Work Text:
Nicholas Angel is, at the heart of it all, a planner-type of guy. He likes planning things, he likes to make timetables and follow them, he likes when things go his way, and he has a pre-established routine that he’s been following for years with no icks.
So yes, sue him, but he does not like when his habits are disrupted.
Which is why it feels like the sky had fallen upon him when he wakes up one day, dark bags under his eyes, a testament of how shitty his night of sleep had been, and realises he was head over heels for his friend Daniel Butterman. Thinking back to it, (in between two buttered toasts—shit, again with the butter ?) he probably should have seen it coming.
They spent their time glued to one another, hell, four days out of seven they ended up at each other’s place to watch some other shitty movie and get wasted, and well, there had been the whole shotgun incident where Danny had pretty much been willing to die for his him.
Yeah.
He closes his eyes as he takes his last sip of tea, trying to chase the remnants of his discovery, like it would change something. Christ. And anyway, how could someone not fall in love with Danny ?
He was charming, and witty, he had that odd colour in his eyes, not quite green but not quite brown, either, and his lips had this heart shape he’d never seen on anyone else, ever, and God.
He runs a hand over his face in defeat, setting his mug back in the sink and grabbing his jacket and car keys before slamming his cottage’s front door.
He’ll burn those bridges when he’ll cross them.
“Why is everybody eating cake ?” he asks as soon as he sets foot into the new and shiny police station, staring at his colleagues who seemed more focused on digging into some sort of Forêt Noire instead of doing, who knows, their paperwork, maybe. “Did I miss a birthday ?”
“Calm your tits, Nicholarse,” Wainwright retorts, mouth full, making his words come out a little muffled, “‘s not us who bought it.”
“Right. That makes for a change, doesn’t it ?”
“The lads from the other town for a pretty big rugby tournament,” Doris still says, dabbing at the corner of her mouth, “said they’d come celebrate with us.”
That makes him furrow his eyebrows.
“What on Earth does it have to do with Sandford ?” he asks, this time more surprised rather than pissed, “don’t they have their own police station to incapacitate through mountains of cream and sugar ?”
“Oh ! Well, you see—”
She’s interrupted by loud voices to her left, near the lockers. Barely a few seconds later, the Sergeant Danny Butterman and another man, with short brown hair and a slightly taller and definitely more broad frame emerge from it, laughing so hard their entire faces were red, their arms slung loosely around each other.
It takes the first man at least a minute to calm down, wiping the tears of some hilarity from his eyes before taking a breath and slapping the other visitor’s back, his smile so bright Nicholas almost regrets not wearing his shades.
"Anyway, congrats again, mate,” he hears him say jovially, “you and the guys really deserved it.”
“Couldn’t have done it with some good graces,” the strangers replies, visibly delighted. “You don’t come ‘round nearly as much as you used to !”
“Oh, well, y’know,” and is that sadness, in his voice ? “Promotion, an’ all. Comes with a new range of responsibilities.”
“Right, right. But come join us some day, yeah ? The boys will be happy to see you a bit.”
“Yeah, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”
"Cheers.”
The man runs a large hand through the police officer’s hair, sending him a wink before going to leave the station, waving the rest goodbye. When he glances at the blond man, though, he takes a moment to pause and smile.
“You must be Angel.”
“Chief Inspector Angel, yes,” Nicholas curtly replies, still thinking about the way he had been holding his friend, all close and touchy feely-like, “I don’t think I’ve caught your name.”
"Oh ! James. James Fletcher,” he says, holding out his hand. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Is that so.”
“Sure ! I mean, you and Dan were on the news, it was a big thing.”
Dan, Nicholas can’t help but note, annoyance bubbling in his core. What a shitty nickname. It didn’t even fit Danny well.
“We were, yes,” he says then, not taking the hand.
Silence.
“Say, Nick,” Danny, bless his heart, happily calls out, “don’t wait for me tonight ! Jay is coming over to mine. We’re gonna catch up on some !”
Nicholas’ face is schooled into a picture perfect of neutrality, nothing betraying just how shit he’d just felt. So there it was ? Danny was, what, kicking him out from their movie night just to hang around some—some stocky tall rugby player ? Oh, how fucking peachy.
Whatever.
“What you do with your time off the clock is none of my business, Sergeant Butterman,” he icily replies, not turning around, not even glancing back at him. “If you’ll excuse me.”
In one swift movement he slides by, closing the door to his office perhaps a tad too forcefully.
“Huh,” Fisher simply adds, face in a mix of surprise and confusion. “Well, that was quick.”
“He still has a lot of paperwork to fill,” Doris sympathetically tries to supply, “he has been shutting himself in that office of his for the past week.”
“I’ve been tellin’ him he works too hard,” Danny laughs, turning to his friend, “he’s a real workaholic. Very dedicated to his job, y’know.”
“I guess it does take passion, in your field. Well, just like in mine, honestly.”
“Yeah, yeah. Say, I really got to get around doing my stuff, but we’ll see each other t’night, yeah ?”
“Cheers. I’ll see you, Dan,” James brightly smiles, not aware of the Chief Inspector staring at him (or more so, his back,) through the blinds of his office. “See ya.”
He leaves at last, for real, this time, leaving the office in a perfect silence, each of the police officers and the detectives staring at each other a little uncomfortably.
“I’ll check on Nick,” Danny delicately says, pointing his thumb at the closed door, “reckon he needed me for some, and it’s almost time for patrol, anyways.”
“Sure, Danny-o,” Wainwright cheekily replies, exchanging a glance with his partner, “you do that, mate. You do that.”
And if Danny’d sent him a dirty glare, well, it still makes him snort.
With careful steps the Sergeant makes his way towards the closed office, knocking softly on the door, twice, just like he knows his friend prefers. He only has to wait a few seconds before a muffled voice rings out, telling him to come on in. So, well, he does. A little shyly, sure, but it’s Nick, how bad can it be ?
“Heya,” he gently says, “reckon we didn’t say hello properly, didn’ we ?”
A pause.
“Right,” Nicholas dryly replies, still looking at his paperwork. “Good morning, Sergeant Butterman.”
“Aw, c’mon Nick, s’just you and I here !” Danny protests, a little frustrated, “I know a smile ain’t goin’ t’kill you.”
“I’m busy. And so should you be. Those reports are not going to write themselves.”
“It’s time for patrol,” the younger man retorts, crossing his arms, “we gotta be out there in 10.”
That seems to take Nicholas aback, and he quickly spares a glance to his watch, noting that his friend was, indeed, right.
“Alright,” he sighs at last, getting up against his will. “Let’s go.”
“That’s what I’m talking about !” Danny gleefully cheers, reaching out to touch his neck—he withdraws his hand at the last second, suddenly self conscious. “Today’s probably going to be a bit busy, what with the rugby team bein’ here ‘n all.”
“Right.”
They make their way outside, walking almost in perfect synch. When Nicholas goes to open the precinct’s door with his left hand he barely cringes, closing one eye as his bullet wound still carried remnants of pain.
“How’s the arm ?”
“Still a bit stiff,” he replies, shrugging with his opposite arm. “What were you saying, about the rugby team ? No, scratch that, why are they bothering Sandford if they’re not even playing for the village ?”
“Oh, it’s because they’re all from here.”
“That’s—” he closes his eyes again, feeling tiredness overtake him, “why don’t we have a rugby team, then ?”
“That’s just because we ain’t big enough of a village, y’know ? So they kind of moved to the next one o’er, but their roots are still here.”
That just doesn’t make any fucking sense, Nicholas wants to say, but just nods instead. No use debating about something he’d never get around.
“James an’ I were loose-head and tight-head props in the team,” Danny then goes on explaining, brightening up, “he always said I could’ve gone professional, like him. I mean, I didn’t, but hey.”
“Would you ?”
“Mm ?”
“Have wanted to pursue rugby professionally,” Nicholas supplies, a little awkwardly. “Not gotten into the force, I mean.”
“Aren’t we supposed to not say the force ? Too aggressive, innit ?”
That earns him a smile from the other.
“Right. Anyway, you haven’t replied.”
“Oh. Well, I guess it could’ve been fun,” Danny nods, looking like he really was considering his answer. “But then, if I’d gone and become a rugby player, we wouldn’t have met, wouldn’t we ?”
Nicholas’ breath catches in his throat, and he halts briefly. He still doesn’t know how Danny could say those kinds of things so calmly. Like it was natural, and not fucking jawbreaking.
“I…suppose so, yes. Well, I wouldn’t have arrested you, probably. Or—I would’ve, but then you would not have been at the station the next morning.”
“Yeah, exactly,” the other man adds, raising one index. “So, nah. I’m good with bein’ a cop. Means we’re together !”
“Yeah,” Nicholas smiles, almost shy. “I guess it does.”
It also means you had to arrest your cult-leading, sociopathic dad, he wants to add, but knows better than twist the knife in the still open wound. They were all healing, and it was what mattered most.
“Honestly, it’s a shame Jay and I can’t see each other too often,” Danny then starts again, “he’s a real cool guy. We grew up together, kind of.”
“Ah. Is that so.”
“Yeah ! Kind of like Andy.”
“Which one, Danny ?”
“Wain.”
“Ah.”
“I mean, we kind of all know each other here, y’know ? And since we were in close positions in the rugby team, we really bonded.”
That makes Nicholas shiver. Bonded how ? Romantically ? Platonically ? Sexually ? Was the third half-time a myth, or was it real ?
Oh God, what if it was real ?
“That’s nice,” he instead chokes out, coughing a few times, “hum.”
“‘s shame though,” Danny muses, not noticing his discomfort, “I liked rugby. Reckon I was good at it, too.”
“Well, if you were to be selected to be professional, I suppose we could consider you more than good,” Nicholas offers, all gentlemanly. “Rugby is one of the sports I have not tried, despite my interest in it. I guess I don’t have the frame for it.”
“You’re quick, though !”
“I am, yes.”
They settle in an easy silence, the one they learnt to live with and find agreeable, probably because of how quiet the hospital visits had been. The older man still sends his partner a few glances, like he was not quite believing he was by his side. If he had seen a therapist, he would have probably told him that it had to do with post-traumatic stress and the shock and fear of almost losing him, and that he should probably work on anchoring himself.
But he doesn't have a therapist, so it was just him and his wishful thinking.
It was still scary, even with Danny back at the station. Sometimes Nicholas would spend minutes of just staring at him through the blinds, paying no mind at how creepy and stalker-like it was, and he would take in the sight in front of him, bathing in his partner’s full bellied laugh, in his smile and the way it would make his dimples appear, and how he felt much better after. Oh, how solar Danny was, he could never quite explain it.
“—as ? Nicholas ? Nick !” someone brings him out of his reverie, snapping fingers in front of his face.
Danny.
“Are you okay, mate ? You looked like you were about to doze off. Rough night ?”
Huh.
"Oh, yeah,” he mumbles, shaking his head slightly, “I’m good. Sorry.”
“Switching on again, aren’t you ?” his friend jokingly asks, “well, we’re on duty, so I guess I can’t get too mad at you.”
“Sorry,” Nicholas says, still, “I guess I was thinking about what I would be doing tonight.”
A pause.
“Oh,” Danny softly replies, eyes cast down. “Well. James and I are hitting the pub, before going back to mine. You can join us, you know you’re always welcome, yeah ?”
“No, it’s quite alright. I wouldn’t want to bother you.”
“You’re not a bother, Nick !”
“I said it’s fine, Danny,” the older man suddenly snaps, voice gone cold. He closes his eyes, runs a hand over them. “Sorry. You’re right, I haven’t slept a lot. Let’s just finish our walk ‘round the village, alright ?”
Danny seems like he’s got a lot to say to that, but he doesn’t bother with a reply. Instead he keeps quiet, nodding and heading off.
Fuck, Nicholas wants to say, cursing against every rugby team in existence. Fuck you, James Fletcher.
The pub is full enough when he and his team make their way inside, and he can make out at least five different people screaming in the background. Oh, how peachy.
“Glass of cranberry juice, or is God’s very own asshole angel going to grace us with a pint of Lager ?” Wainwright asks first, earning a snicker from Cartwright, “you tell us.”
“That was a very stretched out way to get your point across,” Nicholas bites back in good humour, “your nicknames will never cease to impress me. Lager is fine.”
“Oh, blessed day !” the detective cheers, disappearing in the crowd, his partner not trailing too far behind.
“I reckon the whole team is here,” Fisher calls out above the noise, “explains the ruckus.”
“I think Danny’s in the middle of them,” Doris adds a little unhelpfully, pointing at their colleague who was, indeed, squashed in between two other players, and who seemed very content there. “I haven’t seen him that animated and cheerful since…well, since the whole…you know.”
“Since the NWA-gate,” Nicholas supplies, tone a little cold, still, “if we can call it that. He does look radiant.”
And it’s not me who’s making him smile so hard, he notes as well, a little self pitying. Am I not good enough ? Is there something I’m doing wrong ?
He knows he’s not an easy guy to get along with, hell, how many colleagues had called him reserved, and private, and aloof, and not very nice, and honestly, he used to not care.
What if Danny had had enough of him ? What if he found him too aloof, and what if he didn’t want him around ?
Oh God, he suddenly thinks, what if Danny didn’t dare tell him he’d had enough of him ?
“James’ a boring old fucker,” Cartwright says somewhere above him, sending dirty looks at the aforementioned man, “and loud.”
“Mm,” the other Andrew nods, practically slamming the pints on the tables, “I wasn’t lookin’ too forward to see him again.”
“I don’t think any of us were,” Fisher grimaces, “‘cept maybe Danny.”
“Well, Danny’s always been the nicest, most naive one of us all,” Wainwright grumbles. He pauses, sending a quick glance to his superior. “Yes, Nicholarse ? Go ahead, ask. ‘know you’re dying to.”
“It’s not that,” Nicholas protests, although the other man was right, “I’m just wondering what he could’ve done for you all to dislike him that much.”
And maybe, I want a good reason to dislike him too, without sounding too jealous about it.
Because he wasn’t jealous. Being jealous would mean he’d have some kind of ownership over Danny, which he doesn’t, thank you very much, he’s just—God. How can he explain that the first real friendship he’s had in years was turning into a one sided attraction, and that the very thought of being replaced scared him beyond measure ?
Get a grip, Nicholas.
“Not my story to tell,” Doris backs off, raising her drink to her lips, sending a knowing look to the other three men.
“Yeah, yeah,” Cartwright sighs, rolling his eyes for show, “I know. Whatever, it’s an old story.”
“Doesn’t mean I still fucking forgive him,” Wainwright still says, eyes dark as he took a sip. “What a fucking nonce.”
“Alright, detective, there’s really no need for—“
“James Fletcher told everyone me an’ Andy were benders, in Year 11,” the first Andy finally declares, voice slightly lower. “And it was not pretty. Weren’t the school’s most popular, and it went downhill after that.”
“Oh,” Nicholas breathes out, feeling like he’d just been punched in the stomach. “That’s…”
“We saved grace and lied to our folks,” Wainwright adds, “but it was too late, at least at school. Fucking cunt, swear to God.”
“I didn’t know you were…” the Chief Inspector slowly swallows his drink, “hum. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, that’s because we don’t fucking go ‘round tellin’ that to everyone and everyone, ‘specially after that.”
“But does Danny know ? Surely, he wouldn’t be friends with him still, if—“
“He doesn’t know,” Cartwright shakes his head, “and we didn’t tell him. He was always a gullible but sweet kid, didn’t wanna bother him with that.”
“Surely he should be made aware if someone from his circle were to be a bigot,” Nicholas protests slightly, and he barely catches a glimmer of softness on the detective’s face.
“We appreciate the concern,” Andy laughs, albeit a little bitter, “but it’s fine. Doesn’t affect us directly, anyway. But yeah, the farthest this wanker is, the better we are.”
“Still,” his superior mumbles, “that’s not—I—well,” he hesitates, “I would not have liked to get outed.”
The two detectives’ eyes flick back to his face, and more particularly to his ears and cheeks, which were starting to seriously redden. Finally, Andrew Cartwright smiles slightly, offering him his olive branch in the form of a pat on his arm.
"Anyway, that Fletcher lad is fuck ugly. Not missing out on a lot.”
“Danny seems to like him, though,” Nicholas mumbles.
“Danny-o likes everyone,” Wainwright rebukes him, followed by the nods of the other three officers, “hell, he probably still likes his dad after all the fucker’s done.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Don’t wait too much, though,” he says then, suddenly more serious. “He won’t be on standby forever.”
Nicholas’ brows furrow, his blush deepening.
“Wh—I don’t see—”
“Bit late for the denial, sir,” Doris laughs lightly, “sorry, but you aren’t very…subtle about it.”
“Yeah, it’s actually a tad creepy when you stare at him,” Fisher adds.
“I do not stare at him.”
“Yes, you do,” Wainwright grimaces. “Who’s up for another round ?”
And just like that, Chief Inspector Nicholas Angel closes his eyes, raising his hand as he's devoting his night to getting absolutely fucking plastered.
It’s alright 1am when they finally make it out of the pub, all positively smashed, barely walking straight. Fisher actually almost runs into a pole, which attested of their levels of inhibition. The Andes were busy making bedroom eyes at each other, holding hands like the Earth might crumble if they weren’t touching one another, and Doris was laughing about something foreign to the rest of them.
“Well, gents, Doris,” Nicholas difficultly manages to say, in between blurred visions and waves of nausea, “‘t’was a—” hiccup, “a fine evening. You all—” hiccup, “get home safe, alright ?”
“Night night, Nicky-boy,” Cartwright calls out, all slurred and strained, “you listen to what I said, ‘right ? You go get—” hiccup, “Andy, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Yeah, you all get back safe,” his partner shouts at the others as they all made their separate ways, “cheers. C’mon Ande, let’s find you a nice bush you can puke on.”
Nicholas barks a laugh at this and turns around, walking idly in the dim road of the town—village he’d come to know like the back of his hand, looking around like he didn’t already register every detail there was to know.
Somehow, though, he ends up at Danny’s doorstep.
It’s always the same thing, maybe it’s a muscle memory exercise his body had gotten used to ? He’s not too sure.
Here he is, though, 1:15am, drunk out of his mind, cold, too, waiting like a sad dog at he doorstep of the man who could very much be the love of his life.
Fuck.
The lights are on—the living room one, at least, he recognises it, and he guesses that so might the TV be.
It’s killing him, to not know what his friend was up to. But it’s not right, isn’t it ? He has no right over Danny. They are friends. He’d put his dad in jail, how bad could that be, relationship wise ? Christ !
The laughter is louder he notes suddenly, and it’s too late before he can understand why.
The front door is wide open and James’ walking out, looking back at what might be Danny’s figure, snorting and putting his jacket on. Surely enough Danny does come out on the porch, sporting one of his polos, the blue and white one, Nicholas’ favourite, because it brings out the jade in his eyes.
Both men stop when they catch sight of the police officer, and the laughter dies down.
“Nick,” Danny says first, a little breathless. Not totally sober either, then. “Hey.”
There’s a long silence to that, and Nicholas squints, trying his god fucking hardest to reply to that, eyes locked with the taller rugbyman.
“‘sup,” he settles on, strained, and he immediately wants to kill himself.
“I’ll, huh, leave you to it,” James grimaces, feeling like he was interrupting something, “hum. See ya, Dan.”
“Huh-huh,” his friend distractedly replies, still staring at his superior—friend. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”
The third man leaves, albeit not without casting a last glance at the two others, visibly surprised.
“So,” Danny says, a little surprised, “hum. What brings you here, N—“
“Are you bored of me ?” Nicholas immediately cuts him off, eyes wide and voice a little too pleading for his taste, “are you ?”
“Wha—where does that come from ?” his friend babbles, taking a step towards him, “are you okay, Nick ?”
“No. Yes ! I don’t—I don’t know.”
“Is this because we didn’t have a movie night ?” he goes on, tone gentled like he was talking to some toddler and not his very much adult best friend, “‘cause, I mean, I don’t see James often, and—”
“It’s not that,” Nicholas interrupts him again, “shit—sorry, I didn’t mean to—I mean, it is ? A bit. Fuck.”
A pause.
“Why don’t you come in,” Danny offers, gesturing to the door, “I can tell you’ve had far too many pints, mate.”
“I’m fine,” the other mumbles, but starts walking towards his friend nonetheless, crossing the threshold like he’d done so many times before, “I didn’t drink that much.”
“When we left, you an’ the others were still buying drinks.”
“You saw me ?”
“I always look out for you,” his friend carefully replies, letting him drop himself on the sofa.
Warm. Ugh. That probably meant that this Fletcher guy had been sitting there, too.
“Sorry,” Nicholas offers, genuinely confused. “It’s just—something Doris said. Stuck with me. It’s stupid.”
“You never say stupid things,” Danny says like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What’d she say ?”
The other man hesitates, looking around, licking his lips before replying.
Wow, he was so out of it.
“She said she—when you were at the pub,” he specifies, “she said she hadn’t seen you this happy since the whole incident.”
“Alright ?”
“And—and it got me thinking,” Nicholas bravely continues, “that maybe you—that you haven’t been happy. With me, I mean.”
That seems to surprise Danny, because next thing he’s turned the TV off and staring at his friend, standing in front of him, hands on his hips.
“What do you mean,” he asks genuinely concerned, and there’s not cruelty to his words, “‘not happy with you’ ?”
“Just—are you ? Happy ? I know I’m not the most—the most openly nice, and affectionate guy, and I guess, I don’t know, maybe you’re tired of me, and—Doris’ quite right, you know, you did look—you looked so happy, with that James-guy, and—”
“Nick,” Danny softly says, cutting him off, “why wouldn’t I be happy with you ?”
“I don’t know ! I don’t know what I’m saying, I’m— God, I’m drunk,” Nicholas groans, running his hands on his face, letting himself get engulfed by the sofa, “forget what I said.”
“I was willing to die for you,” the younger man replies, tone suddenly more assured, going to sit next to his friend. “I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t—” a shy pause, like he was considering his next words, “if I didn’t care for you.”
“I just want to be good enough for you…”
“You are good enough for me,” Danny presses on, letting his hand brush over the other’s shoulder. “Ever since you slammed me against my car to arrest me, honestly.”
Nicholas snorts, finally letting his hands drop.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, “this is stupid. I just missed our movie nights, I guess. I don’t—I don’t want to be controlling. You’re—shit, I mean, you’re allowed to have friends, God, what I mean, I guess, is just—” he swallows, and his eyes drift to the other’s heart shaped lips, “is just…”
“Yeah…?”
“I missed you.”
“It was only one night, Nick,” Danny smiles brightly, looking like he’d just put two and two together. “Did you miss me that much ?”
“Yes,” Nicholas lets out before he can stop himself, slamming his hand on his mouth. “Oh, that’s a vile move, Sergeant Butterman.”
“Sorry,” he can’t help but laugh, letting his hand drop to the side of the other’s forearm, wetting his lower lip. “Can I tell you a little secret of mine ?”
“What ? You’re planning on continuing the NWA’s legacy and this is all a trap to enroll me in your life of homicide and debauchery ?”
“Oh, piss off,” Danny bursts out laughing, “nah, it’s nothin’ like that.”
Nicholas mumbles something muffled but nods still, eyes still not meeting his friend’s.
“I missed you, too,” the other says, cocking his head slightly. “When I was at the pub, all I could think ‘bout was that I missed being with you, and I really wanted to show you the next Fast and Furious, but I was with my mates, and you looked all gloomy, so…”
A silence.
“Oh. That’s…alright, then.”
“Yeah. Alright, then.”
There was another of their silences, this time with the both of them staring straight ahead at the turned off TV.
"Do you want to watch it now ?” Nicholas then asks, voice small, “the movie ? It’s not that late.”
“Oh, I mean. If you’re up for it, sure.”
A pause.
“Danny…”
"Yeah ?” comes a breathless reply, “Nick ?”
“I would very much like to kiss you,” his friend whispers, eyes half closed, one hand reaching out to grab him. “Is that alright with you ?”
“Oh, yeah,” comes the immediate reply, and suddenly Danny’s pressed onto him, one knee between the other’s legs, “I would love that very much.”
He doesn’t have the time to breathe out before a mouth softly crashes against his, the sweet and bitter aftertaste of the beer on their lips, and it’s gentle, and warm, and he feels so safe that he could cry.
He repositions them so Nicholas is pushed on the head of the sofa and he’s cupping his face in between large hands, feeling the slight stubble and the barely longer hair at the base of the other’s neck, and suddenly there’s a low, long moan that’s coming out of one of their mouths and it sends a wave of want straight to his stomach, something hot and white burning him alive.
“Nick,” he murmurs, their lips still pressed, “Nick. I could never get bored of you. You’re—you’re everything.”
“You too, Danny,” Nicholas replies, just as quietly, and then he’s throwing his arms around Danny’s neck and he’s glueing them together, one leg hooked behind the other’s lower back, “I want you, a lot. I like you.”
“I like you, too,” Danny smiles, softly stroking the inspector’s cheek, “love you, lots. I like your lips.”
“I love yours. And—” a hiccup, “your eyes. God, what colour even are they ?”
“I’m not sure,” he laughs, tipping his head back. “Say, this ain’t, like…a drunken, one time thing, right ?”
Nicholas’ panicked shake of his head reassures him.
“Alright. I just…I wanted to be sure.”
“Kiss me again, partner,” his friend— lover smiles, and how could he refuse, when his eyes crinkle so nicely, and when his crows feet fold so beautifully ?
So he dives back in, capturing Nicholas’ lips hungrily.
They taste like love.