” Sam put in, wincing at Nolan’s typical lack of hesitation on giving back as good as he got when it came to his boss’s sassy attitude. “We just have our own ways of showing it. But Nolan, you can’t possibly claim that we’re out of line to be concerned for your safety and potentially even your life.”

“Maybe Nolan would benefit from this experience after all,” Baxter retorted in a steely tone, sitting back and crossing his arms. “It might be humbling.”

“Or successful,” Nolan smirked. “I can see I struck a nerve with my comments about you talking me down, but I didn’t mean any disrespect, Nick. If I can help to protect innocent lives by preventing another murder, I don’t understand how I have much of a choice, morally, than to humble myself by engaging in the operation.”

Baxter shot Sam a look that pleaded for answers or solutions of which she was sadly bereft. When Nolan had his mind made up, there was nothing anyone could do to dissuade him, especially when he was on his moral high horse.

“The thing is, with respect, sir,” Sam addressed Baxter with delicate honesty, “I agree that Nolan is being impetuous and potentially biting off more than he can chew.”

Oh, thanks, Sam, Nolan thought so loudly he was fairly sure she heard him.

She went on, “But when it comes to his moral compass, it is unfailingly true and in the right place. We shouldn’t chalk his ambition up to mere ego when I think it’s far more motivated by a genuine desire to help where help’s needed most.”

Oh. Thanks, Sam. Nolan smiled.

“I concur with you whole-heartedly, Sam,” Baxter replied with wry disdain that didn’t cover up the flicker of anxiety for Nolan’s well-being that formed the real motivation for his argument. “In fact, I don’t really think Nolan’s ego is at issue here, it just tends to seem that way.”

His gaze shifted to Nolan, point-blank. “The reality is, you’re so damn determined to try and make up for your own perceived past mistakes or moral shortcomings that you’ll jump into just about any frying pan if you think you’ll earn a shot at complete redemption.”

Nolan’s lashes fluttered as he crossed his own arms, mirroring the D.A.’s authoritative body language. “Gee, Nick, you say the sweetest things.”

“Harsh, but true, Nolan: we are not in the business of closing cases in hopes of being one hundred percent angelically good all the time. Or we’d never close any cases at all. If you think it’s any different being a detective, I anticipate you finding out it’s the same on either side of the legal system.”

“I’m not quite so naive, as it happens,” Nolan blushed, about ready to grind his teeth at the interrogation from his boss.

It was not unexpected and he knew it came from caring about him not dying and all, rather than any dislike or enmity, much less disrespect or underestimation.

But he certainly hadn’t climbed this high on the career ladder because he had a high tolerance for being chewed out in someone’s office. In fact, a sizable reason for his preference of staying in a lofty rank was how much he despised being reprimanded or told what to do when he already damn well knew what he had to do.

He nodded after managing one more duly respectful nod to Baxter while awaiting his judgement. Sam looked less than pleased with Nolan for the whole scheme that was underway, and Nolan didn’t like knowing she’d worry about him the whole time he was on this case.

But the situation had already gone far enough that he considered it wrong not to follow through. Perhaps the time had come to show both of his co-workers that they should have more faith in him.

Baxter put on his reading glasses, looked down at the unreadable pile of papers again, and then up at Nolan’s eagerly anticipating face. He gave the EADA an exasperated, indulgent little smile that contained folders worth of annoyances and tossed his glasses to the desk, signaling defeat.

“Fine,” Baxter allowed, “One week, tops, that’s seriously it, Nolan. Your work here is just as important to the justice system as what the detectives are undertaking. Go and help to whatever extent you can and then get your ass back in your office where you are needed.”

“Perfect, thank you, Nick,” Nolan acknowledged with a relieved smile. “I promise not to blame you if I’m killed in the line of duty after you gave me the time off.”

He left Baxter’s office in a breezy manner, leaving the D.A. to look up at Sam with an expression akin to the “Math Lady” meme.

“He’s kidding, right?” Baxter demanded indignantly.

Sam just gave him a smile, replete with her own blend of affection and irritation towards Nolan, and shrugged. It was going to be an interesting week.

Chapter Text

After reporting back to the police station, Nolan was given his instructions for how to start his undercover role as a prostitute working for Elliott’s new operation.

The business was still being launched with the strip club, newly renamed the Garden of Temptation, as the cover for a drug sales and prostitution ring. Ironically, despite his professed mockery and disdain for Sinclair’s business mistakes and lackluster results, Elliott had no problem horning in on the failed enterprise and using the foundations as a springboard for his own endeavors. It had to be a lot easier than starting this kind of business from the ground up – but Nolan wouldn’t know much about that.

It was definitely weird, taking on the persona of a habitual and shameless law-breaker, where his new “boss” was a formidably shady character and his “job” had gone from trying the hardest cases that landed on the D.A.’s desk, to…well, strutting his stuff out on the mean streets.

Nolan was given a copy of the case files to read, memorize and then destroy, including all evidence to date which had been accumulated towards a profile of the Dove serial killer. There was a police sketch artist’s drawing which was thought to be accurate based on reports from a few witnesses close to the victims.

Dove had a habit of hanging around the blocks where sex workers sold their wares, taking his time observing the most popular escorts before selecting his next target. But he also had a distressing knack for disappearing before he could be caught, which meant that his skills as a kidnapper and destroyer of murder evidence were almost flawless.

His “innocently” bland, grey-haired, low-key demeanor and graceful skill for eluding capture had landed him the nickname “Dove.”

A creep and a remorseless killer. The worst combination Nolan could imagine.

And here he was, putting himself right in the Dove’s path, even as a potential target. Nolan still thought it would be better, even if he was chosen as a “victim,” as he had a stronger chance to notice his danger and protect himself – not to mention call on the police for help – than any random victim would likely possess.

Nolan would normally have thought the police sketch artist’s rendering of the Dove killer could be any middle-aged, average weight-height caucasian with close-shorn, grey hair and a glare that said society had screwed him over one too many times, so now he was going to show the world, et cetera. As a lawyer, Nolan heard stories like this all the time.

But there was just something about the Dove’s eyes - piercing and cruel - soulless. Nolan was certain, bland appearance notwithstanding, that if he saw this man in real life, he’d instantly know it. The thought of it made a shiver run down his spine, but that only affirmed the reason he was in this whole scheme to begin with.

He had a chance to bring this killer down, and he was going all in on that chance.

***

On the morning when Nolan was to begin his “new gig,” he took a bus down to the rougher part of town and swallowed hard at the sight of a looming Pepto Bismol-pink square building directly in front of him.

The autumn sun sat high and serene in a nearly cloudless sky, creating the disorienting impression that the Garden of Temptations club was in LA rather than good old gray, stern New York City.

Logically, Nolan realized that his stomping grounds of the legal district catered to a more severe mindset, which was why, during work hours, he had not been inside a building that wasn’t either plain brick, gray or beige in more years than he could count.

The front entrance was open and in the shadowy doorway, a massive bouncer gave him a cursory nod to keep going into the club’s entertainment room, directly ahead.

Nolan didn’t have a chance to recoil at the sultry dance music with its throbbing beats, or raise his eyebrows at the abrasive lighting of the strip club. Because as soon as he was inside, he was set upon by a sweet and encouraging woman who turned out to be Cherry, the manager of Garden of Temptations and his contact for getting set up in his “new job.”

“Well, hello, sunshine, aren’t you just the breath of fresh air?” Cherry popped her pink bubblegum and circled the new employee with interest.

Sunshine? Really?

“That’s…what they call me,” Nolan lied, despite a brief compilation of flashbacks from recent insults he had received in court, judges chambers, the street, and so on, which shot through his mind. “And they call me Nicky. As well.”

“I just bet, sugah. So glad Mistah Elliott’s makin’ good on his promise to recruit some new blood – we gotta spice this operation up, lest it die on fuckin’ arrival!”

Nolan nodded awkwardly as cheesy, fuschia and turquoise light beams pulsed over the huge space of the club’s main room. Several strippers spun ably around the poles situated in various spots between tables.

A few patrons had availed themselves of the lunch buffet, but the scene was comparably low-key, since Nolan’s only past experience at strip clubs had been other people’s bachelor parties (where he’d been dragged, groaning and protesting, only for his friends to repeat the chorus of “c’mon lighten up for once, man!” which had been following Nolan since about age ten).

Those parties were always late at night, full of loud, drunken revelry. It was weird to see the same basic setup and rituals - the exotic dancers, pitchers of beer, questionable neon-colored shots and even more questionably low-priced wings and shrimp…all at 12pm on a Tuesday.

Cherry, who was in her late-thirties-maybe, with lavender glitter on her face and darkly overdrawn eyebrows to compliment the longest fake lashes Nolan had ever seen, crossed her skinny arms over her red pleather bra top.

“I know, business ain’t exactly boomin’ yet, but we’ll get there!”

A waiter, dressed not dissimilarly to Cherry in black, shiny, revealing attire, whistled as he easily slipped between them with a tray of empty glasses.

“Hello, Daddy,” the young man cooed, looking like an elegant alien in a fashion show as the neon stage lights danced over his shaved head and tanned skin. “Dancer or walker?”

“Uh,” Nolan replied.

“Walkah,” Cherry supplied helpfully.

“A shame,” the waiter – Jo, according to his nametag – lamented with a pout. “Don’t forget to grace us with your sexy presence for more than just picking up your Friday pay.”

“Thank you,” Nolan smiled, “That’s very welcoming. I’m Nicky.”

“You got it, baby,” Jo smirked with a wink before sashaying off.

“So…am I Daddy or Baby?” Nolan asked Cherry, confused.

“Yeah, obviously, sugah, you cover all the bases! But before we get you to work, I’m guessin’ you wanna see the wardrobe downstairs? I’m sure you weren’t gonna hit the streets in those dad jeans you got on.”

“Oh, of course not,” Nolan laughed, although he had worn almost the only casual clothes he owned, aside from the sweats he used for morning runs.

He had purchased the jeans in around 2010 or so, but luckily they still fit, their expired style a reminder of how long it had been since he had bought clothes for the purpose of “hanging out,” rather than another suit.

Nolan fell asleep in his work clothes so often that he rarely even donned pajamas, so this was about as unusual as the rest of his “Nicky” adventure.

“Follow me, hot stuff, we got ya covered, huge selection and plenty-a dressin’ rooms. You get your pick!”

He trailed Cherry downstairs, past a few rooms of mysterious boxes and thuggish “security” workers, to a row of rooms with pink stars on the doors.

“Uh, would you mind making suggestions for me?” he requested, intimidated when Cherry showed him a large, overstuffed closet.

There were feathers, sequins and so many shocks of discordant colors in cheap, uncomfy-looking fabrics. Where to even start?

“Ooh, it’ll make my day. I’m flattered you trust my vision!” Cherry enthused.

Nolan smiled his thanks. Cherry was nice, which was helping him continue his new cover with relative ease. He’d never had such a friendly work orientation.

A dozen or so outfits later, Nolan had fashion exhaustion.

“Oh, this is the one for today, for your debut,” Cherry declared confidently, at last.

In the dressing room’s sea of pastel glitter and feathers, Nolan’s dark attire stood out. He stared at his own uncertain face in the mirror as Cherry adjusted his shirt.

“Are you sure? I couldn’t figure out what to do with those…strap things.”

He watched as Cherry effortlessly slid four slender, silvery-black, silky straps into place on his shoulders, spreading them so they showed small amounts of his pale skin beneath.

Personally, Nolan thought he resembled “Vampire Ken” with this look, and not necessarily in a good way. But Cherry had carefully paired the slinky crop top with skin tight black jeans whose ripped knees looked ridiculous to him, plus chunky, biker-style boots. She ruffled his hair, frowned at her handiwork, then slicked it with gel that smelled like cotton candy and industrial plastic such as might be one component of a cheaply made bomb.

Then, she messed it up again, more artfully, only stabbing him briefly with her massive, dagger-like nails. Nolan cleared his throat to cover his wincing noise of pain.

“Great,” he said, since he trusted her expertise.

What he needed was to get out on the streets already and down to business. He wasn't here to enjoy an impromptu makeover; he was here to catch a killer. The glitter, loud music and flashy smiles in the club were enough to distract any repressed EADA, but he had to keep his head in the game.

“Perfection!” Cherry grinned, squeezing his shoulders.

She tossed him a leather jacket and told him, “Carry it, it’s a prop,” then directed him to the back exit that led to his officially designated area of “the block.”

***

Being called a “walker” by Cherry and Jo had left Nolan feeling vaguely zombie-like, on top of his unsunned, vampiric complexion, “pushing it” age bracket and how he felt half-naked in this get-up.

Nolan felt awkward. But he observed the easy cheerfulness and flirty antics of his co-workers as they chatted to whoever approached them, and he did his best to project the same attitude – sort of coolly above-it-all and down to fuck all at once. So, in every way, Nicky was the opposite of Nolan.

As customers began to proposition him, Nolan almost felt more afraid of them and the mortifying suggestiveness of the scenario than the actual killer he knew to be on the loose and possibly in the vicinity.

But that was how Nolan Price felt.

Nolan never got asked out because to almost anyone he met, such a thing would be a conflict of interest in one way or another.

Sure, like every other romantically numb forty-something, he’d had his attempts at online dating, until he got tired of meaningless and boring coffee dates. Every single time, whoever he met on a dating app was either stalker-level obsessed with him and wanted to immediately settle down in commitment, or they never wanted to see him again. And of course, the more he liked the person, the less they liked him, and vice versa!

If Nolan had to sit down and accurately recount, with proper differentiation, the names and conversation topics from each date he’d been on during his last brief stint a couple of years ago, he would undoubtedly blur the ten or so dates all together. Even so, as discouraging as the experience had been, it was also mildly upsetting to realize it had seriously been that long since he had “put himself out there” on the dating market.

Nolan Price had no viable dating options. He spent almost all of his time with fellow lawyers, cops, criminals and victims, or their families, all of whom were strictly off-limits romantically. If he wanted to go out of his way and exhaust his already drained mind with dating apps, he could go on another round of predictably soul-sucking nothing-dates. That was it.

Of course, people always said “the right one will come along when it’s time,” and Nolan was not proud of how close he had come to punching those who said that phrase on more than one occasion.

But Nicky? Nicky was completely different. He was confident, sassy, exciting, tough and in tune with his own sexuality. Awkward? Ha! He could be with anyone he winked at, and was so desirable that he had his pick of customers, paying customers!

In fact, he couldn’t believe his luck – given the investigation – when he drew the eye of three different clients in less than an hour. He got everything he could out of them through tricky insinuations and sly flirtation, secretly proud of himself and mortified all at once. Surprised that except for not going “all the way,” he actually made a decent hooker. Based on the compliments pouring from the lips of his two female and one male would-be customers, Nolan now knew he looked like a much better than decent lay.

Who knew?

Or maybe it was just the disguise and how he acted when he was “Nicky.” Change him into his usual suit and tie, with his serious demeanor, and these customers would probably turn away in a second.

As for the cost which Elliott had so casually told “Nicky” to charge his “potential new regulars”? Nolan couldn’t help blushing. These customers, clearly confident in this world and no strangers to the dalliances within the high-end escort service, believed that “Nicky,” his time, company and yeah, his body…were worth thousands of dollars for such a short amount of time.

Once he had ruefully delivered the latest “customer” to the unmarked van parked a few blocks away, Nolan felt kind of bad to turn this lady in for solicitation. The blonde client was around his own age in a power suit, her work ponytail loose and circles under her eyes. She was tired, probably lonely (like him) and had been looking for a little companionship. Nolan didn’t think there was anything wrong about it. He knew the law was the law, but still…

“Aw, don’t feel bad about it, Romeo,” Cosgrove snarked, giving Nolan a playful pat on his shoulder. “We’re letting them go with a warning under the condition they don’t blow our cover. And as long as there’s no reason we need to question them further.”

And there wasn’t really another way to do this. Nolan was here to keep his eyes out and investigate by breezily chatting up his fellow workers and clientele. He had to hide the fact that he wasn’t actually going to anyone’s hotel room to have sex, and this was the smoothest way to conceal it.

“It just doesn’t feel right, putting myself out there…” Nolan sighed, leaning his elbow on the passenger side door beside him, rubbing his smooth jaw. “Lying to them and then leading them to three cops in a van? God, I’d hate me. Surprised all three of them were halfway decent about it.”

Shaw watched him thoughtfully from the backseat as Riley busied himself with notes from the interviews they had just finished conducting.

“Nicky,” Shaw warned, “One of these nights, there’s gonna be a client you won’t mind leading to us. You sure you’ll know The Dove if and when you see him?”

“I have his face memorized,” Nolan nodded with a chill down his spine. The killer’s face was hard to forget. Those mean eyes held an intense anger to which he could easily attribute the recent spree of victims. “You’ve briefed me on this, guys. C’mon. Let me get back out there.”

“You’ve had a productive morning,” Riley shrugged. “Might wanna take a lunch break. Dove’s likelier to come out at night.”

Nolan nodded. “Right. Well, in that case, I should probably go back to the motel and take a nap. Save my energy for the real work coming later.”

“The work won’t be that real, Nicky.” Cosgrove shot him a coyly amused look.

“Yes, well. Hopefully I can maintain the distinction between my real and fictional selves in my own mind,” Nolan retorted. “What a struggle that will be.”

***

After bidding his colleagues goodbye for now, Nolan yawned, relieved that he did get a break. He’d been so nervous last night, he hadn’t slept a wink, and after standing outside in the unseasonable heat all morning to the late afternoon, dressed in this outfit, he was feeling it more than usual.

Returning to his “block,” he shrugged his leather jacket over his cut-off t-shirt and skin-tight jeans, longing to get back to the tiny but welcoming motel room he would be sleeping in during the case. He had to get a break from these terrible boots; his feet were killing him.

Planning to flag down a cab, Nolan strolled away from the designated work area and towards the nearest busy street where he should be able to get one.

To his surprise, as he lingered on the sidewalk waiting to cross the street, his mind full of questions, suspense and slight anxiety about what the night might bring, a generic Toyota pulled over right in front of him. It was one of those plain but functional cars that always seemed to come from the airport rental places.

And in the driver’s seat, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel with slight uncertainty, was a bear of a man with a full, silver beard, tanned skin and muscular arms. His amber eyes were a strangely intoxicating mix of distinct, but confused interest (even fascination) and… concern?

“Hey.” The man spoke to him, at the same time Nolan finished his initial up-and-down appraisal (from what he could see from outside the car) and concluded that he was extremely handsome, in a certain “rough and tumble,” “gritty” kind of way.

“Hey,” Nolan replied, putting his “smooth” act back on. “Sure you know how to drive that thing? This is not exactly the safest area to learn how.”

“I’m fine,” the stranger said, asserting the words as if it was a matter of stubborn pride. He blushed a bit, the pink on his chiseled fact looking cute. “Just um…” His husky voice trailed off. In a European accent Nolan couldn’t quite identify yet, he added, “I’m used to driving on the other side.”

“New around these parts?” Nolan flashed him an inviting smile before he knew what he was doing.

Wait a minute…was he automatically using his “escort skills” to get to know a handsome stranger??

The big man gave him a tiny smile that was quite provoking, actually. Nolan gulped, hoping it didn’t show too much. Nothing he could do about his own rosy cheeks and sweaty palms. Or the butterflies taking flight in his stomach.

“My daughter goes to school here, I’m visiting for uhhh…forældre weekend…. Uumm, Parent’s Weekend. University.”

Nolan nodded. The man’s pretty, coffee-colored eyes kept wandering over him from head to toe, and it made Nolan feel hotter than ever, in the sense that he was going to melt on the sidewalk if the heat from this stranger didn’t let up soon.

“I bet she’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“Maybe. Hopefully. Trying to make up for some dumb things I’ve done in the past. I don’t deserve her, really.” The stranger shrugged, as if he had accepted that simple fact and set it in stone some time ago.

“Sweet,” Nolan murmured silkily, his own audacity making warning bells go off in his mind, but they kept surging in bright shades of blaring shock, guilt, worry and arousal until he couldn’t keep any of the sensations straight anymore. “So, is there something I can help you with, then? Directions?”

He batted his lashes at the man and gave him a sly, decadently secretive smile.

Nolan’s new acquaintance flipped off some other driver who was mad at having to go around his car due to where he had abruptly pulled over. Then he turned back, an annoyed look changing to a blushing, bashful one when his eyes met Nolan’s.

“I don’t know.”

“Want my card then?” Nolan asked, then bit his lip as the man’s eye contact went from hesitant to almost searing. “In case you realize later that there’s something more I can do for you. You’ve given me your full appraisal and we had a nice little chat...I’ve got a lot more up my sleeves than that.”

The man laughed, a short, nervous thing, and blushed redder. “I don’t know,” he repeated, “I, uh, saw you and I just thought. Well.” He shrugged and looked at his own big hands gripping the steering wheel too hard.

“First time, baby?” Nolan flirted shamelessly, telling himself it was “all for the case,” even though there was basically no chance this foreign man could have intel on the killer. “First time with a man? Or with a professional? It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

His maybe-customer put his head on the wheel with an embarrassed, low noise in his throat. Nolan realized that the bearded man seemed turned on and deeply unsure of himself at the same time. And it was very, very sexy.

What am I doing? I can’t turn this guy in for solicitation, he seems so nice. But I’m also not going with him to some hotel or whatever to let him pay me and…oh, dear God.

Nolan realized, to his surprised bewilderment, the idea was incredibly appealing. It was like his “Nicky” identity had given him a new surge of confidence. Without having to be Nolan Price, EADA and uptight, stern, hard-working know-it-all do-gooder, he could just be…free. Light on his feet and in his heart. This left him open to sheer, indulgent temptation.

“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” the man asked, natural toughness and shyness blending in his demeanor. “I mean. If you, um. Have to go somewhere. That isn’t. I mean…”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Nolan smirked, his blue eyes sparkling. He rounded the car carefully, noting that the traffic was held back by a red light, and slipped into the passenger seat.

Inside the car, he could smell woodsy aftershave and got a closer look at this hunk of a man who…God…he wouldn’t mind going to a hotel with.

Mind??

Worst of all, none of it was dragging him back to a sense of responsibility. Even the concept that the man would pay him for sex was, for some reason, extremely arousing. He must be losing it completely!

“Markus,” the man said, as a blank point of fact, with his hand outstretched.

“Hey, fuck you, you numbskull tourist fuck! Learn how to drive, that ain’t a parking spot, asshole!” Some rude man yelled in a heavy New York accent from behind the cute stranger’s car, before steering a tight route around it and sticking his middle finger out the window as he passed, leaning on the horn way too loudly.

“Fuck you!” Markus growled.

Nolan noticed that the anger in his eyes and furious flush in his face looked more serious than the typical loudmouthed New York City driver called for.

Staring after the offending man’s car, Markus glowered and added, “røvhul! du afbryder mig nu, når jeg prøver at tale med denne smukke mand...fuck jeg ved ikke, hvad jeg laver, fuck, for helvede, fuck dig alligevel, sindssyg. Du lærer at køre bil!”

Nolan tried and failed not to laugh softly at his tantrum. He didn’t know if he found the stream of incomprehensible foreign words (except “fuck,” of course) hot or a bit worrisome. It was somewhere in the middle that made him want to lean across the gear shifts and press his lips to Markus’s, just to see how the man would react.

‘I’m Nicky,” he giggled, “Nice to meet you, Markus. Don’t let the drivers in this city get you down, or you’ll be miserable all day.”

Markus stopped glaring at the car as it disappeared past the next traffic light, and his angry look shifted, softening as he stared at Nolan.

“Nicky,” he repeated, trying it out and making Nolan wish he could give his real name. “You’re right, I haven’t ever…done this before, either thing you said, um. I haven’t wanted to. I saw you just a couple of minutes ago, and now. I seem to…”

“Want to?” Nolan looked at him from under his lashes. “I’m at your service, handsome.”

You are WHAT, Nolan? What??

C’mon…you know you want to be at his service…who would find out?

How many voices did he have in his head right now? Nolan had never even met this devilish, seductive new instinct inside him, but it was so persuasive.

“I appreciate it.” Markus pressed his very-kissable lips together, thoughtful, as if worried about something. “At the same time, I can’t decide if I pulled over to try and…you know…”

“Yes, I do.” Nolan smiled encouragingly, enjoying how Markus fidgeted in response.

“Or if I should be helping you, instead of making it easier for you to stay out here doing this…and all.” Markus looked like he desperately wanted to jump out of the car into moving traffic.

“Hey,” Nolan said honestly.

He put his hand over Markus’s where it rested on the wheel, finding the man’s skin as just as hot as his own. A jolt of deeper arousal thrummed through his body in response.

“I’m not out here doing anything I don’t want to. Why don’t you do what you actually want? You’re on a vacation, after all, right?”

“Shit,” Markus leaned back with a groan which sounded so horny that Nolan’s cock twitched. “I want to. You’re so…um…” He gestured up and down in Nolan’s general direction, charmingly overwhelmed and bereft of English words to frame an explanation. “Du tager pusten fra mig. I don’t know.”

“Well, you seem pretty sure when you say it in…what is that, Danish, Dutch?”

“Danish,” Markus explained. “And it’s easy to say because you don’t understand me. Do you?”

“Yes…and no.” Nolan smiled. “I think I understand the spirit of what you’re saying, at least.”

Markus nodded nervously. “If you don’t have to be somewhere right now or for a couple of hours, you could come and have lunch with me at my hotel, if you wanted. Not if you don’t wanted…uh, not if you don’t want. Prefer not. If it’s stupid. Hvad fanden siger jeg! I mean we could just talk. Or is that wasting your time? I can pay you, unless that’s insulting or something.”

“Is this the most you’ve talked at once in any language for quite some time?” Nolan intuited the man’s usually taciturn nature.

“Yeah…ughh….all this time learning to express myself openly, and now I’m a mess of babbling nonsense…I’m…spilled nonsense soup.”

Nolan gently trailed his fingers from Markus’ hand to his forearm and up to his bicep, almost fainting at the warmth of the man’s skin, how amazing he smelled and felt, the hard muscle. The scent of his manly cologne, spicy and piny, was somehow like catnip to Nolan. Or, as the case might be, Nicky.

He allowed the caress to become slightly firmer when Markus looked at him with enlarged pupils, blushing.

Oh-god-oh-god-oh-my-God what am I–

Markus let out a low growl and cast an almost…warning expression at Nolan.

“Too much?” Nolan smiled, pulling his hand back.

“No,” Markus shook his head emphatically. He grabbed Nolan’s hand again and gave it a tender squeeze. “It feels good. Really good.”

“Which is all new for you, huh, Markus? That’s alright. I’ll take good care of you.”

OH REALLY? YOU WILL?? Nolan could not believe the sultry sound of his own voice.

“We can have lunch and talk for a while,” he went on, “you don’t have to do anything unless you feel ready.”

“Do we have to talk about money?” Markus asked nervously. “Do I pay you now?”

“Don’t worry about that, honey. Right now let’s just enjoy getting to know each other. Where are you staying? I can probably guide you back to the hotel like your own little GPS.”

Little? What? What the– where the hell did that even come from?

But Markus seemed to like how Nolan said that (or, how “Nicky” did). The older man looked at Nolan’s form-fitting attire again, right before he stared at the undercover lawyer’s lips intensely. Nolan’s heart throbbed, much like his stiff cock, as he was outrageously hard by now. His leather jacket, strewn lightly over his lap, was his only defense from looking completely obscene.

“Okay,” Markus agreed with an anxious nod and a pleased smile. “The hotel. You and me.”

Chapter Text

To Nolan’s surprise, Markus actually apologized for his hotel being a Holiday Inn, as if it wasn’t classy enough for “Nicky.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nolan asked, smiling at Markus’ gentlemanly behavior as the older man held the door for him. “With what hotels cost these days? It’s only sensible to stay somewhere clean and affordable.”

The only reason Nolan knew what hotel prices were like nowadays was a case. He’d done research on a young man whose family owned a chain of high-end hotels. And the prices were absurd!

Since most of Nolan’s own salary went into savings, bills and suits, he rarely purchased anything frivolous in the least, much less went on vacation, or even a stay-cation in the city. It felt strange, just being in a hotel in the middle of a weekday, as if Nolan might be caught for slacking off.

You pretty much are! You don’t have actual escort clients, Nicky is fictional, you’re lying to this lovely man who doesn’t deserve it, you’re–

“True, but still.” Markus paused once they had stepped off to one side of the lobby, where Nolan saw more oatmeal and sage colors than he’d ever seen before.

The contrast between this low-key, mid-priced, middle-decent hotel and the flashy, neon ambience at Garden of Temptation really couldn’t be overstated.

“I’m sure your, um, like when you have dates they probably take you fancy– fanci-er places?”

Nolan smiled at his ongoing attempts to perfect his English. “Fancier’s the right word, there. But I go all sorts of places. The important thing to me is I’m here with you to have fun, right?”

WHO AM I?

Rather than cringing and turning scarlet, Nolan batted his eyelashes and placed his hand lightly on Markus’ chest, smiling flirtatiously.

Markus smiled back for a second, but his serious nature meant that such vulnerable lapses were rare (and therefore precious, Nolan thought). The word “stoic” definitely applied to his man, but Nolan liked his quiet ways more than he’d have thought.

“Yes, I mean, I think…” Markus cleared his throat and then put his hand over Nolan’s, caressing it briefly and then dropping it just as quickly.

It sent tingles up and down Nolan’s spine and made the butterflies in his stomach overdose on cappuccino. He’d never had physical reactions to someone like this in his life, and it just figured this would occur under false pretenses.

The whole situation ruined itself by existing, and Nolan was making it worse by indulging his fantasy and being deceitful beyond what the undercover identity called for.

Markus announced, “There’s a restaurant attached to this place, right over there. If you want lunch.”

“Well, sure, sweetheart, I’m famished, are you hungry, too?” “Nicky” grinned.

“Definitely,” the man affirmed with another solemn nod. “Okay, let’s go.”

He wasn’t acting like he was at work or a funeral or anything, but he was not acting as if he was on a date, either. It was endearing, how seriously he did take their little afternoon together. He behaved as though “Nicky”’s enjoyment was the only part that mattered to him, even though he was a paying client, and it should be the other way around.

Nolan trailed close behind Markus as they walked through the lobby and into the adjoining bistro.

He was having the weirdest day of his life, and he was now going with the flow, running on instinct? Which he never, ever did, for good reason! Yet, just being around Markus gave him a floaty, happy sensation which felt addictive, tugging him under the deep waters of the dream that this was real.

Now, of course, Nolan didn’t want to really be an escort, but he wished that he could tell Markus the truth about who he was (which he couldn’t do until the case was closed). He wished he could believe that once the Dove was (hopefully) arrested and he was off the hook, Markus would be understanding and forgiving of Nolan’s lies. It seemed like too much to ask of anyone. Or maybe Nolan was just a pessimist.

Plus, he’s not from here remember? He’s just visiting! Stop picking out patterns for the dishes you want to put on the wedding registry. It’s never going to–

They got a decent seat by a window, though the view was just to a grey parking lot. Still, it was nice out, and the bright blue sky formed a pleasant backdrop.

Markus asked, “Wanna share the appetizer platter?” with far more intensity than the question warranted.

Nolan smiled. The appetizer platter was just such a “typical guy, first-date” kind of thing to order. Markus was adorable as well as sexy, and it was driving him–

“I’d love to, darling.”

The waitress took their order, with Markus ordering a beer while Nolan opted for red wine. He could sure use a drink, but he wasn’t sure how much he could eat with his stomach full of nerves.

Throughout the meal, they talked easily enough, although Nolan was obviously inhibited by falsehoods to some extent. Still, he tried to include as many true parts of himself and his life as he could.

As they finished up, Markus talked him into sharing a dessert as well, a chocolate lava cake and vanilla ice cream confection which looked amazing. But like the small amount of food he’d managed to nibble during lunch, Nolan could barely taste the dark chocolate and cool vanilla. He was more fixated on the intimacy of their forks moving so closely on the plate and the effortlessness of feeling comfortable with Markus.

“What do you think?” Markus asked, looking mildly agitated after he paid the bill and they walked back to the lobby.

“About what, honey?”

“Going, ahem. To my room, for a while. Unless you changed your mind.”

Nolan couldn’t say no to that face, and what’s more, he didn’t want to at all, not when the chemistry between them was sizzling and his conscience kept getting quieter and quieter in its warnings.

“I’d love to, Markus,” he said truthfully.

His smile might have been too shy for the occasion, given his cover identity, but when Markus lit up with a surprised and pleased look of his own, Nolan’s look turned into a delighted grin.

In the elevator, they waited patiently as a few other guests got on and off. When they were four floors off from their destination, they found themselves alone. All it took was Markus shooting Nolan a heated glance and Nolan holding it until they were officially staring. Nolan reflexively licked his lips. Then they both moved in unison.

Markus grabbed Nolan around the waist, just as Nolan’s hands came up to grip Markus’ face, pulling him down for a kiss. All the while, Markus was yanking Nolan’s body to his insistently.

Their unplanned synchronicity was utterly natural, yet felt like true magic.

Nolan easily lost track of that all-important line between reality and fantasy, here and now, as Markus’ hot mouth pressed ardently to his and he tightened his grip on the older man’s face. Nothing about this felt like a lie. Nolan briefly forgot who he was, other than the one lucky enough to have this man kissing him.

His fingers traced Markus’ jawline and dug into his softly bristly beard. Markus groaned and kissed him harder, daring to slide his tongue against Nolan’s as his big, strong hands squeezed Nolan’s hips possessively.

“You feel good,” Markus sighed, and Nolan realized how deep this simple-seeming compliment was, coming from a repressed man of so few words.

Nolan gasped, “You too,” as Markus pressed him against the elevator wall, letting a low, throaty growl escape into their next kiss.

Markus’ beard left a tell-tale pink burn on Nolan’s skin as his demanding, hard kisses made Nolan’s formerly kiss-starved lips feel tingly and swollen.

The ground literally felt like it was slowly dropping from beneath them as the elevator ascended.

Awash in Markus’ piney aftershave scent and the needy, yet devoted way the man kissed and touched him, Nolan fell ever deeper into the dream that this would all work out. He barely remembered he was undercover or “a hooker,” as the lines of his perception continued to blur.

Maybe Markus thought he was a prostitute named “Nicky,” but the man he’d been with all afternoon? That was the real Nolan in all but those few, key details. The falsehood and this scenario felt more like sexy roleplay than deception, and though Nolan knew this was no justification for lying to Markus, he was so carried away that he kept side-stepping his morals.

Nolan hadn't truly connected to someone in years, he saw that now. It didn’t feel like a false identity because “Nicky” had given Nolan a way out of his socially-uptight shell. Maybe, though, only Markus could’ve brought this out of Nolan.

It might be too late to know for sure how it could’ve gone if the undercover mission had not been between them from the start.

Dizzy, kiss-drunk and melting against Markus’ broad, hard body, Nolan forgot he was technically playing a part. Forgot that Markus lived in Denmark, so how could this ever be more than a fling, anyway?

All that mattered was how they fit together, desperate and happy. Perfect. Nolan could’ve been anyone in that moment, would have agreed to be anyone just to kiss Markus and dissolve helplessly into the tight embrace of muscular arms. To listen as mysterious murmurs of decadent, potentially crude remarks in thick-voiced Danish fell from those warm, irresistible lips.

Markus’ dirty talk brushed his ear along with the arousing scrape of beard and the man’s increasingly bold hands sweeping down Nolan’s body, traveling from his hips to cup his ass and squeeze. The older man cursed again as the doors finally opened with a mellow chime.

Nolan realized that they could only have been kissing for two minutes, tops. But it felt like a beautiful eternity and a painfully brief split second at the same time. He’d always prided himself on being so sensible, so selfless, and how ironic was it that only now, wrapped up in a man he was already feeling far too much for, his common sense and stubborn habit of putting others first should crash and burn?

To separate himself from Markus now would feel like death. Melodramatic? Ha, sure! But what was Nolan supposed to do about it?! He had no idea how to control feelings he’d never fathomed, now that they were taking him over out of nowhere.

He didn’t have the strength to do what was right. Not even close.

Markus went quiet and stoic again when they exited the elevator, right up until he let Nolan into his room with the same gentlemanly conduct he had shown all afternoon. He even closed the door behind them carefully, then backed Nolan against it. Markus’ dark eyes burned into Nolan’s overwhelmed blue ones; he was so tough, yet Nolan could see there was something this man really needed. He just couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be here, about to give it to him.

The older man said nothing, just continued to stare hard into Nolan’s eyes as he tugged off the black leather jacket and tossed it aside. This was nothing like Nolan’s normal attire, obviously, and being stripped of this attire felt extra dirty; he didn’t know if he could get any harder, but it was getting painful.

While the slinky little top, with its confusing straps, had given Nolan no end of trouble to figure out and get on, Markus just grabbed the strings which dangled from the sides at Nolan’s shoulders and gave them both a good pull. The top fell forward, baring Nolan to just below his pecs, and he swallowed hard at the look of hungry approval in Markus’ gaze that was almost a glare.

Nolan closed his eyes with a soft moan as Markus cupped his pecs, then rubbed his big thumbs over his sensitive nipples. It had been so damn long. He fought to breathe, trying to disguise his touch-starved reactions as simple pleasure and enjoyment rather than outright desperation. The sensation of Markus’ calloused, working-man’s hands sweeping across his collarbones and his shoulders, then knuckles trailing down his arms, was erotic enough. When Markus then grasped Nolan’s waist and pulled him roughly against his big, powerful body, the younger man bit back a much louder cry.

“Let me hear you,” Markus commanded, and Nolan nodded, ready to do pretty much anything the man desired.

Markus claimed his mouth again with a searing kiss. It had no finesse, just unadulterated passion.

He was so real.

For all the liars and fakes, crooked politicians, opportunistic and pushy journalists and corrupt everyone Nolan dealt with on a daily basis, he was finally with someone entirely down-to-earth and sincere. It wasn’t what Nolan was used to, and that’s what made it special.

Lost in the little world into which he temporarily escaped, Nolan knew they only had an hour and then he’d have to get back to “work.” He wasn’t abandoning the case or any other part of reality, just taking a highly unconventional lunch break.

It seemed that Markus was going to devour Nolan, make the most of every second. But gentleness? Not on the table.

Markus pressed a thigh between Nolan’s and kissed his neck, leaving beard burn that scratched Nolan’s skin. He seemed to be tingling all over at the slightest touch from Markus, while his gasps heightened when the older man got a little more aggressive.

“Oh, holy fuck,” Nolan moaned, “Markus…”

Markus put his hands on the sides of Nolan’s neck and gave a light squeeze. “Like it a little rough?”

Not that he’d realized it in all his years up till today, but Nolan nodded eagerly. “Yes. Please. What do you like?”

“You.” Markus leaned in and bit each side of Nolan’s neck as the secret lawyer clung to him for dear life, which was quickly (too quickly) getting to feel like a habit.

The bigger man swept Nolan off his feet, and Nolan managed to kick off his uncomfortable boots, hearing them clunk onto the hotel carpet as he was carried off to the bed. It was like some kind of viking roleplay, except that Markus was a modern-day version, lifting and moving Nolan just as he pleased, dropping him onto the king bed which must be a necessity for someone of his size.

Nolan looked up into Markus’ eyes, feeling the sweltering heat between them as the man loomed above him, blanketing Nolan with his body.

“So pretty,” Markus declared gruffly, ducking his head to take one of Nolan’s nipples between his lips.

Nolan gasped and caressed the smooth, shaved top of the older man’s head, giving into every little twinge and jolt of pleasure mixed with mild and frankly delightful pain.

Markus kissed a path down Nolan’s stomach, following the trail of his hot kisses with the palms of his hands, skimming over Nolan’s smooth, pale skin until he reached the studded leather belt.

He sat up with the tiniest semblance of a playful smile and undid the belt, whipping it off and giving it the same fate as the rest of Nolan’s clothes. The pair of ripped, skintight jeans soon joined it in a heap on the floor in the lamplit, plain and sensible room. Nothing they were doing was remotely sensible.

Nolan knew almost nothing about Markus, outside of the general points about his background which they’d discussed earlier: where he lived, the fact that he was a widower and had an eighteen year old daughter, plus a group of quirky friends back home who always supported him despite his impatient and sometimes grumpy manners.

He worked construction since retiring from the military, and was talented enough to get plenty of commissions as an independent worker, building back decks and fixing people’s fences or walls.

And God, was he good with those hands. Markus might be new to sex with another man, but he had no problem following the path of his natural desires and remaining tuned into Nolan’s responses.

He was cataloguing what made Nolan’s back arch, what made the younger man grab at the sheets with wanton little cries, and what got (slightly) less enthusiastic responses. By now, he’d figured Nolan out well enough that everything he did was targeted, even in its roughness, to meet his particular preferences.

One thing Nolan knew for damn sure? This was the first time he ever writhed on sheets, his body covered in sweat like a character in a romance novel or an HBO show. Apparently, outstanding sex wasn’t only available in fiction…

Markus put his mouth on Nolan with the enthusiasm of a determined novice who was also old enough to know what sex was about and how to do it well, regardless of his partner’s gender. He was mature, rugged, and he took what he wanted with confidence.

Nolan was melting in his strong hands as Markus rose up and kissed his mouth again while firmly jerking Nolan’s rigid, weeping cock.

“Did I do okay? Is it good for you?” Markus asked in all seriousness, a bit breathless and blushing.

“You know…” Nolan panted, struggling to speak above a broken whisper. “Not too many clients would ask an escort whether the sex is good for them.”

He felt a surge of unbearable affection for Markus which he couldn’t put into words, other than to say that and smile warmly.

“That means a lot of clients are acting like dicks,” Markus observed with a judgemental huff.

“Come here,” Nolan replied softly, cupping Markus’ face and kissing him again.

It was easy to pull Markus’ sweater off, undo his jeans and push them down – Markus did the rest, in a hurry as the sensation of Nolan undressing him seemed to stoke his fire even more.

Between their bodies, Nolan found Markus’ thick, rigid cock and took it in hand, giving a long, firm stroke before gently moving Markus’ hand from his own erection. Nolan wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, finding that he could barely even fit it around the combined girth. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a quietly wild “Oh, my God” as he began to pump them both together, their hot lengths slick with precum.

The pearly release was getting all over both of them, they were sharing it and it was hotly intimate. After another minute of that, Markus let out a grunt and stilled Nolan’s hand. “I’ll come if you do that any longer. You’re fucking great at this.”

“Thanks,” Nolan said, thinking that most escorts probably didn’t turn pink in the face when complimented by clients for doing their job well. But he had never heard a kind or encouraging word about his technique before, which had made him hold back on trying anything new.

With Markus, it was easy to take chances and be vulnerable, discover new pleasures.

“Can I fuck you?” Markus asked in a sinful tone, and Nolan never said “yes” more quickly in his life.

After some fumbling to grab the condoms and lube, which was to be expected in the nervous, insanely worked up circumstances, they were lost in the next simple act of foreplay.

It had no right being this intense, it was never supposed to be slow, sweaty grinding and fingertips boring into soft skin, dragging nails down hard muscle. Trembling thighs and two mouths that barely know how to separate anymore except to draw breath.

It wasn’t like Nolan considered himself incapable of meaningless sex or a fleeting encounter. His colleagues, the ones that weren’t married, mostly lived that way because they weren’t at a time in their career where they had time for a relationship. They still got fun and human touch, satiated their needs, and moved on. Nothing mean or careless about the whole thing. Nolan never judged it, sometimes envied it, but hell, he didn’t even have time for a one-off tryst.

Not until he’d made the time.

If it hadn’t been Markus asking, he didn’t think he would have come to this place, taken this opportunity. Even with all the chances for easy sex he could have found in the New York nightlife, where a guy like him could probably do well given the ability to say “I’m going home at a normal time tonight, to shower, change my clothes and go to a bar. Maybe I’ll find someone and take them home.”

He never gave himself the “get out of work free” card, even when he was doing more overtime than he expected to be fully compensated for. Workhorse, yes, but…romantic cynic so pent up that he couldn’t even handle something shallow in the dating world? That, too.

Sex used to be closer to meaningless. Nolan had a perfectly functional sex drive, it’s just that actual people in the real world seldom ignited that part of him. With his handful of past lovers, he’d liked them enough to convince himself he should give intimacy a try. “Maybe it’ll be better this time.” But it had always felt mechanical, like a box that adults felt they had to check off to be living well.

How had he gone from finding sex a predictably disappointing experience to being driven out of his mind by a lover who could make his body feel like this? Was this chemistry between them really between them, or was this encounter so charged because Nolan was pretending to be this other person (confident, sexy, experienced, cool) and Markus was with “Nicky,” so far as he knew?

Whoever was in this plain Holiday Inn bed, they were not only in the throes of pleasure that Markus gave them; they were also…a pretty good lover in their own right? He found it effortless not only to submit to Markus, but to give him back his own passion, let go, do what his body and feelings told him.

Markus opened him slowly with his hands and mouth, careful and sensitive to his needs, his potential discomfort, and in all of that, a pleasure- drowning Nolan observed hazily that Markus enjoyed eating him out and fingering him, often quietly groaning as if it gave him just as much delight as Nolan.

“Feels like you’ve wanted to try this for a while,” he managed to say between soft cries of pleasure once Markus worked the second big finger in to the second knuckle.

“I was curious.” Markus looked at his fingers slowly drawing out of Nolan’s tight hole and then firmly gliding back in, each time stretching Nolan just a little bit more. Then he looked up into Nolan’s eyes. “But until I saw you I wasn’t curious enough to do anything.”

“Experimenting is good,” Nolan encouraged between kisses, gasping as Markus’ hand kept moving slowly and firmly, slick from all the lube.

Markus crooked his fingers and successfully pressed them to Nolan’s prostate, and Nolan thought his vision might white out. He let out a silent scream that pleased Markus to no end.

“Fuck yes,” Markus answered, and gave Nolan a small smile, one of his subtle ones that said “we’re experimenting right now and it’s fantastic.”

But Nolan wasn’t just experimenting. He was catching actual feelings that kept getting bigger to the point he didn’t think he could “get it out of his system” by being with Markus one time. But that was not Markus’ fault.

In every way, it was an honor; Nolan got to be Markus’ first male lover and offered him a chance to explore his attraction to men. That was actually pretty amazing. Nolan should be glowing from the compliment of being the one so attractive to Markus that he drew the man over the line to trying it out. And he was glowing from that fact, but being flattered didn’t even account for half of what he felt.

“Wanted to do this as soon as I saw you too,” Nolan said softly.

Nolan hadn’t been fucked in a long time, and he was surprised at his own ability to move and lean into Markus’ every touch with precision. The lovemaking felt like waves washing over both of them together, shifting them to and fro in the force of the same growing storm. It was effortless, aside from not actually screaming when things felt so good, it shouldn’t even be possible, but it was.

Markus asked him how he wanted to start, and Nolan just said missionary because he thought it would be nice for the older man’s first time. They could look into each others’ eyes. Markus could also look down and see himself thrusting, which Nolan found much too hot of an idea not to pursue.

Markus sat up between his thighs, and Nolan reached up to roll the condom onto him with a sly smile.

Looking a little nervous, but deeply eager, Markus rubbed his cock back and forth over Nolan’s entrance a few times, teasing them both to distraction. When he suddenly stopped that and pressed the head of his cock inside Nolan, it took the younger man’s breath away. He knew Markus could fit, even though he’d never been with someone this well-endowed before; common sense said that it would fit, but oh, God, it felt like Markus was going to split him in half. And Nolan would thank him for it, too.

“Ah, fuck,” Markus groaned, pausing once the head was fully inside, “Can’t believe it.”

He looked down, watching as he moved a little deeper and Nolan’s hole stretched around him.

The pleasure for Markus was obviously so intense that he had to be careful not to start going too fast. It was going to take another minute or so to finally be fully seated in Nolan’s desperately over-sensitive, clinging body. Markus was sweating, letting out short breaths, rocking his hips back before sliding another bit deeper.

Glancing up at Nolan, Markus laughed quietly, shaking his head. Silently, the look and the laugh meant, “This is unbelievable. Can you feel that, too?”

Nolan nodded. “I know. Yes –”

“Is it okay? Slow down?” Markus asked, only for Nolan to shake his head.

“I’m fine, I’m great, please, Markus–”

Nolan did not need to say anything else. Markus kept going, still cautious and gradual, but steady and unyielding. By a series of long strokes in further, almost all the way out, then in further, he bottomed out with a resounding groan.

“You feel better than anything,” Markus sighed into his ear, soothing him with kisses on his face and caresses on his thighs.

He could feel how much Nolan was shaking from the sensation of being so full, as the slight ache of taking Markus in had changed to nothing but molten pleasure.

Nolan smiled up at him. “You, too.”

Markus had the kind of stamina for his age that Nolan had expected. For whatever reason, he had just been able to tell that this guy could go multiple positions and draw it out for a while, not climax after a few minutes and either apologize or try to frame it as a compliment to Nolan. A couple of past lovers had used the old, “you just feel so good, I couldn’t help it,” followed by them ignoring the fact that Nolan hadn’t come, because once they did it was over.

But Markus made him come three times in just over an hour. One – missionary, Two - in doggy style and a third time when Markus came as Nolan rode the man. Markus slammed up into him so hard that Nolan’s already over-sensitive cock twitched and spilled all over them both again. No other stimulation was needed, just Markus pounding his prostate with that one serious, dead-set expression that made Nolan even more pliable and easily made to come.

His body seemed to keep responding to Markus, even past the point where Nolan had even thought he could get hard again. He hugged Markus around the neck and murmured, “thank you.”

After a quick shower, Nolan laid down to rest on the bed for a minute as Markus took his turn in the bathroom. He was still going to make it back to “work” in time for his night shift, and needed to be ready, focused. As he tried to center his mind, he apparently managed to pass out, because he woke up about a half hour later still on the bed, now with Markus’ arm wrapped around him as he made Nolan his little spoon.

Markus snored softly and looked so peaceful when he was sleeping, it made Nolan’s heart squeeze. But it was unusual enough that Markus had thought nothing of napping with him instead of suggesting he get a move on. He didn’t need any other temptations trying to pull him in and make him linger at the hotel with this unbelievable man when he had a killer to catch.

When he went to get his watch and wallet from the bureau, Nolan found his very large payment for the hour, tucked underneath his things. The solid stack of cash felt strange in his hand, but the sight of it…the money sitting there to compensate him for his services…

It turned Nolan on. The idea that Markus had hired him, paid him exorbitantly, and even thought he was worth it. Something about the “transaction” got him hot all over again, biting his lip as he put the money in his wallet.

He didn’t have time to analyze his reaction to being treated like a hooker because he was pretending to be one (convincingly, it seemed). So he just wrote Markus a note before slipping out quietly, feeling a blend of residual excitement and sinking disappointment as the elevator went down. The blended happiness and sadness followed him back to the club, and he wondered if he had left a trace of it behind in his note. But he guessed he would probably never know.

I had an incredible time with you. xxx Nicky

“Well, somebody had a hell of a lunch break!” Cherry observed in a delighted voice between loud snaps of her gum.

As Nolan did his new version of the…4pm? Walk of Shame, Cherry apparently saw right through his attempt to act like his regular self. Trouble was, he hadn’t exactly had time yet to craft the normal version of Nicky. Whoever he was right now, it was obvious he’d just been well-fucked.

“M-m-m-m-m,” Cherry grinned, hopping down from the front counter where the club sold some t-shirts, tank tops and other memorabilia for all who wanted to advertise their choice of strip clubs to the world.

“It was fine,” Nolan shrugged, and cleared his throat. “I just came by to drop the money off, then I’ve gotta get back out there.”

“Honey, I know you must be a seasoned player, because holy hell, how are you even still standing up straight. Could you walk a line right now, if a cop thought you were drunk?”

“Of course I could,” Nolan sighed, rolling his eyes. “Because it was a perfectly normal session with a fine, not-special client. Nothing to write home about.”

“Let’s see it then.”

Cherry stepped back and gave Nolan the whole front entrance area to demonstrate his unaltered bodily autonomy.

“This is absurd. Here, alright?” Nolan started from one end of the wall and walked to the other in a blase fashion.

He didn’t want to try sashaying and end up falling just because he had so little actual experience in walking like he was sexy and cool. Although he had gotten used to the boots by now, there was no telling how he’d do on the heels if he pushed his luck.

So, after this normal stroll from one end of the space to the other, Nolan proudly smiled and prepared to see Cherry convinced he was not –

“Whoa-ho-ho!” Jo declared, strolling up to then and flicking a gold-painted, long nailed finger at Nolan. “Who fucked you into next month, sugar?”

“What? No one. I’ve had a couple typical, boring sessions today and that is it.” Nolan frowned.

The others poked each other and laughed.

“Right, sure, honey.” Jo could barely speak for giggling at Nolan’s exasperated face and obvious lies. “Not only is your center of gravity tilted as fuck, but you are glowing! You’re scowling at me, and yet, you look like you’ve got actual sunshine comin’ outta your pores!”

“Maybe it was a slightly above-average client,” Nolan sighed.

He couldn’t repress a small smile at their revelry and had to admit, he liked the idea that Markus had this effect on his body and even his complexion. Being marked by that man was just about the most appealing thing he could imagine, outside of being with him.

They let him off the hook after that, and Nolan handed the envelope of cash over to Cherry. She would put it with the rest of the street worker’s pay, in Mr. Elliott’s vault. At the end of the week, the club owner and pimp would give each worker a cut of the overall take, at a substantially lower percentage than they actually earned.

It was a sad testament to how unfair the working conditions were in this field, where many of Nolan’s co-workers seemed to be doing the job out of sheer financial desperation. It simply made sense, given that just being sex positive and enjoying the encounters with clients had most folks going to Only Fans and feeling safer than on the streets.

Even so, Nolan’s crew were the top tier of Elliott’s organization. Over the next week, Nolan would get to know his fellow “walkers,” becoming friendly with most and cordial enough with the less conversationally inclined. His main motivation was gathering information on any potential Dove killer sightings, combining this intel with what he gathered from clients before passing those clients and the information on to his detective associates.

By changing the location of the van every day, the team of Cosgrove, Riley and Shaw had so far avoided detection by any of the workers who would be infuriated if they knew their area was being staked out. Not to mention that Nolan’s clients, all except one, were being tricked into a police van and then ordered not to return for another attempt at solicitation, being let off with a warning.

That experience would put a scare in the customers that guaranteed very few would be brave enough to come back, even when the Dove investigation had wrapped. And these workers needed those types of clients. Nolan felt badly for depleting the customer base, but there was nothing he could do about it; there was no other way to keep the best tabs they could on Dove.

There had so far been two sightings of the killer, both when Nolan had been in another location and a co-worker thought they saw “that silver-haired Dove freak lurkin’ around. Looked just like the damn police sketch on the news. But he didn’t come near us or try to take anyone to a room or nothin’. So we just waited for him to leave, cuz what else are we supposed to do, huh? Call the cops? Motherfucker is smart, choosin’ us to kill. We got no fuckin’ recourse. It’s like ‘wanna keep workin’ and keep my kids under a good roof? Better accept the fifty-fifty shot I’ll be dead before dawn!’”

Nolan nodded to his friend Karma, then shook his head at the cigarette she offered him. “It really sucks, putting ourselves at risk this way,” He said truthfully, “To say the least. I mean, how come Mr. Elliott doesn’t protect us better? Other escorts have security staff watching their back, and that’s when there isn’t a killer at large who targets our demographic.”

“You answered your own question, Nicky, just think about it.” Karma blew a puff of smoke in the other direction and then looked at Nolan with her purple contacts accentuating an angry glare at the thought of Elliott. “That bastard knows he’s got a good thing with us workin’ this corner. We’re popular and we pull in massive bucks. He ain’t gonna waste any of that on hirin’ expensive-ass security to watch out for our forgettable little hooker asses.”

“You’re right, he does seem like that type,” Nolan nodded, judgement swirling in his own blue eyes that secretly spoke of his lawyerly drive to expose such corruption and abuse in a court of law.

He’d love to send Elliott away for a good, long time, not for what he did for a living, but how he did it: preying on the vulnerable, exploiting their talents and exposing them to the worst dangers without a scratch on his conscience. Elliott probably saw them as valuable but replaceable, as opposed to his precious, cold hard cash. He really was a rat bastard, the dregs of the universe.

“Just remember, don’t let Elliott affect how you see yourself,” Nolan added, putting his hand on Karma’s shoulder with a kind smile.

“Thanks, darlin,’ I won’t.” Karma shrugged, making her lavender bob shimmer in the moonlight. “I guess this too shall pass, huh? The cops may be almost entirely useless, but they’re bound to catch this Dove freak eventually. I just hope to hell he doesn’t get me or any of us first.”

When Nolan got back to his real job, he was determined to find a way to use the law to uproot Elliott from his position. He didn’t know exactly how or if it might take longer than was remotely fair. But he knew he would never give up until that man lost the power to wreak the damage he currently reveled in.

As it turned out, Nolan was destined to have his own encounter with the Dove. At first, it seemed like an uneventful evening on his usual part of the block, strolling around and batting his eyelashes in the latest of “Nicky’s” fashion statements: A black, soft, see-through sweater with a smiley face on it in a white “spray paint” font over a black bra top, with a punk- rock-looking black, chunky belt covered in silver studs, accentuated in front by a skull design.

“Nicky” wore the shortest of black shorts, made even more shameless by the three cut-outs which miraculously ran up his thighs on both sides without technically showing any illegal levels of nudity. He had a new pair of shiny, black goth-style shoes on, ankle boots with little dangling silver chains on the sides adorned with crosses.

Maybe it was sort of odd, but Nolan had taken a slight liking to this part of the “job.” Given that he had been here every day and night since the undercover role began, he tried to be as comfortable with it all as he could. For one thing, he had to sell the role and make everyone believe he was this confident, sassy escort. For another, he didn’t want to add to the already high stress level of the operation and his potential nearness to the killer by finding it all distressing and terrible to endure.

Instead, he found things to like about being Nicky. A little voice inside him said that Markus wouldn’t want him being hard on himself or not taking care of himself. Because yes, it had been days and a whole weekend and then more days, and Nolan was still thinking about Markus during the entire time, almost nonstop.

Thoughts of Markus – his sparkling, dark amber eyes, those rare, adorable smiles, the serious look he got when he – well, most of the time, and the touch of his hand. The feel of his lips, hot and relentless, the grip of his calloused, powerful hands…it was as intoxicating as it was (probably) hopeless.

But anyway, in the interest of being kinder to himself, he got to like Nicky’s daily fashion forays. It was fun to consult with Cherry and Jo in order to find the items that best suited his persona and would attract the clients. He was actually learning a hell of a lot about style, fabrics, names of certain looks and aesthetics, how to apply black eyeliner and gray eyeshadow in a “smoky,” yet careless-looking way. No longer was his definition of fashion limited to suits that were all a slight variation on each other, and the sweats he wore to jog in.

And of course, he’d come into the situation already practicing vigilance at every moment, senses keen and ready to latch onto any clue leading to the killer. One possibility, even a probability, did involve the Dove picking one of their own to be his next victim. There was a chance Nolan could be chosen.

Chilling as this knowledge was, it would be better for him to be targeted, he reasoned, as at least he had the detectives ready to swoop in and save him. He had the listening device taped to his chest under his slinky shirts, and he kept a knife strapped to his thigh, hidden and at the ready.

For all his safeguards, a simple oversight and a maybe-predictable lapse in judgement led him into almost certain doom.

This sort of thing was the reason why his friends at work had urged him not to go undercover and put himself in harm’s way. Baxter was not wrong about Nolan’s blind spot: his own well-being, his own safety when there was a chance someone else was in grave danger. Just like the day of the train bombing, when he had rushed down the stairs to the platform while every other sane person there ran in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t a martyr complex, at least not consciously. But there was a part of Nolan that found himself expendable if he could be useful. The version who had come to see himself as an instrument of justice instead of a person with dreams and likes and dislikes, who could have a personal life of his own, and even a happy one.

He had given into many knee-jerk surrenders to whatever was convenient to everyone else, shouldering the guilt whenever it was shoveled on him like funeral dirt by grieving families, victims, fellow attorneys, cops and other people who were wounded in the cases he worked. Often through no fault of Nolan’s own. These people put a target on him, he made it easy by assuming it was justified, and the pattern kept cycling.

When Nolan Price heard a cry for help, he would run towards it without hesitation. That’s what happened on the fateful night he came face to face with the Dove.

All week, Nolan had avoided going down any allies or secluded streets with poor lighting unless he had a few other people with him. Safety in numbers had proved effective thus far. But when he heard a distressed voice from a shadowy nook between buildings, he quickly spoke into his listening device, “possible Dove spotting, we have a victim in need of rescue. In pursuit.”

Cosgrove’s voice broke through: “No, Nolan, wait there, where are you?”

Nolan gave them the street and precise location, then tugged the device loose from his chest, cutting off the repeated orders for him to stay put. Every single second he waited could cost someone their life; if there was anything he could do, he had no choice but to try.

Apparently, the killer had devised a trick to lure his prey, a prerecording of a cry for help that sounded eerily realistic. Nolan put this together immediately when the evil man stood before him, even creepier and more malevolent than in the sketch – a tiny but strong recording device in his black-gloved hand. And alone, with no other victim. Nolan was the one meant to fill that role.

The killer dove for Nolan the second he started to come around the corner, nabbing him with ease and pinning him to the wall. He had an elbow viciously pinned over Nolan’s throat and he grinned wickedly in the lawyer’s face. “Stupid, lying slut. Now, there’ll be one less of you to go around breaking hearts and acting like that’s just fine. Entitled little bitches. You make it too easy.”

Nolan felt his consciousness beginning to dwindle, even as he desperately tried to get to his hidden weapon, fingers wriggling too far above his thigh to make contact.

He pushed back against the Dove with all his might, managing to startle the killer a few inches away for a handful of seconds. Although he used those seconds to frantically go for the knife, it was instantly wrenched from his sweaty grip and thrown away.

The Dove closed in on him, wielding his own, terrifyingly sharp dagger, long and curved, glinting in the glow of a full moon.

The detectives were on their way, they knew where he was. They would be here any second. Nolan’s mind worked at lightning speed, his thoughtful eyes flashing with idea after idea to try and wrest free, though none of them worked and the killer was done taking his entertainment from playing with his food. Nolan had been running around in his maze long enough, and it was time to end this.

The damndest thing was, Nolan was so absolutely sure he was going to be stabbed through the heart that he thought he felt it. Felt the punch of the dagger’s lethal tip penetrating his skin, bone and muscle, the harsh explosion of pain and agony.

Right as he had this feeling, there was a disruption to the already confused and staticky reality of the moment, and he was thrown roughly to the ground in the chaos.

Nolan assumed in his shocked daze that he’d been stabbed and thrown down to bleed out, consoling himself distantly that the detectives would catch Dove in the act and bring him to justice. It was a worthy-

Only the killer’s scream, such an unlikely and crazed noise that it was the last thing he expected to hear, could have roused him from his traumatized illusion. Nolan looked up through frightened, tear-fogged eyes to see that someone had come to his rescue, right in the nick of time.

Someone had lunged at the Dove and was stronger than him – bigger, more skilled, making the formidable serial killer look pathetic by comparison, just a fly to be flicked aside.

Someone with extensive military training who gave no fucks for rules or consequences in a crisis like this. A man who would never let anything happen to Nolan.

Not just anyone.

Markus was larger than life. From Nolan’s point of view on the hard, cold pavement, he looked like a gloriously wrathful giant. He was beating the killer to a pulp, just punching his face again and again, and – again –

Anger contorted Markus’ features into an iron mask of pure, unstoppable violent intention. His huge fist collided with the Dove’s face enough times that Nolan saw a tooth fly past in a splatter of blood that looked more like something from a Tarantino film than real life. And he kept. Going.

When Nolan heard the crunch of the killer’s cheekbones under Markus’ beating, which went on after the Dove collapsed, unconscious to the ground, the lawyer managed to form words.

“Markus! You can stop. I…think you got him.”

In all his fear, panic, and now overwhelm about Markus somehow being here and saving him, Nolan did the only rational thing one could in such a moment. Markus stared at him, as if he was a wild animal whom only Nolan could tame, and Nolan looked back, enthralled. Then, Nolan fainted into total blackness.

Chapter Text

“Hey, do me a favor,” Cosgrove greeted Nolan upon his bleary awakening in a hospital bed. “Next time we let you go undercover–”

“Which will be never,” Riley put in, as Shaw nodded agreement, all three of their faces stern.

“Which will be fuckin’ never,” Cosgrove resumed, “And we tell you to wait for us and not engage the target,”

“A goddamned deranged serial killer,” Shaw said accusingly.

“Stay the fuck where you are,” Cosgrove finished.

Nolan carefully sat up, scrunching his face at the aches all over his body from the Dove’s attack.

He was in decent shape all things considered; a quick look around showed he wasn’t hooked up to any iv’s, he didn’t have a leg suspended in a cast above the bed, and as he patted his face and body down, he only found a few bandages on superficial injuries. Mainly, bruises and a few painful scratches, bad enough for medical attention, but nothing terrible. He hadn’t even needed stitches.

So he took his scolding from the detectives as bravely as he had the energy to. He let an aggravated Riley pass him a cup of water with a straw in it, then after a few cold, restorative sips he spoke.

“Okay. Got it.”

“You came this-close to getting killed in that alley, Nolan.” Riley glared at him.

“Do you really think we wanted to explain to our Captain why we got the goddamned Executive Assistant District Attorney killed in the streets while posing as a hooker?” Shaw said, lowering his voice when a nurse walked by Nolan’s room and gave them a “Quiet down!” look.

“Understood, and I apologize for being reckless and taking unconscionable risks,” Nolan said in a croaky voice. He sipped his water again and added, “But respectfully, gentlemen. Did you get him or not?”

Alright, so he was being a tiny bit cocky. He knew they’d gotten him.

“He’s fucking with us,” Cosgrove groused, throwing his hands up. “He’s seriously –”

“By a miracle, we got him. Yes, you found him, yes, you brought him to us, yes you did damn good work over the past week, passing us intel and probably even saved a few lives for all the times you looked out for your co-workers. But don’t even try to pretend your actions last night were acceptable, just because the end result is the one we wanted.” Shaw pointed at Nolan, who gave him a lopsided smile.

“Thanks, Jalen. I did my best.”

They all groaned at him.

“Listen, speaking of miracles, the main one in last night’s–?”

They nodded; he’d been out cold sleeping until the following afternoon. Time seemed a little wobbly and “off” to Nolan as a result, but he was definitely in no position to complain after such a narrow escape.

“Last night’s skirmish was a large, Danish miracle with a shaved head and a really amazing beard. Quiet, steely glare, insane right hook? Have you seen him?” Nolan could barely repress his desperate need to see Markus and thank the man for showing up out of nowhere to save him.

“Oh, you mean Markus,” Riley said with a look somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “A commendable, er, citizen’s arrest he pulled off. Except he isn’t an American citizen. Even so, he neutralized the Dove effectively.”

“The only reason we were able to shield your hero from charges of his own is that we damn well know how bad the Dove was and the immediate danger he posed to you, Nolan.” Shaw sighed, putting a hand to his furrowed brow. “We were able to convince the Captain of it, sell her on Markus having no choice.”

“He beat the shit out of the Dove,” Riley elaborated. “He annihilated the man’s face, Nolan. I mean…when we got there, he barely even had a thing on the front of his head that could pass for a face. God knows if we’ll even be able to get a positive id.”

“Maybe his prints are in the system?” Nolan asked, his heart skipping beats like stones skittering across a pond. He could hardly believe the lengths to which Markus had gone while saving him.

It was over the top, and the detectives wouldn’t know why, had no idea that Markus and Nolan had a – whatever – going on. They didn’t know that the sight of Nolan in danger had sent Markus into the kind of fury the Dove barely survived in (sort of) one piece. To their knowledge, Markus had just been a stranger passing by who witnessed the attack and intervened.

“He would’ve killed the son of a bitch if we didn’t come around that corner when we did,” Cosgrove explained. “It also took all three of us to pull that mountain of a man off the sniveling, whining, half-conscious remnants of the Dove.”

“These killers are all the same; when it’s their turn to feel pain, they’re the biggest cowards and the weakest bitches known to man.” Riley rolled his eyes.

Nolan nodded. “Guess it’s not as easy to hurt others or take lives when you don’t have the advantage of manipulation and sneaking up on them, or preying on those in vulnerable positions. I can only imagine what went through that psycho’s mind when he caught sight of Markus.”

“More like Markus’ massive fists,” Riley said. “Hey, so, Markus gave us a statement, of course. Said he just happened to be walking by when he heard you and the Dove struggling in the alley. That true, Nolan? Or was he a regular on the street, among you and-or your co-workers?”

“We told him we weren’t gonna write him up or even issue a warning if he was looking to hook up last night, but he still insisted he was not looking for the services of an escort.” Cosgrove shrugged.

“It might be true, he had no reason to lie about it, unless he’s paranoid, being a foreigner and not knowing how severe the laws around prostitution might be.” Nolan shrugged, wincing when moving his shoulders hurt a bit.

“Well, in our book, saving our operative and taking down a killer earns any man a free pass on a comparatively insignificant potential crime.” Riley sipped from a cup of coffee he’d been flicking at the top cap of during the whole conversation.

“Do you know where he is now?” Nolan asked, trying to downplay his enthusiasm on the subject.

“We have a theory,” Shaw chuckled. “He’s in the lobby. Wouldn’t hear of going back to his hotel until he could see you were awake and okay. We had to promise to tell him when you woke up, so. Let’s go do that. I really don’t like it when that man scowls at us.”

Nolan looked up sheepishly a few minutes later, when the detectives had taken their leave and left him to rest. As expected, Markus arrived shortly after and was now hovering inscrutably in the doorway of Nolan’s room. The lawyer’s eyes just couldn’t help doing that “big, blue pleading” look, complete with the fluttering lashes, as he stared at his rescuer.

Apart from “exhausted,” Nolan couldn’t read his expression at all, and he was worried this might even be their last conversation. All the lies and then Markus landing in serious physical danger (well. maybe?) and having possible legal trouble (which seemed, thankfully, to have been averted by the detectives putting a word in for him) – all of it Nolan’s fault.

Lying bruised, pale and hapless in an ugly, thin, scratchy hospital gown on a stiff cot in a room that made the Holiday Inn look like a resort in the Maldives, Nolan was sure he looked about as appealing as he felt at the moment. Why should Markus even bother knowing him anymore after this discussion, whatever it ended up being?

But every wildly impetuous feeling from their afternoon together came rushing back into Nolan’s heart at the mere sight of the man, including a strong wave of sultry flashbacks. Nolan blushed. His own feelings hadn’t changed at all, except to get even deeper.

“You’re awake,” Markus announced bluntly, like Nolan didn’t realize it himself.

A smile tugged at Nolan’s dry, smarting lips. He’d missed that socially inept, terse, shy, tough-guy attitude so much.

“Yeah, thanks to you. Please, come in, have a seat.”

Markus nodded and closed the door, then sank into a chair that was too small for his frame, close to Nolan’s side.

“Son of a bitch,” Markus growled, glaring at Nolan’s face.

Nolan sighed. “I mean. I guess I deserve that…”

“Not you,” Markus corrected him, “That asshole fucked up your face. Wish I could get a little more time with him.”

His knuckles were wrapped in medical gauze. The way they tightened on Markus’ lap as he thought about “more time” with the Dove nearly strained them to breaking, and Markus’ knuckles to more bleeding.

“Markus, I’m ridiculously lucky to even be alive. You do know by now who the man was that attacked me?”

Markus nodded. “Police told me the whole story.”

“So, you know he is a lot worse than an average, everyday asshole needing to be put in his place. A lot more than an assailant who left a few superficial marks on my face.”

Markus glowered. “He never should’ve touched you.”

“My own fault,” Nolan admitted with a shrug. “If Cosgrove, Shaw and Riley filled you in, then you know how I got tangled up in this whole thing. They might’ve also told you I was supposed to wait for backup, not charge into that alley like a damn fool, expecting to save the day.”

“You can’t blame yourself for what that fucking…Dove did. He is the one who tricked you and attacked you, hurt you – hurt all those others. You were doing your best to help. I have a little bit of experience with…I guess the American expression is ‘leaping before I look?’ So. I understand.”

Nolan laughed softly. “I suppose we must have a bit of a reckless streak in common. Might explain why we got involved so quickly that first day. Um, were you looking for me when you showed up last night?”

Markus nodded. His fists unfurled and he pressed his palms against his jeans, looking nervous again instead of enraged.

“I wanted to see you, talk to you – I had a really stupid thing I wanted to ask you about. So, I was walking the area looking everywhere for you because your friends weren’t sure where you’d wandered off, and they had not seen you with a client.”

“They weren’t really my clients, you know that now,” Nolan said, blushing more deeply.

“Yeah. I guess you’re really a big time lawyer of some type, the detectives made it sound im-pressive.” He looked relieved to have gotten the last word right and pronounced it fairly well.

“I work for…sort of the main attorney for the city of New York,” Nolan explained. “We prosecute cases where the people of the city are pursuing justice against violent criminals, drug dealers, situations like that.”

“A big deal.” Markus smoothed down the front of the NYPD t-shirt he had on and sighed. “I’m not a big deal at all.”

“Markus, I’m pretty sure you’re entitled to being mad that I lied to you about being an escort. You’re not supposed to think I’m suddenly out of your league, or whatever, simply because of my job being different.”

“You had to lie about being an escort because you were doing under-cover,” Markus explained slowly, as one would address a kindergartener. “And you are out of my – league? League. It’s like. A sports team. League?”

“It’s a saying that just means, beyond your reach in the dating world. Which I am definitely not, where you’re concerned. I don’t consider myself any more impressive or important than you at all. In fact, you’re the hero of last night as far as I’m concerned.”

“We got him together,” Markus said with a small smile of pride. “You don’t have to go on thinking I’m mad about your fake name and job last week. I get it. I’m just not that clear on…why you uh…”

“Actually slept with you?” Nolan murmured, keeping his voice down instinctively. His face flamed as his heart raced. “You were my one real client, as it happens. And that reminds me, I will pay you back the money you gave me that day. I just had to wait until–”

“Don’t be silly. It’s your money, I gave that to you.”

“I didn’t have sex with you for money, Markus. I had sex with you because I wanted to. Very badly.”

Nolan was speaking just above a whisper, but the words felt like he was screaming them. They were so damn vulnerable. But hell, if there was ever a time to just put your cards on the table, this had to be it.

Markus’ little smile grew as his eyes twinkled. “I’m glad about that. I had an amazing time with you, too. When I got that note, I wanted to go after you right away. But I said to myself to let you have space and I reminded that you were just doing a job, it wasn’t like a date or even a one night thing. You had other clients, I was just one of them in the line. I thought you might be mad or annoyed if I started like, following you, trying to keep a thing going.”

“But?”

“But I couldn’t take it after a while. I’m supposed to be flying back to Denmark in two days, and the idea of going without seeing you again was bad. Very bad, thinking that we might not even talk or you’d never know how much I like you and wanted to see. Here comes the stupid thing. Wanted to see if you thought that you would want to be with me as more than a client. As like a couple. If that makes any sense?”

Markus was very unused to speaking at such length, particularly in English. His determination was downright adorable and it eased the tension on Nolan’s heart, at least as much as Markus’ actual words and how he said he felt.

“God, that’s what I want, too, Markus.” Nolan let out a long breath he had no idea he’d been holding. “Wow. I’ve been so scared that you would want nothing to do with me after I lied and everything. Even having sex with you under false pretenses…”

“It wasn’t false attracting, I mean attraction,” Markus insisted gently. “We were real together even if you could not tell me everything that day. There’s still time to tell me all about you. Nolan. If you want to.”

“I wish you weren’t leaving,” Nolan admitted as they held hands, taking comfort in the warm ease with which they touched and interacted.

It still felt strangely familiar, destined or as if this was meant to be. As if nobody else’s touch would have this same effect on Nolan, instantly calming and a bit exciting at the same time. He believed that was true. And now it seemed that the two of them could actually do something about it, but the man was leaving in forty-eight hours…what about that?

“Me, too. But my daughter lives here, she wants to become a citizen after college and get a job in America. New York City. She loves it.” Markus shrugged. “It’s possible I would want to move here too, anyway. I would be thinking it over. And because you live here, I guess I’m double thinking about it.”

“That makes sense. I wouldn’t want you to rush to any big life changes just on my account,” Nolan rushed to assure him. “This is very new, and we started out under strange circumstances. We have no idea how we’d be as an actual couple. Most people would still be in the ‘dating’ phase and not even talking about commitment after knowing each other for such a short time.”

“We are not most people, so fuck that anyway, if that works for you.”

“It works for me,” Nolan laughed fondly.

“When do the doctors say you can leave here and go home?”

“I’m waiting to hear, but I’ve got a strong feeling that I should be fine to leave by this evening. My injuries were very slight, especially considering how awful my attacker was, what he might have done. What he was going to do, if you hadn’t shown up.”

Markus returned the added pressure of their joined hands at Nolan’s words.

“No one will ever hurt you when I’m around, Nolan. You can count on that. My daughter would tell you that you can rely on my horrible temper and my total lack of self-control.”

Nolan chuckled. “I know it’s wrong of me to say, but your horrible temper and total lack of self-control are a big turn-on for me. I might be a little twisted myself, I guess.”

Markus grinned, briefly showing his cute, white, slightly crooked teeth. “Good, I like you that way. I can take you home to wherever you live, or you can come to my hotel again tonight. If you don’t think is too much, we can have time together before I go. I mean, I don’t want you going home with no one to look after you tonight.”

“That all sounds perfect,” Nolan smiled, and pressed a kiss to the back of Markus’ huge hand, still encompassing his own. The bandages rubbed against Nolan’s skin as he looked over at Markus with tears of joy in his eyes.

Someone to take care of him. That one special thing he’d never thought he deserved, never thought he’d find. Now, Markus was real and so was their opportunity to explore this together. Nolan wasn’t about to worry about long distance relationships or having to be patient; he was going to do what Nicky would do – live in the moment. And the moment really did feel completely perfect.

After a whirlwind twenty-four hours full of all the passion and tenderness Nolan could have wished for, he brought Markus somewhere unexpected and special. He had a little surprise planned for their last night in person for a while, as Markus’ flight to Denmark was leaving the following afternoon.

They had firmed up their agreement to move forward as a couple and figure out the details over the months to come. First, though, they had a little time left, and Nolan intended to make the most of it.

The plan for tonight was a bit of a nerve-wrackingly ambitious idea on Nolan’s part, but he’d learned a few things during his undercover gig. In particular, Cherry and Jo had taught him some key skills and tricks of their trade whenever he spent time in the club between “clients.”

Since Nicky was an escort, not a stripper, it was easy for Nolan to explain away his initial reluctance to dance with them because he – well – couldn't dance at all. Or, as he had clarified at the time, sure he could dance, theoretically, but it was not something that other people should probably have to look at.

But his friends took it upon themselves to teach him to dance, starting with very basic stuff that anyone could do “in regular clubs,” then gradually moving into the sexy styles of dance in which Garden specialized. Cherry and Jo had been so patient and encouraging that Nolan eventually relaxed, letting go of his hangups and accepting that his body actually could move “like that.”

That was why Nolan had Markus bring him to the club after-hours…he wanted to show off some of his new moves and see where the evening might take them from there. He’d worked it out with Cherry that she’d leave him a key to lock up with before they left, so the place would be all theirs for a few hours.

When they arrived, Markus looked about as much like a fish out of water – even in the quiet, closed-for-business strip club – as Nolan had on his own first time there. He introduced his lover to Cherry, an interaction which did nothing to alleviate Markus’ confusion about why they were there.

Once she bade them a chipper farewell and left them to their own devices, Markus tucked his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and shrugged.

“I’d go anywhere with you.” He smiled.

Their time together had left him looking as content as Nolan had ever seen him, and it was a lovely sight to behold.

“Though to be honest…” Markus scratched the side of his neck and cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh, never been to a place like this before. I guess I got married too young for all that.”

“These clubs never really interested me either, until recently. I guess I got married to my job too young.”

Nolan led Markus around the room and gave him a mini-tour, from the absurd “souvenir” shop at the front to the pole dancing stations, tables with their flashy, shiny red cloths, and the fancy lighting system which he was not going to make use of for his own planned performance. He went with the plain, pink, slightly dim overheads as they were pretty, simple and not going to give either of them a headache.

After leading Markus to a table, Nolan sat near him and took his hand, noticing that the older man’s eyes kept casually trailing over his outfit. During their reunion, Markus had seen Nolan in a hospital gown, followed by a plain pair of sweat pants and a law school t-shirt that the younger man had worn for pajamas when he’d brought Markus to his apartment. Or, at least, pajamas that Nolan had on his body for about five minutes after showering before Markus peeled them off and laid him on the bed. They had left their takeout dinner barely touched, forgotten until hours later when they were finally both tired out and starving.

By then, Nolan was wearing Markus’ t-shirt, which was almost comically oversized on his smaller frame. The scent of it, the softness of the well-broken-in fabric and the boxiness all made it feel wonderful, and as a bonus, Markus had strong feelings about seeing Nolan in his clothes. This became very apparent at “breakfast,” where Nolan quickly found himself the main course on the kitchen table, being passionately tackled into blissful submission by his lover.

When they reemerged from their lust-driven world for two, Nolan was notified that “a friend” had dropped off some items for him in the lobby of his building. It was one of the detectives, for sure, leaving the big, black duffel bag in which the “Nicky” wardrobe resided, along with a few of Nolan’s other items which had been left behind when he was attacked and conveyed to the hospital. And it was getting those clothes back that gave him the inspiration to give Nicky a little comeback…just for Markus.

Now, Nolan was wearing skintight black and red leggings with a snakeskin pattern and a soft, long black sweater concealing his attire beneath for the appropriate moment. His favorite, most comfortable pair of chunky, black ankle boots completed the outfit. But now, he slipped them off with a mysterious smile.

“The thing is…” Nolan bit his lower lip in another small flutter of nerves, but went on, “Since meeting you, and I don’t know if this is ironic, considering that you’ve never been into this stuff either. But since we met, I’ve felt playful in ways that I never have before. It’s like you bring this thing out of me that… well, part of it is an incessant hunger. Which we know all about.”

They shared a soft laugh at the reference to their voracious sexual encounters.

“Part of it is also, maybe – crazily enough – it feels like… fun?”

“Fun?” Markus repeated, amused. “I don’t think I know that word in any language.”

They chuckled. “You’re learning, too. And…I have a confession, while we’re on the subject,” Nolan admitted.

“Anything.”

And it was true. Maybe no one on the outside looking in would understand it, but the two of them were able to be totally open and tell each other anything from their past or present without judgement.

Last night and today, between lovemaking rounds and what little eating and drinking they’d managed, they had a few long, soulful conversations. The comfort level between them, which had started out feeling strangely strong and durable, only got more so as time went on and they talked more.

“During our afternoon together at the hotel, I was internally losing my mind, just afraid, because of how we met. I worried that we would never work in the real world.”

“You were wrong about that,” Markus observed, pleased as could be with the fact.

“Thank God. Because I am exceedingly picky, and Markus, you might actually be it for me. I have no idea how – or if I’d have gotten over you.”

Markus smiled bashfully and looked away, overwhelmed, before returning his attention to Nolan’s explanation.

“You won’t have to get over me,” he promised.

“I know,” Nolan smiled in return, still acclimating to the confidence with which he could say such outrageous things now. “Anyway, my confession is that despite those worries, something about the roles we started out in… majorly turned me on. The way you picked me up. Talking about what we were gonna do. Even when you left the money on the bureau after. It felt so…hot. Is that crazy?”

Markus blushed, shaking his head and nudging his chair closer. His fingers wandered up Nolan’s wrist, brushing the delicate skin inside his sweater sleeve. A shiver of anticipatory pleasure went through Nolan’s whole body just that easily.

“It isn’t crazy. I felt the same thing. It was…” He struggled with finding an eloquent word for his own reaction before reusing Nolan’s own. “Hot.”

“Yeah,” Nolan sighed, holding back from kissing Markus right then, as they would have gotten carried away immediately.

“I just want you to know that it doesn’t matter to me what you do for work or what you’re wearing, or where we are. It’s about you,” Markus said frankly. “I just want you, Nolan.”

He let out a shaky sigh of his own after the uncharacteristically emotional speech. Maybe this was getting less uncharacteristic and he was getting better at saying how he felt. If only his friends back home could see him now. Even his daughter’s jaw was sure to drop when he introduced her to Nolan and she saw how happy they were together, how content he was.

“Same here. I want you, in so many ways, some of them definitely kinky.” Nolan pressed their foreheads together and added in a saucy whisper, “That’s why I think sometimes we could still play a little. In that way. If you want.”

“Okay,” said Markus, as if Nolan had just given him a million dollars.

Nolan stood, raising his eyebrows with a teasing smile, then took off his sweater, revealing the tiny crop top he had on underneath. It was black, with a little collar and a silver zipper that was begging to be undone.

“Whoa,” Markus said in amazement. “You’re really messing with me.”

“In a nice way,” Nolan soothed, “The nicest, I hope. Would you like me to show you some dance moves I learned over the past weeks? I had to spend some time in the club, and the dancers were super generous about teaching me.”

“I’d love to see,” Markus said quickly, the words almost jumbling up in his eagerness. His face was flushed already, as Nolan grinned and went to the nearby sound station to put some music on.

The mid-tempo number gave a sultry, heated background to Nolan’s performance. He had planned out a little choreography, limiting it to what he was sure he could pull off, and that meant he was essentially just doing a bit of prancing around in a slinky manner, followed by the world’s most basic lap dance.

Markus was extremely happy with prancing in a slinky manner and even happier with the lap dance. As Nolan shed each of his scant clothing items, letting them fall to the floor, Markus’ eyes followed them lovingly before shooting right back to Nolan. Now down to a black thong, Nolan took up a position on Markus’ lap with the older man raising his hands uncertainly, hovering above his hips.

“You know, sir, usually we aren’t supposed to let the clients touch us during private dances. But for you, I’ll make an exception. Go ahead.”

Markus grabbed Nolan’s hips with a growl, encouraging the younger man’s suggestive gyrating as it gradually blossomed into more overt rubbing over his groin. Already hard from the dancing, Markus was breaking a sweat and cursing as Nolan ground against him, still showing off some decent, professional-level moves. The moves seemed very basic to Nolan, but Markus was over the moon.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered in Nolan’s ear, moving his hands slowly up Nolan’s front to cup his pecs and then play with his nipples.

Nolan ground back against Markus’ hard cock in time to the seductive music, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted in concentration. His thong was tented in front, showing off his own erection and desperate state of need.

“You feel so good, sir, I just can’t resist taking it further. If that’s something you’re interested in…”

Markus smirked and reached into his jacket which was hanging on the chair. He took out his wallet and then a few hundred dollar bills, which he held up. “How much extra for you to let me move your thong to the side, and maybe take off my pants?”

“You wicked man,” Nolan gasped, still moving with precision against Markus, “I could get fired for this. I’ll need at least three hundred to go that far.”

Markus tucked the bills into the side of Nolan’s thong and murmured hotly in his ear, “You’re worth every penny. Now, show me what you’ve got, baby.”

Nolan began by slinking down to his knees undoing Markus’ button and fly, getting his cock out as if he really was a professional expert. His movements were smooth and confident. Markus’ eyes rolled back at the unexpected foreplay as Nolan slowly stroked him, then sank his mouth down slowly on Markus’ dripping length.

A little more of that was all it took before Markus gently pushed him off with a growl, ready for more.

“Will you do the honors, please, sir?” Nolan shimmied his hips as he turned away from Markus again, presenting his pert ass in the thong.

Markus tugged the thong to one side, revealing enough of Nolan for his purposes while keeping the money tucked into the thin straps over the younger man’s thigh. Then his breath caught at the sight of the plug Nolan was wearing. His private dancer was completely lubed and ready, just for him.

One song faded dreamily into the next as Nolan ground nakedly against Markus’ bare cock, letting it slide between his cheeks a few times as he struggled to maintain his own composure.

He was as wet and rigid as Markus, and couldn’t wait any longer to have his boyfriend deep inside of him. It was easy as Markus guided him firmly back onto his cock, sinking into Nolan’s tight hole to the hilt in one long thrust as they both cried out loudly enough to give the music some competition.

With that, Nolan kept right on going with his lap dance, gyrating and rutting against Markus, the only difference being that he was fucking himself on the man’s huge cock in time with the music’s sensuous beats.

Markus gripped his waist and kept encouraging his sinful antics as long as he could. Another song was the most that they could both last, as Markus stood, bent Nolan over the neighboring table and slammed in and out of his lover ferociously. The obscene slapping together of their bodies and Markus’ wanton growls sent Nolan over the edge without Markus even having a chance to stroke his cock. When he came, his body clamped down on Markus’ hot, slick cock so hard that he milked the older man’s orgasm from him as the two of them moaned riotously.

Afterwards, Nolan curled up on Markus’ lap, naked except for his lover’s jacket that was currently wrapped around him like a blanket. Markus played with his hair and said softly, “I like playing this game with you.”

His voice was totally wrecked, and Nolan loved that, like he loved every single detail of the time they spent together.

“I really never knew I had it in me,” he smirked, leaning up to kiss Markus. “I guess you must be a good influence on me or something.”

Markus laughed huskily and returned his kiss, hugging Nolan close with deep affection. “Or something,” he agreed.

On the morning before Markus’ flight back to Denmark (for now), Nolan brought his lover to the DA’s office building. He was looking forward to giving Markus a tour of this workplace, too.

This being a fully clothed, suited tour, with Nolan looking every inch the crisply proper, neat-tie and shiny-shoed, sophisticated attorney. Only the mischievous twinkle in Nolan’s blue eyes told of the naughty secrets he and Markus shared about the other, very private tour he had given the night before. As for Markus himself, he bore a humble and down-to-earth appearance in his typical jeans and neat sweater. Nothing about them screamed that they were that couple, with the wild lap dance in a strip club to prove it.

After introducing Markus to a few work acquaintances, Nolan showed him his own office, then suggested they could grab a coffee in the lounge before he brought Markus to the airport.

That’s when the new couple ran into Sam and Baxter. Nolan’s fellow lawyer and their boss were animatedly discussing a case when they instantly fell silent at the sight of their friend with someone they didn’t recognize at all. A tough-looking guy who looked like he could beat anyone to kingdom come if he chose to. Nolan was leading the man around with natural and relaxed enjoyment.

Holding hands.

Smiling brightly.

Nolan? Nolan Price?

What had Sam and Baxter missed? They had only heard a few specifics of Nolan’s undercover experience so far, like the killer being caught and Nolan having played a large role in that success. Beyond that, they had no idea what he’d been up to.

Their perplexity was hilarious to Nolan, but he acted breezy and casual anyway.

“Oh, hey, guys, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Markus.” Nolan grinned, carefree. “Markus, this is Samantha Maroun, who works with me on all of my cases, and the District Attorney, Nicholas Baxter.”

“Oh!” Sam chirped. She was otherwise struck silent for another few seconds.

Baxter tried to help by awkwardly shaking Markus’ hand and saying, “Of course, Nolan’s boyfriend. We’ve heard, ummm….”

“Nothing about you!” Sam admitted with a laugh. “But that’s alright. I’m happy to see Nolan happy. And I’m sure you have a lot to do with that.”

“Exactly, right,” Baxter agreed, nodding too many times as Markus just nodded quietly at their remarks.

“Good to meet you both,” Markus said in his husky voice before he went to help Nolan with finding the coffee and some breakfast snacks.

Sam turned to Baxter at their table and muttered to him quickly.

“Is that really happening?”

Baxter looked baffled. “When did he have time to start dating someone? He’s been undercover for a week!”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, whispering, “And he was very single the last time he was here.”

“Strange…”

“And his undercover gig being what it was,” Sam went on with a laugh, “It’s not possible that they met on the job. I mean! Nolan was posing as an escort who walked the streets outside of a strip club –”

“You don’t think,” Baxter said. His eyes widened comically.

“NO. no. It can’t be. Nolan?” Samantha shook her head, looking less and less certain by the second. “C’mon. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this and it cannot be that Nolan is dating his former john.”

Markus busied himself at the counter behind them, getting the coffee machine going as Nolan strolled back by his co-worker’s table, looking like he was in quite a friendly mood.

Sam couldn’t help herself.

“Listen, Nolan, we can’t help but wonder when you had the time to get together with this totally new person,” She said with a smile. “I mean, he seems great! But you have to spill the details.”

Nolan shrugged. “Oh, there’s not much to tell, we just fell for each other from the first day we met and we haven’t looked back.”

“When you met him…” Sam blinked at him slowly.

Nolan offered no further elaborations. “Mmhmm. And you’re right. He is really, really great. In fact, Markus is amazing.”

Baxter said curiously, “That’s an awfully short amount of time between being single and being in an actual relationship with someone. When did you go on the dates?”

“Well, as it turns out, Markus and I have a special connection. I’m not usually the impetuous type, but when our eyes met, something just sparked.” He shrugged. “We were all in.”

“That does sound incredibly impetuous of you. Nolan, diving into a new relationship with this mysterious, quite frankly, hunky European man based on knowing him for one day? That’s just not like you at all.” Sam shook her head.

Nolan took a moment to remember all the bold things he had done easily just because of his disguise and “fake” persona. Wearing clothes that would be “a bit much” on a seventeen year old emo kid who had his very own band. Taking a chance with Markus when they met and then again. And again.

He’d had afternoon sex with a stranger in a hotel room, he’d grappled with a vicious killer and lived to tell the tale. He’d given a lap dance and taken the act as far as it could possibly go, in an actual strip club.

All of that didn’t even seem as shocking as the idea of Nolan jumping into a serious relationship so suddenly. And he couldn’t be happier about any of it.

“I mean, people change,” Baxter reasoned, giving Sam a “tone it down” look that earned him a “no, you tone it down” look from her in return. This led to both of them suppressing a confused laugh.

Nolan chuckled. “No, it’s really not the type of thing I would do. But luckily?” He glanced over at Markus, who gave him an adorable, loving smile. “Luckily, I wasn’t me.”