Archive of Our Own

Caleb tried to figure out exactly how the hell they ended up in this position, fu- screwing up against the banister in Dina's house. (And Jarek was making him censor his internal thoughts. Wonderful.)

He knew they had been there waiting for Dina to get home (Thank god his son was at school) when the ME had called with the lab results. He remembered Jarek being his usual arrogant, hot-headed self about stalking down the minister they now suspected for the assaults before getting anything like a warrant.

He recalled completely snapping for a moment, when he flipped out his handcuffs and latched Jarek's arm to the banister well above Jarek's head, intending to pin Jarek long enough for him to calm the fu- he- calm down until he listened to reason. He remembered being close enough to watch Jarek's eyes dilate wide, to almost solid black, before Jarek's free arm dropped to his shoulders and pulled him into a searing kiss. He sort of recalls yanking Jarek's belt out before throwing it across the room and yanking his partner's pants down with little regard for the button. He remembered not even bothering taking his own pants off in his desperation.

He doesn't remember exactly though how they ended up here though, with Jarek's other hand pinned by Caleb's cuffs, Jarek's face pressed up against the banister, the planes of his back exposed by his pushed-up shirt. If you asked him this morning, he'd have swore it'd be him pinned like that, not Jarek.

He sure as he- heck didn't expect there to be condoms and lube in the hall table, or for Jarek to know about them (one more argument to use in the fiancée discussion) or beg him to grab them, to use them.

He was not expecting the searing, deep moan Jarek rumbled out as he slid his lubed fingers into the older man, a sound so close to Jarek's normal sub-vocal grumble – the one he used around annoying witnesses or obstinate chiefs – that he knew he was going to flash back to this way too often. He did not expect the way Jarek bent his knees, sliding down against the half-wall to accommodate Caleb's shorter height.

He would remember to his dying day the heat racing over him as he slid into Jarek, a heat inflamed by the strength Jarek used to press back, greedily taking his dick. He's going to remember the moans Jarek made on those first long strokes, sliding all the way in to him, and how different they were from the high whimpers Jarek makes when he pulled partway out, head of his cock making short, sharp thrusts directly against Jarek's prostate. He's going to remember, mostly late at night when he's home alone and Jarek's out being an idiot about which relationships he wants in his life, watching Jarek's powerful hands clench around the railing's spindles, in time with Jarek's ass clenching around him, hearing Jarek's voice whisper, “Caleb, c'mon, do it, harder, like you mean it, harder, Caleb.”

He doesn't remember whiting out, driving the last few strokes home. He sort of remembers reaching up to grab Jarek's wrist, the one with Caleb's cuff on it, immediately causing the older man to tip over the edge. He does remember falling forward against Jarek's broad back, listening to his partner pant while he reached up to release each handcuff, slowly chafing feeling back into each wrist as it was lowered.

He knew they needed to get moving, since Dina was due back shortly and that relationship was complicated enough as is without her finding them like this. (He also didn't envy Jarek explaining to Dina why two of the rails were now abraded and scratched from the handcuffs.)

But da- damn it (it's his mind, he'll swear if he wants), if this is what it takes to get Jarek to listen to reason and calm down, then, hell. It's his duty to Chicago and the PD. Hell, maybe he can get hazard pay from Colvin - “maintenance of Wysocki's temper for the public benefit” or something.

One thing he was damn sure of? This was happening again.