STANDARD DISCLAIMERS:  They ain't mine, and if their 
owner, Dick Wolf, knew what I was doing with `em, he'd 
probably have a coronary.  No profits made, etc., etc., so 
hopefully he won't sue me when he recovers.

This takes place sometime in the future...probably right about 
now in Season Eight.  This is just a frivolous little PWP I 
whipped out in an effort to avoid all the studying I still have to do 
for exams next week.  All you really have to know is that it's 
about six years after "Pride", and Jack and Mike are adjusting 
quite nicely.;)

Send comments to trig@Lonet.ca.  I love feedback of all 
kinds--even the "Ewww, that's gross!" kind.

And just in case it hasn't already been made abundantly clear, 
this is *slash*.  So, we're talking M/M NC-17 here. If that's not 
your dish, turn back now!  Last warning...OK, here we go!
****************************************************

                       Between the Sheets
                       ==============


"I can't believe you talked me into this."

"Oh, for godsakes, stop whining.  Oh, look!  Aren't these cute? 
Here, hold this.  Excuse me, how much are these?"

Executive Assistant District Attorney McCoy fumbled with his 
briefcase, jacket, backpack--and the bag of expensive baby 
clothes his assistant had just tossed into his arms.  He juggled 
the items in a brief moment of uncharacteristic gracelessness, 
then regained his balance and managed to shift the briefcase 
under his arm, the jacket into his now free hand, and the 
backpack and baby clothes into the other.   He shot his 
subordinate a peevish glare, which, as usual, was cheerfully 
ignored.  Finally, resigned to his fate, he sighed and attempted 
patience.

For about thirty seconds.

"Come *on*, Jamie!  I can't breathe department store air for 
more than an hour at a time."

His assistant and the salesclerk shot him matched glares, then 
returned their attention to the brightly colored baby blankets 
they had been avidly discussing before his interruption.  He 
grumbled to himself, considered just leaving, then remembered 
that Ross had the file for their next appointment in her carry-all. 
Damn.

He should have suspected something was up when Ross said 
she'd treat him to lunch.  He should have wondered when she 
mentioned that her friend was having a baby shower next week. 
He should have run for cover as soon as she made the taxi pull 
up in front of Neiman-Marcus, saying she'd only be a minute. 
But, he hadn't--and now he was trapped in the most pretentious, 
cloying centre of commerce in the universe with a woman with a 
wallet full of gold cards and no sense of time.  There was a 
lesson in this somewhere...

Bored and more than a little annoyed, he wandered away from 
the nauseatingly cute baby linens section, hoping to at least 
escape the leering faces of Mickey Mouse & Friends in the 
more sombre nearby aisles.

"Jack, where are you going?  I need your opinion!  Which of 
these do you think would be better for a little boy?"

"Neither.  They're both ludicrous examples of the obscenely 
decadent, property-obsessed society that this monstrous chain 
of pre-fab, overpriced establishments was built to serve."

The salesclerk's expression blanked in confusion, but Jamie 
laughed and threw up her hands in defeat.  "OK, OK!  Sheesh! 
Just don't wander too far. Wouldn't want to get lost in this maze 
of obscene decadence."  She winked at him, then returned to 
her baby blankets.

Still grumbling to himself, Jack wandered aimlessly down the 
aisles, surrounded by expensive designer bedding on all sides. 
He cast a derisive eye on the merchandise as he passed, 
sneering at the haute coutoure labels and exorbitant prices. 
Laura Ashley, $199 per sheet.  Chanel, $220 for a comforter 
spread.  Givenchy, $85 for a pillow.  He snickered at the 
absurdly chic names given to the patterns--Floral Voices, 
Leopard Lattice, Empress Charlotta...available in Almond 
Blossom, Wild Lemon, or Irish Silver.

His sneer softened somewhat at the last.  Irish Silver--that's 
what he'd called Mike's faintly graying temples when he caught 
his lover staring worriedly into the bathroom mirror a few months 
ago.  Mike had laughed that in that case, Jack was well on his 
way to solid sterling--but, he'd stopped talking about dyeing it 
after that.

Jack found himself wishing--as he often did--that Mike was here 
now, along with his new partner.  Tina was the perfect 
counterpoint to his lover's acerbic, blunt approach to life, being 
optimistic, bubbly--and far more intelligent than she'd ever let 
on.  Together, the two could go on for hours, teasing and baiting 
each other in an easy way that reminded Jack of Mike's 
previous partner, Det. Briscoe.  When on a roll, they made great 
company, and Jack could envision them wandering through this 
den of consumerism, poking fun at the pretentiousness all 
around them, snickering like kids and outraging the respectable 
clientele.

But, unfortunately, Mike was on duty till tonight and--assuming 
he ever got out of this godforsaken department store--Jack 
wouldn't get to run his hands through Irish Silver hair for several 
hours yet.  Indulging in a bout of self-pity, Jack collapsed onto 
one of the model beds that ornamented the end of each aisle, 
pointedly ignoring the glare of a nearby salesclerk.  The 
expensive satin sheeting felt nice...very nice.  Jack brushed the 
fabric with his fingertips again, letting the cool slickness of it 
soothe him. Against his will, he found himself admiring 
them--smooth, satiny, supple.  It reminded him of the feel of 
Mike's skin.  He closed his eyes, calling to mind his lover as 
he'd left him that morning, just a little over five hours ago.  Long 
body spread out across the rumpled bedcovers, dark hair in 
disarray, sleepy eyes sea green in the morning light... 
steadfastly ignoring the fact that he was due at the precinct in 
forty minutes.  Silken skin.  Satin sheets.

A high-pitched unfamiliar voice ripped him out of his reverie 
brusquely.  "May I help you, sir?"

Jack looked up into the pinched, disapproving face of the 
salesclerk that had glared at him moments ago when he first 
alighted on the display bed.  He scowled fiercely at her, furious 
at the interruption of his daydream--and enjoyed watching her 
disdain melt into apprehension as she carefully backed away a 
step.  Then, an idea crossed his mind, and he smiled instead.

"Yes, you can.  I want to buy these sheets."

*  *  *

Detective-Sergeant Logan parked his purposely nondescript 
Ford Taurus next to the very descript Yamaha V-Max 
motorcycle, then proceeded up the walkway to the apartment 
building.  He spent the elevator ride tiredly trying to remember 
whether or not his partner had agreed to do the follow-up on one 
of their suspects' alibi, or whether *he* was responsible for 
calling up every Holiday Inn in Maine this time.  Still running 
through the day's events, he opened the apartment door and 
walked in on autopilot.

Only to be accosted from behind by strong, lean arms before he 
could even close the door.  Immediately, agile fingers began 
tugging at his coat as a familiar mouth pressed against his 
nape.

"Jesus, Jack!"  Logan twisted in his lover's embrace, turning to 
look into laughing, elfin eyes.   "At least let me put my bag 
down."

Jack continued, obliviously pressing heated, wet kisses along 
Mike's neck--a favorite spot--and pulling the leather coat down 
over his shoulders, taking his suit jacket with it.  Mike struggled 
against his grip half-heartedly a moment more, then relaxed into 
it, letting him pull off the two outer layers in one yank and toss 
them onto a nearby chair.  Mike couldn't help but sigh at 
that--even after five years, he still couldn't get Jack to realize 
that furniture and clotheshangers were not interchangeable.  
Normally, he might have said something, but talented hands 
were rubbing the small of his back just the way he liked it and 
he couldn't be bothered right then.

Then, just as he was getting comfortable, those too-fast hands 
yanked up roughly, tearing his dress shirt and undershirt free of 
his belt, pulling the fabric up to his shoulders and exposing his 
naked back.  "Jack, what are you...umph!"  Mike found his 
words drowned in a consuming kiss--God, Jack was good at 
that!  By the time the heated mouth pulled away from his, Mike 
was dizzy with a mixture of lack of oxygen and arousal.  He 
remained pliant as his shirt was stripped away, leaving him bare 
above the waist.  But, when he felt quick fingers unzip his fly 
and begin to tug at his pants, he began his protests again. 
"Christ, wait!  Jack, what's gotten into--Jack!"  He couldn't 
repress a convulsive shudder as those same fingers slid under 
the elastic of his boxers.  "The freakin' curtains are wide open 
for godsakes!"

"So?  Let'em look, the jealous bastards."

Within minutes of walking through the front door, Logan found 
himself standing in the middle of their living room, naked but for 
his now-tented boxers, his pants pooled around his ankles. 
Quickly--and trying to ignore the huge, uncovered bay 
windows-- he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the pants, 
grabbing Jack as he did.

"You crazy bastard.  You wanna screw right here? Put on a little 
show for the people across the street?"  He held his lover's wiry 
body tightly, chuckling into thick grey hair as he pulled off Jack's 
thin Tshirt and began to work on his jeans.  Dark eyes danced 
at him. 

"Hey, you're the one who keeps telling me I'm an exhibitionist. 
But, I think we'll leave off the public viewing for next time."  An 
all-too-familiar mischievious grin spread across Jack's face, and 
Mike felt both his anxiety and arousal levels rise.  Jack McCoy 
in a playful mood often meant trouble for someone--usually him. 
"I have a surprise in the bedroom."

"Oh, yeah?  What kind of surprise, Counselor?"

Jack chuckled that smooth whiskey chuckle that Mike loved 
nearly as much as the man himself.  "A present."

Mike couldn't help but smile at the expectant warmth in those 
dark, canted eyes.  "For me?" 

"For me, actually...but, I think you'll enjoy it too."  Slender 
fingers hooked around the front elastic of Mike's boxers and 
tugged him towards the bedroom, giving him little choice but to 
follow.  Truth be told, Jack's impish elusiveness had sparked his 
curiosity by this point.

Jack released his grip on Mike's shorts when they reached the 
bedroom door, swinging it open and gesturing him through with 
a flourish.  Mike looked around the large, brightly lit room, eyes 
searching its contents for Jack's surprise.  Up until five years 
ago, his bedroom had remained pretty much the same since he 
inherited the apartment from his grandmother.  He'd never been 
big on interior decorating--all he asked was comfort and some 
degree of cleanliness.   Some of his lovers had tried to add their 
own touches to the place, but he'd resisted.  His apartment had 
always been *his*, and his alone.  Even Ben Stone had left no 
real impression on the place, aside from some old law review 
journals and jazz cd's.  But, Jack...from the moment he walked 
into Mike's life, Jack McCoy had been reshaping every aspect 
of his previous existance.  It was impossible to be associated 
with Jack for any length of time without evidence of him spilling 
into every corner of your life.  Thus, this whole apartment--and 
especially the bedroom--had quickly absorbed Jack's influence. 
That explained the king-sized four-poster bed that now stood 
where once Mike's old boxbed had resided.  And the Beatles 
cds mixing freely with Mike's Talking Heads and Glen Bennet 
records.  And the "Motorcycle Weekly" magazines tucked into 
one of the night tables.  And the expensive jackets and pants 
hanging from nearby chairs and bureaus.

Then, he spotted the difference.  The bed--the bedcovers were 
turned down, revealing what appeared to be black satin sheets. 
Mike touched the smooth fabric, chuckling.  "Kinky."

A sharp push from behind sent him tumbling onto the mattress, 
landing with a gasping laugh on his back.  He looked up into 
Jack's grinning face as his lover quickly straddled his hips. 
Strong fine hands travelled his chest, wasting no time in finding 
all his sensitive points. Mike shuddered slightly as 
knowledgeable fingers rimmed and stroked his nipples just the 
way he liked.  Quickly, the last of their clothes were shed and 
dropped onto the floor. The solid weight of Jack's body on his 
was a perfect counterpoint to the cool satin smoothness of the 
sheets beneath him, and Mike found himself stretching himself 
luxuriously against the feeling, enjoying the whispery brush of 
the fabric along his skin as he moved.

"So, I guess we're breaking these in right away, huh?" Mike 
leered up at Jack teasingly.  Jack, however, didn't answer in 
kind.  Rather, he stared down at Mike with a soft, vague smile 
silently.  "Jack?  Hey, Jack."  Mike writhed his hips beneath his 
lover enticingly.  "Earth to Jack...remember me?" 

"I could never forget."  The words were spoken with a hushed 
awe that made Mike's chest ache with a pleasant, bittersweet 
warmth.   When Jack spoke to him in that tone, Mike could hear 
the man's love in every breath.  He closed his eyes, letting it 
wash over him, softer that the satin against his back.  Eyes still 
closed, he felt Jack shift, felt him lean down, resting his hands 
next to Mike's head. Soft kisses trailed up his neck, then down 
along his chin to his left ear.  "Can I, baby?"  One hand slid 
along his flank to cup his buttock in entreaty.  "Please?"

Mike sighed shudderingly, then opened his eyes again to look 
up into Jack's face, now nearly nose to nose with him. The dark 
eyes waited patiently, with quiet acceptance of whatever he 
decided.  Jack rarely asked it of him, and truth be told, he 
enjoyed being made love to by Jack.  But, despite years worth 
of therapy and patience on both their parts, it was still always a 
mental tightrope for him that they both had to walk together. 
And yet, with every time, it got a little easier...and Mike learned 
to love it even more.  "Yes, Jack.  I want it...I want you."

Jack smiled gently, then returned to his feasting on Mike's neck. 
Mike sighed softly, letting the sensations created by Jack's 
mouth and still-wandering hands suppress the tiny flicker of 
uneasiness already flickering at the edge of his consciousness. 
Slowly, the wave of arousal that had faded began to return, and 
he could feel the heat flooding his body, following the eddies of 
sensation left behind by Jack's hands. Biting kisses teased and 
tormented the sensitive skin under his jaw and at the base of 
his throat even as skilled fingers teased his nipples into tiny, 
oversensitized peaks that were nearly painfully aroused.  Then, 
the scorching mouth left his neck and travelled a neat line down 
his torso, stopping only to leave suckling kisses here and there 
along the way.  Mike writhed against the satin as a sharp, 
heated tongue dove into his umbilicus, thrusting into the small 
crevice a few times, causing Mike to squirm each time.  By the 
time Jack descended down across his abdomen towards his 
ultimate goal, Mike was already fully erect and breathing rapidly.

"You taste so damned good, Detective.  Do you know how good 
you taste?"

Mike laughed gaspingly. "You keep telling me...every time...oh, 
God..."  His coherence melted away as the impossibly tight heat 
of Jack's mouth suddenly surrounded him.  The rest of the world 
faded away and his focus narrowed to the talented mouth 
suckling him fervently, sending him into a frenzy with that skilled 
dance of lips, tongue, and teeth.  He buried his hands in his 
lover's thick hair, caressing Jack's head and shoulders even as 
he tried to direct their movement into the harsh rhythm he 
needed.  But, Jack wouldn't allow it, refusing him completion, 
keeping him on the dagger-sharp edge even as strong hands 
kneaded his thighs and buttocks.

Rapidly becoming desperate, Mike spread his legs in silent 
invitation, trying to ignore the return of the sickly feeling of dread 
as Jack slipped his thighs over his hips.   As if reading his mind, 
Jack's touch moved from arousing to soothing.

"Shh, it's just me. Keep looking at me...see?"  He waited till 
Mike nodded, focusing on Jack's face, not giving his 
subconscious the chance to supplant it with another.  The dread 
faded away, and the desperation returned quickly on its heels 
as Jack bent back to his ministrations.  Mike rode the rising 
crescendo spiralling up from his groin as Jack nibbled and 
licked expertly.  Jack nipped lightly on the throbbing shaft, 
making Mike spasm in the throes of almost painful arousal, and 
distracting him as he carefully delved between trembling 
buttocks.  Mike shuddered--in desire this time--as light fingers 
skittered gently across the entrance to his body.  He was so far 
gone that he was barely able to follow Jack's movements as his 
lover reached over to the bedtable drawer and retrieved their 
well-used tube of lubricant.  And when warm, slick fingers 
pressed carefully against him moments later, he could only sigh 
in relieved welcome and press back against their touch.

Mike tried to relax, but still flinched sharply as one slender finger 
slid within, tensing instinctively around it.

"Shh...S'okay, baby...just let me in...c'mon, breathe...and 
again...good.  See?  It's ok, right?"  Jack grinned reassuringly at 
him, rubbing his thigh encouragingly.

"Y..yah.  I'm OK."  Mike tried to will his body to relax, to ignore 
the dark fears flitting in and out of existance in his mind.   Jack's 
hand moved to curl teasingly around his still-hard shaft, further 
helping him forget.  Soon, as Jack continued his ministrations, 
Mike relaxed enough for a second finger...then another.  Then, 
the skilled fingers brushed against that small, supersensitive 
gland deep within him.  With a hoarse cry, Mike snapped his 
hips up and back against Jack's touch.  Jack pressed in again, 
and Mike shuddered violently and spread his legs further, hips 
bucking in desperate invitation.

Then, he felt the fingers slip out, replaced moments later by 
something far harder and larger.  But, he was well in the grip of 
instincts that far overuled any bad memories by this point, and 
Mike bucked against him shamelessly, begging Jack to enter. 
Jack obliged, with slow careful strokes.  Mike tightened his legs 
around Jack's torso, welcoming the temporary flash of burning 
pain, knowing now what lay just around the corner.

"Jack...Jack....deeper..."  He reached for Jack's shoulders, 
pulling him down for a heaving kiss as Jack buried himself 
completely in one long stroke.  But, it was far too late to slow 
down now.  They quickly fell into a mutual rhythm, rocking 
together with increasing speed towards climax, amber and black 
eyes locked together.  All barriers dropped, no secrets 
remaining--nowhere to hide, except in each other.  Mike 
tightened his grip on his lover even as he felt Jack's fingers 
digging into his hips.  The satin sheets were so smooth under 
their rocking that Mike had the momentary feeling that they 
were making love on water, gentle waves rippling with their 
movement and breaking against their heated skin.  Fiery ectasy 
swam along every nerve ending, rising and rising in a swirl that 
was familiar, but always different.

And, then the wave crested, and Mike broke with a startled cry, 
feeling himself convulse in Jack's secure embrace, then hearing 
Jack's own pained groan moments later.  He let himself drown 
in the all-encompassing ectasy that followed, surrounded by 
Jack's scent, Jack's hoarse breathing, Jack's limbs, and smooth 
satin beneath him--now warm from their heat. 

Dark, dark eyes met his as a slender finger traced the planes of 
his face carefully.  "God, I love you."

Still unable to form words, Mike could only press exhausted, 
sloppy kisses to Jack's heaving chest, knowing that his meaning 
was clear.  Jack captured his lips in a kiss that was passionate, 
if tired, as he slid carefully out of Mike's body.  Mike sighed 
shudderingly as he felt Jack leave, a strange melancholy 
overcoming him as they became separate bodies again.  Then, 
Jack pulled him tightly against his sweat-slicked chest, and Mike 
decided that this was close enough--until the next time.

"You OK?"

"Mmm-hmmm...never better."  Long fingers brushed through 
Mike's hair in their typical post-coital routine.  "Never better." 
Pressing his ear against Jack's sternum, he fell asleep to the 
distant thunder of his heart.

*  *  *

Jack woke slowly, blinking into the weak early morning sunlight. 
Finally registering the soft, annoying buzz of the alarm clock, he 
reached over and batted the thing irritably, silencing it.  He 
looked at the clock--7:10am.  Damn.  He'd never had a problem 
with getting up in the morning, never needed an alarm clock-- 
until he met Mike.   Mike didn't believe in a world that could 
begin before 9:00am.

He looked down at the object of his thoughts, and couldn't resist 
a self-satisfied smile.  He'd been right.  He'd known it in that 
damned store, and he'd confirmed it last night, and now the 
morning sunlight had just proven him correct again.

Michael Logan looked incredible against black satin.

Dark mahogany hair spilled across a sunbeam, the sunlight 
making the auburn strands burn brightly against the darker 
ones.  Pale, impossibly smooth skin shone against the inky 
blackness of the sheets, the black matching the heavy fringed 
lashes resting against the high cheekbones.  Silk on satin.

This was the image that had risen unbidden in his far too active 
imagination yesterday afternoon--and if anything, his 
imagination had been lacking this time.   It was the reason that 
he'd handed over his credit card without a thought, blissfully 
ignoring Ross's teasing as he shelled out $400 for designer 
bedsheets he planned on getting very, very dirty.  All of a 
sudden, all that had mattered was seeing Mike splayed out 
against their smooth blackness.  And once he did, he realized 
that the damned things had been worth every penny.

And, now, he suddenly found himself wondering what Mike 
would look like sleeping against a hunter green backdrop.  Or a 
navy blue.  Or a dark scarlet.

Hmm....

Jack reached over Mike's still-oblivious form for the phone, 
dialing Tina's home number quickly.  True to form, she 
answered on the first ring, bright and cheery.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Tina. It's Jack.  I--"

"Jack!  Hi!  Oh, wow, it's been like *weeks* since we got 
together!  D'ya'know, I was thinkin' of you just the other day, 
when my Uncle Ray came down to visit.  He's got one of them 
big ole' Hogs, and he's real proud of it, but I told him `bout your 
bike, and *HE* said that anybody who rides a riceburner's a 
big--"

"Uh, yeah, that's great Tina, but that's not really why I called. 
How's the workload for today?"

"Hmm...lemme check my notes.  Not bad.  Nothing but 
paperwork and phonecalls till this afternoon, then we got a few 
housecalls to make.  We're not on call today."

"Would you mind if Mike came in after lunch then?  He's not 
feeling too good."

"Aw no, poor thang!  Sure, I'll cover for the big guy--so long as 
you guys buy me dinner tonight.  I wanna go to that new bistro 
on 42nd St.  You know, the one that won't seat ya without 
checkin' yer bank statements first?" 

Jack sighed.  "Quite the little extortionist, aren't we?"

"Ah learned from the best, Mr. McCoy.  You go on an' tell 
Mikey-boy not ta worry.  I'll cover for you guys.  Bye!"  *Click*

The call to his secretary was, thank God, far easier.  Marianne 
was far too well bred for blackmail and double entendre... 
although he thought he heard a smile in her voice as she told 
him to rest up and hoped he felt better soon.  No doubt, he'd 
have to suffer through Jamie's sharp tongue and endure a long 
line of rug burn jokes this afternoon.  A small price to pay, all 
things considered.

With a smug grin, Jack relaxed back onto the satin-encased 
pillows, and waited for his lover to wake up.  Then, they'd test 
the bedsheets one more time.  And, after that...

After that, they were going shopping.

The End
(Febuary 1998)