Title: A Rush of Blood to the Head
Author: Sefkhet
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Heads You Lose, Dead Meat, and Houdini's Ghost. Very vague hints at something that happened in Wrong Time, Wrong Place but that doesn't qualify as a spoiler.
Warnings: In which a man has very explicit sex with another man. Slash.
Notes: Post-ep for Houdini's Ghost. Three weeks too late, but written more than a year faster than the last time I took it upon myself to write a post-ep. I'm suddenly very aware of the fact that I wrote the porn while sitting in my parents' dining room...


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A Rush of Blood to the Head
Sefkhet


"People do do mad things when they're in love, though, don't they, sir?"

It had taken Peter by surprise. Nearly eighteen months in CID, and while Bez had improved beyond anyone's expectations, it was still difficult to imagine that the man actually existed outside of the office and the idea of him knowing how anyone acted when they were in love seemed bizarrely remote. His chirpy, innocent remark had rung scarily true, and Peter only hoped that he hadn't been noticed acting similarly idiotically. He groaned as he pulled over to the kerb and killed the engine, knowing that it was probably a futile hope. It wasn't like he had spent the last few days acting like a jilted lover or anything, the voice in his head told him  sarcastically.

Peter and Andy's friendship had been repaired in that simple gesture in the pub - betrayal, lies, distrust, and a whole truckload of unprofessionalism, all swept away by a few words, like it had never happened, and sometimes it worried Peter to realise that there was almost nothing he wouldn't forgive Andy. They had been through too much together. Sorting out the mess this had made of Peter-and-Andy, though, that was a different thing, and, his eyes on the Lexus parked in the drive, he reminded himself that going inside might be necessary if he wanted to start doing that. He locked his car, edged past Andy's, and pushed the front door open, picking up the bottle of milk from the doorstep on his way in, relieved to hear the kettle boiling and the sounds of Andy moving around in the kitchen rather than the cold, empty silence that had greeted him for the last two nights, and he followed the noises, kicking his shoes off on the way.

"You forgot to pick the milk up," Peter said.

"There's a -- "

The words died on Andy's lips as Peter crossed the kitchen in two long strides, pinned him to the counter, and, with no warning, devoured his mouth like a starving man.

Not seeming especially inclined to protest, Andy braced his hands on the work surface as Peter kissed him, his tongue taking possession of Andy with a lack of finesse that was more than made up for by determination and raw, naked desire. They broke apart when the need for oxygen forced them to, breathing hard. Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Shit!"

"Christ, Peter."

"I had a whole bloody speech!"

"Peter."

"What have you and I been doing for the last year and a half?!" he demanded. "I meant what I said before, Andy, even if I don't say it often enough. You're the only family I've really got left, and you're my best friend, and nothing's going to change that. But the rest of it -- I'd got the impression that you thought of me as a bit more than a convenient warm body."

"You were anything but convenient," Andy said.

"Then what the hell *was* I? Lust? Same as the rest of them?"

It was enough to send both of them running off at the mouth, insults and accusations and confessions flying, getting louder and louder, neither stopping for breath, and paying so much attention to one another that they might as well have been talking to the wall.

"... always there, making life difficult..."

"... like a monk in a nunnery..."

"... gave up my bloody *marriage* for you..."

"... started making bargains with God..."

"... didn't want to leave in the first place..."

"... no idea what this is, because..."

"... and, for Christ's sake, Andy, I'm in love with you!"

The stunning, unexpected crescendo shattered through Andy's defences and brought his rambling to a juddering halt, as he gaped at Peter. Peter opened and closed his mouth. Laying his cards on the table was one thing, but he hadn't intended to lay himself as bare as all that. He looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet in the manner of a man who was wondering where that had come from and what it would take to get the earth to open and swallow him up, and finally, muttered,

"You go."

"You were gorgeous, lad."

Peter blushed.

"Still gorgeous. First time I saw you, on that stand talkin' about bloody pigs in pokes, I took notice. Mind you, I thought you were going to be a liability as a copper, but I can appreciate a nice firm arse as well as the next man, and you have to remember, where I was standing, the next man was Edgar Wield. But you were my DC, and then there was Ellie, and -- I never stopped lusting after you, Sunbeam, and you never stopped being a pain in my backside, did you?"

"You did your fair share of that, too," he murmured.

"You proved yourself as a detective," he went on relentlessly. "You did that years ago, and you kept on proving it, over and over again, and you're the best friend I ever had. I don't say it enough, either, but I meant that."

"And what about as more than a friend, Andy?"

"Not much good with the power of words and all that touchy-feely crap," Andy confessed, looking down at where Peter's hand had wrapped around his on the countertop. "I don't do earth-shattering epiphanies. You were always there. Getting up my nose. Irritating the shit out of me. Saving my life. I did them that night, though, and I don't remember the last time I talked so much when I weren't yellin' at some half-witted DC. I went on and on about Rosie and that time when Ellie's new bloke fixed it before you could get a look-in. I'm really glad you told me about that, Peter."

"I nearly cried all over your car."

"I remember."

"You talked about that all night?"

"Not all night. Got on a few peoples' nerves. Drank too much coffee. I got dragged out in the wee hours of the morning to a crime scene, and I lasted about ten minutes before I buggered off back to the hospital. I was terrified that night, Peter. I started making deals with God." He snorted wryly. "Don't even believe in God, but I was ready to sacrifice fluffy bunny rabbits at the altar of the baby Jesus that night if it meant someone would've told me that you were going to wake up."

"It was always going to happen, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You and me?" Peter smiled and twined his fingers with Andy's. "It was just a question of time and place. That first night -- "

He left the half-finished sentence hang between them. There was no reason for him to finish it, and they both knew it. When Peter had been released from the hospital, Andy had taken him home, saying that there was no reason for him to try to navigate the six flights of stairs up to his flat on crutches. Four months later, when Peter's leg was well past healed, the night after he had had that final showdown with Ellie and finally laid one chapter of his life well and truly to rest, without giving himself time to get nervous about it or start second guessing himself, he had twisted around and kissed Andy as they cleaned up the mess from dinner.

The rest of the night had been slow and silent and unplanned, and had unleashed a passion that neither of them had ever consciously admitted.

That had been nearly a year ago and they were still sleeping together, Peter still practically living here, and they still hadn't killed each other.

"I don't know if I love you," Andy said firmly.

"I suppose it's enough that you didn't run screaming like a girl before when I said that I love you."

"And you were quick enough last night to shove me off to live happily ever after."

"Oh, for -- fuck, Andy, I was trying to do the right thing!"

"*That* was supposed to be the right thing?"

"I want you to be happy, all right? And if that had to mean that you would be happy with her, then I wanted to be supportive about that, as long as you weren't throwing this away for a quick fling."

Andy blinked. "Is that what you meant when you said that people do daft things when they're in love?"

"That was what Parvez said when he was trying to justify you acting like an idiot," Peter corrected. "But, well, yes. That was what I was talking about. I don't need you to tell me that it wasn't one of my better ideas."

"Save the nobility routine next time, Peter."

"You don't need me throwing myself on my sword for you?"

"Something like that." He looked at Peter carefully. "I've called a lot of things love. It's what I told myself about Kay, what I told my wife when we were married, but I was never scared of them like I am of you. Always knew that life would go on if they weren't there, and I can't say that about you, but I know that I never felt for Kay a tenth of whatever it is that I feel for you."

Peter looked lost. It was an emotional speech, coming from Andy Dalziel, and from everything he'd heard over the years from Wieldy and Ellie and Lateef, and from various doctors, they usually got saved for when he was unconscious. He tried to cover with humour. "That was almost touc -- mmmphg."

The joke was swallowed in a firm, deliberate kiss.

He was turned around and maneuvered backwards against the cabinets, with Andy's hands cupping his bum and both of their mouths too much occupied for him to register any sort of objection, even if he had wanted to. Peter's erection, which had appeared when he was busy kissing Andy as though his life had depended on it and then wilted a bit during the subsequent conversation, was starting to sit up and take notice, and when it bumped against Andy's, which didn't seem entirely disinterested in the proceedings either, both men groaned. Andy reached between them and unzipped the heavy cloth of Peter's dress trousers, pulling his cock from the confines of his cotton boxers and wrapping his fingers around it.

Needing to breathe, Peter dragged his mouth away from Andy's for long enough to raggedly suck in a gulp of air, and snapped,

"God, Andy -- fuck -- I'm too old to come in my pants like a teenager!"

Andy gently fingered Peter's balls, drawing a low howl from his partner. "Do you want to take this upstairs?"

"Christ, no, don't stop!"

Andy chuckled. "Your wish is my command," he said with a smirk.

He dropped to his knees and pulled Peter's trousers and boxers down, being careful not to castrate the man, and ran his tongue carefully up the underside of his cock.

Peter gripped the worktop harder.

He tried to keep his eyes open, as he always did. The sight of Andy's - the powerful, perfectly polished, epitome-of-professionalism, and, in his thoroughly biased opinion, fucking gorgeous Andrew Dalziel - lips wrapped around his dark, hard dick was something he didn't think he would ever get tired of. As well as looking fucking gorgeous, though, Andy's mouth was wet and warm and wonderful, and eventually he gave up the battle and gave himself over to the sensation of all that damp heat surrounding him and moving slowly up and down the length of his cock.

He forced his eyes open in time to see Andy's cheeks hollow, and came with a yell.

Later, when they had dragged themselves up to bed and had more enthusiastic sex than either of them should have had the energy for before collapsing in an exhausted, satiated tangle of legs and arms, Andy wrapped one arm around Peter and mumbled into his shoulder,

"Now what?"

"Now what what?"

"We were having a conversation."

"I thought we were having sex." Peter gave Andy a nudge and a soft grin to let him know that he was kidding. "I'm not telling you to never sleep with a woman again, although I'd appreciate it if you kept well clear of women who want to do you in."

"Did you ever wonder how I ended up at the house that night?"

"That night?"

"The night of the first murder."

"I did." He craned his neck. "I was a bit distracted by the dead body, though."

"I had tried to phone you at the station to ask if you were planning on getting that arse of yours home any time." Andy squeezed the arse in question, and was rewarded with a kick to his ankle. "I'm sure the duty sergeant wondered what I was doing chasing up my inspector on my night off."

"Why were you?"

"Missed you. I'm not used to the house being empty anymore."

"Soppy git," said Peter affectionately.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"You told me earlier that you were in love with me."

"I am."

Andy tried his best to ignore the warm glow those two words gave him and failed miserably. "Now you're telling me that you want me to sleep with women. That's what your Ellie'd've called a mixed signal."

He levered himself up onto one elbow and leaned over to turn the light out, and settled back onto his back, protesting, "I'm not saying that I want you to sleep with women. Just don't rule it out. If the occasional urge takes either of us -- I'm just saying, I don't care, as long as I'm the one who gets to come home to you."

It didn't seem to need an answer.

As Andy curled into Peter's warm body, though, he pressed a kiss to the corner of his partner's mouth and murmured quietly, "Soppy git yourself, Sunbeam."


fin

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