"Through The Mists"

Four

"Just wait until tomorrow.
I guess that's what they all say,
Just before they fall apart."

There seemed very little to do but wait. Lewis knew Morse was worried. On a purely professional level, having a sergeant who was obviously looking for some kind of answer in the sexual underworld of the great city of Oxford was risky in itself. It was a world that Lewis knew little about, that Morse was completely oblivious to. On a personal level, Morse had no one in his life who meant more to him than Lewis. Yet for one so used to solving puzzles, so used to finding the logical answer in a maze of questions, this one seemed impossible.

Doctor Grayling Russell always knew where to find the Chief Inspector at this time on a fading summer's evening. She took a couple of pints to the table nearest the river, smiling to herself at her friend's surprise upon seeing her, although it wasn't the first time she had gate-crashed his seclusion.

"Doctor, what a nice surprise." She placed the beer before him and sat down. "Thank you. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company."

"To Sergeant Lewis, I'm afraid."

Morse raised his eyebrows; he might have known. For some time after they met, he himself had been very attracted to Grayling. They'd been out once or twice, and both had quickly realized that although any kind of romantic chemistry was missing between them, they would be great friends. They shared similar tastes in real ale. Morse had introduced her to Wagner and taken her to a Simon Rattle concert at the Albert Hall for her last birthday. He'd spoken to her about Janet McQueen, about his happiness at finding someone he could and would love, and be loved by, on the right terms so that neither would be hurt. And eventually she'd confided in him that she had fallen very much in love with his sergeant. It had started as attraction, she confided, went from there to a crush. She guiltily admitted - one afternoon over a pint of Smiles Heritage - that she looked forward to a crime being committed simply so that she'd have a reason to see Lewis. But he was a married man. Unrequited love, in Morse's opinion, was the most painful, and Grayling had finally decided to try and put him out of her mind.

Three days after making that decision a businessman had been killed in his office, followed the next day by his partner, and the day after that by his secretary. Lewis had been his usual friendly self, and in the space of a week she must have seen him three times a day without fail. By the Friday night she was at her wits end. Morse had invited her round to dinner and patiently listened to her more and more drunkenly sing the praises of his blissfully ignorant sergeant. She'd made him swear he would never tell Lewis, and Morse knew he never would. Even now, if Lewis' marriage was breaking down - which Morse suspected it was - she, sadly, wasn't what he was looking for now. Maybe later, but not now.

"What's he done now?" Morse asked kindly.

"He came to see me today."

"I know - about the results of the blood tests."

"He could have telephoned."

"He was passing."

"He took me to lunch."

Morse laughed. "He does that - takes his friends to lunch. It's his way of saying thank you, rewarding a job well done. You could have told him you were too busy."

The pathologist looked suddenly guilty. "I wanted to go."

"You're just making it worse on yourself."

"I know!" She drank her beer, feeling at that moment like a teenager all over again. And who wanted to be back there? "He's so nice."

"Grayling.... He's a married man." She rolled her eyes. He'd told her the same thing about a hundred times. "Well what do you see in him?"

She sighed dramatically. "Oh, I don't know. Eyes a woman could drown in, hair that just begs to be touched and stroked." She blushed. "And his body...." Morse looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Morse downed the remainder his pint in one and indicated her glass. She nodded.

Standing at the bar, he wondered at how Lewis had seemingly managed to work his way into every part of his life. Talking to Grayling like this made him feel ten years younger, and he didn't know why. He was smiling as he ordered two more pints, fleetingly considering leaving his car at the pub tonight.

*

In the driver's seat of the dark blue Vauxhall Callibra parked in Morse's driveway, Lewis sat with his forehead dropped against the steering wheel. His desperate sobs shook his body as he crumpled.

*

Morse turned the Jag onto the gavel in front of his home at just gone midnight. He and Grayling had gone from the pub to a quiet little restaurant on the outskirts of Oxford. He'd somehow managed to cheer her for one more night. He was surprised when the Jag's headlights picked out Lewis' car in the drive.

Quietly, Morse opened the door of the Callibra. Lewis was asleep, head turned toward t he inside of the dark, cold car. Morse sighed. Gently, he gripped Lewis' shoulder. "Come on, sleeping beauty."
Lewis woke slowly, staring at his boss for a moment as his mind caught up. He remembered where he was and groaned. "I'm sorry." He straightened, and leaned forward, reaching for the keys to turn the ignition.
Morse stopped him.

"Stay here tonight."

Lewis was too tired to argue. He accepted Morse's help out of the car and locked up while Morse let them into the house.

"Make yourself comfortable."

Morse rubbed his eyes tiredly as he stuck the kettle on. Recently his quiet, peaceful personal life had been tilted somewhat. He found he almost liked the change. He was becoming a father figure to Grayling, a lover to the wondrous Janet. And to Lewis.... What indeed?

Stirring the sugar into his own coffee, he picked up Lewis' tea and wondered into the lounge, switching the kitchen light off with his elbow as he passed. In the doorway to the lounge, he stopped. Lewis had turned on a table lamp, kicked off his shoes, stretched out on the sofa and gone straight to sleep. Morse shook his head, smiling gently, and put the two mugs down, going to fetch a blanket from the airing cupboard. Covering his sergeant's sleeping form, he switched off the lamp and took his own drink to bed with him.

*

Morse got in early the following morning, leaving Lewis sleeping on the sofa. His sergeant needed the sleep if last night was anything to go by. He got a coffee from the canteen and settled behind his desk with one of the pathology reports from the previous week, typed up apparently while Grayling Russell was tearing her hair out.

Lewis walked into the office just after eight. He'd obviously been home, had showered, shaved and changed. Morse smiled at him as his sergeant approached his desk. But the smile faded as Lewis silently handed him a plain white envelope.

"What's this?"

Lewis didn't look up, his fingers played against the edge of the desk. "I'm sorry, Sir. I can't go on like this."

There was a tearful edge to his voice that tore at Morse. He stared at the envelope in his hand. "What is this?"

"Request for immediate transfer. Val and I ... have separated."

Morse gazed at him, "I'm sorry."

Silence clawed at them. Morse turned the envelope over in his hands, but made no attempt to open it. He could hardly bear to consider what life would be like without Lewis around. He was more than simply his sergeant, he was his confidant, his friend, his partner.

Thinking there was little else to say Lewis took a step toward the open door. Suddenly, Morse reached out and gripped his forearm firmly. Lewis looked back, startled, and he met tear-filled, intense blue eyes.

Feeling all the vulnerability and emotion that he'd felt in others over the last few weeks, Morse spoke quietly. "You promised you wouldn't leave me."

Lewis sighed. "I promised Val too."

"I need you more than she does." Finally. The purity of the truth.

For a moment, the thread of tension wound between them was pulled taut enough to snap. And then Lewis smiled a happy smile, wiping his eyes with the backs of his fingers as he turned his other arm and slid his hand into Morse's. He held on - they both held on - for a long time, staring at one another, trying to communicate a life time's worth of emotion in a single minute.

At some point, the telephone rang and continued to ring, but Morse ignored it. He waved the envelope around. "Can I please tear this up?" Lewis nodded, reaching out with his free hand to grab the receiver before the incessant ringing drove them both mad.

"Chief Inspector Morse's office.... Where? .... Again? .... We'll be there in twenty minutes, don't let anyone move anything." Putting the phone down, he chuckled at Morse's efforts to tear the envelope in half using only one hand. "Would you like your hand back?"

"Not really, no."

Morse was regarding him with an intensity he'd known very rarely in his life and he could barely string the words into a plausible sentence. "That was Constable Wilks. Another body's turned up in the canal over at Thrupp."

Morse's eyebrows rose. "Again? Popular place for dumping bodies it would seem." He finally pulled his hand back and tore the envelope into eight pieces, dropping them into the bin. "I remember that there was a rather excellent pub near by."

Lewis nodded as he followed his boss out of the office. "With a rather creepy landlord if memory serves."

*

Morse drew the Jaguar up onto the towpath. Killing the engine, he looked confidently at his sergeant. "Why don't you take charge here?"

Lewis stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I know you can handle it."

The sergeant continued to frown suspiciously at his superior as they excited the car. The pub wasn't open yet, wouldn't be for just under four hours. Morse smiled at him. "Go on then, don't keep our busy constabulary waiting. They get paid by the hour you know."

Lewis grinned cheerfully. Despite his life falling apart around him, at this moment he felt happy. Morse had always been able to do that, he reflected now. Always known how and when. He set off to cross the precarious lock gate to reach the small group on the other side.

Morse sat on the lock arm and watched his sergeant as he took confident and competent control of the situation. Part of him was seeing his old friend in a somewhat different light. This morning had scared him - the possibility of losing Lewis had always scared him. He noticed things, things he hadn't noticed before. How young, for example, his sergeant looked in that beige suit he sometimes wore instead of the usual dull grey. The one he was wearing now as he crouched by the side of the body.

A car pulling up next to the Jag made Morse turn his head; Doctor Russell got out of her silver Polo and pulled her bag from the back. She smiled at him as she approached. For a moment, she looked out across the canal as the scene awaiting her arrival. "Morning."

She frowned. "Morning. Is he...?"

Morse nodded once. "I'm letting him handle this one for the moment, he needs some more responsibility."

"Thanks!"

He deliberately misinterpreted her tone and smiled happily. "Anytime."

*

It turned into a difficult day for them both, but in very different ways. The body in the canal was that of a young boy. His parents had reported him missing some days ago. Lewis had an entire squad of uniforms retracing the boy's last-known steps. By lunch he had a few names on the list of suspects and evening that list would be down to three. By the time he left the station, Lewis was confident of an arrest by the end of the night. Confident enough to leave it in the capable hands of Sergeant Adrian Kershaw. Morse was impressed.

Personally, the ground between them had become a minefield. His impassioned plea that had kept Lewis with him this morning had broken whatever barriers remained. Feelings, fears, hopes were laid bared between them. Morse watched his sergeant at work, watched him throw himself into the case as deeply as he himself usually did. As he watched, he allowed his deeply buried self to come to the forefront of his mind. His feelings for Lewis were complex. Most powerful was the need for him, for his companionship and presence. Anything physical was an after thought, and one only planted by Lewis' own attempts to find his own answers to questions he'd been asking longer than Morse had been denying.

Not that the thought repulsed him, far from it. But starting anything with his own sergeant was a very bad idea. He just hurt him to watch someone he cared for chasing around looking for something that was so difficult to find.

Mid-afternoon, leaving Lewis happily directing the investigation, Morse took a few hours off to meet Janet.

"I appreciate this."

"You sounded desperate." They sat in one corner of a quiet French restaurant just out of the city centre. It had once been one of Morse's favourite Italians, and it had taken him three visits before he'd noticed the change. "Lewis?"

Morse nodded. The bottle he'd chosen arrived, and Janet agreed that it was true to his usual tastes. "So, tell me all."

He told her about the frightening events of that morning. She knew most of the events of the last few months and she was quick to put the clues together.

"So he's looking for sex."

"He's looking for someone he can trust. Maybe he could have trusted this Stuart but he didn't give it a chance."

"Morse." Janet took his hand over the tabletop, and for a moment he found himself wondering about the softness of her skin, and how Lewis' skin felt to touch. "He doesn't want a stranger. You don't really want his first time to be the pig's ear that you told me yours was, do you?"

Morse smiled at her forwardness. He shook his head but added, "I can't give him this."

"If it's us you're worried about, don't. I can share you with him. Only him, mind you." He knew she was being truthful with him, and he was more than grateful.

"I do love you."

"And I love you. You know that."

She stole a kiss over the small table. "So...."

"I can't."

Their food arrived as promptly as ever.

"Why not?"

"Because he's my sergeant!"

Janet signed, waving her fork at him as if that would help her case. "Oh, Morse. He's your friend. And you love him dearly, I know you do."

"And that makes it all right?"

Across the table, she sighed patiently. "If it's something you both want, then it's all right. Consenting adults, remember?" She smiled gently. "And he is lovely."

Morse rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't you start!"

"I take it your doctor friend is still as infatuated as ever?"

"Putting it mildly, yes. I had a whole night of it last night."

"Aww.... Ironic though, don't you think? That you're the one he needs."

Morse nodded, he'd seen the irony some time ago. "Maybe I'm not the one he wants."

"What does your famous detective mind tell you?"

A moment's pause and then, quietly, "We're very close. Always have been, in a strange way. It's a feeling really. He hasn't done anything overt.... It's just... a feeling."

"Your feelings are usually quite reliable, aren't they?" He nodded. "Then, for once, act on them! This must be driving you both crazy! It drove him to ask for a transfer."

"I know." Morse put his fork down and picked up his wineglass. "I'm frightened of losing him."

Janet nodded, understanding completely. "You're worried that if it goes wrong..."

"...I'll have lost one of the best things in my life. I can't risk that."

"Then you have to talk to him. Make sure that whatever happens, it's on terms you're both happy with." That, at least, was something he agreed with her about.

*

Morse returned to the Kidlington HQ with a determination set firmly in his mind. Lewis was busy, and not wanting to disturb his sergeant's work, Morse simply left a crafted note on the other man's desk and set off for home. The case was far from his mind. Lewis was in charge now. He would do just fine.

It was a little over an hour later when Lewis returned to their office looking for his boss, and found the note on his desk.

'When you're ready, I'm here for you. M'

*

As he had done this morning, with Morse at his side, Lewis stared blankly into the water of the lock. The police teams were gone. The sun was setting. Somewhere in Summertown, Lawrence's parents were grieving for their son. Somewhere in Jericho, one man was enjoying his last evening of freedom. An arrest would be made in less than an hour. At least it was one child killer off the streets tonight.

With some effort, Lewis turned his thoughts from the day's events to the possibilities the night held. Again he took Morse's note from his pocket and unfolded it to read the single line silently over. He could go home. The situation with Val wasn't so bad that he'd had to leave right away. He was sleeping in the box room, on a camper bed. But at least he was sleeping now. The nightmares had faded. Anthony Phils was in jail, and even if he weren't, Lewis had some time ago decided he that would be in no danger. It was easier to breathe if you believed no one was out to get you.

He remembered the nightmare with Hugo DeVries. As Morse had been sucked deeper and deeper into the make-believe world DeVries was creating, Lewis' own reality had skewed. He had hung on to his belief in Morse for the sake of his own sanity, and that clear thinking had finally paid off. All he had to do was close his eyes and he would see McNutt, stuffed into the airing cupboard like some dirty linen; the dead eyes staring with eternal horror outwards... at whom, had been the question. Not Morse. Lewis had repeated that over in over in his mind as he'd sat in the living room listening to the hushed voices of his superior officers as they tried for a theory of collaboration. His deep respect for his Chief had been shaken that day. Yet just sitting with Morse in the police cell, just being in the other man's soothing presence, had alaid his fears and cleared his mind enough for him to find the solution.

Was that what was being offered now? A clear mind, a soothing, familiar presence, a place to hide. No. A place... to be himself.

In the end, it seemed, it wasn't such a difficult decision. Lewis walked back to his car with no intention of going home.

*

The fact that, by the time he rang the doorbell at Morse's house, the scene was already set didn't bother him in the slightest. Morse ushered him in with a gentle smile. How did he always know? Lewis had discarded his jacket and tie in the car, and walked into the dimly lit lounge with his sleeves rolled back and his throat exposed by the open collar button.

A couple of low-wattage bulbs in the table lamps were accompanied by discrete candles. An open bottle of wine was standing on the coffee table with two long-stemmed glasses. Soft music played in the background. There was a delicate, subtle aroma wafting from the kitchen. It reminded him of the night he'd come for dinner, while he'd been staying at the hotel in Thrupp. But the atmosphere now was very different.

Lewis found his pulse racing as Morse stepped up to his side. He risked a single sweeping glance at his Chief. The suit was gone. A soft, black jersey replaced the usual white shirt; the top button of the short line of five was undone. Black trousers and to Lewis' surprise, bare feet. His eyes came back up, and were caught by the sapphire blue stare that regarded him. He caught his breath.

Very slowly, Morse took his hand, and stepping around the table, drew him to the sofa. Never mind that he was a foot taller than the other man, Lewis felt like a teenager being led uncertainly into doing something he knew was wrong. But it wasn't wrong. It was right, or at least it felt right.

Following his mentor, Lewis sat down on the edge of the cushions, his hand still held, his body turned slightly toward inwards. And then Morse's other hand came up, fingers brushed hair behind his ear. Still the bluest eyes locked with his own held him firmly.

"I can show you," Morse spoke finally, his voice simply a murmur. "But you have to trust me. Not only with this, with you, but also with us. I love you, Robert, and I won't lose you over this."

Lewis thought he should say something, anything, but his voice was gone, and besides, there were no words to hand. He could barely nod, but he did so, and finally, with a single nod of acknowledgement, Morse drew them together in a simple, easy kiss.

A million worries left Lewis in a moment. His perception exploded inwards and it took several, long seconds before he truly realized what was happening and gave in to it. His lips parted under Morse's patient mouth, and a gentle, coaxing tongue touched his own in invitation.

Slow and easy. Hands still grasped, they dropped together against the back of the sofa, lips caressing, tongues exploring, albeit a little hesitantly. Morse waited until Lewis seemed to have relaxed, and released his lover's hand, moving to touch the silky dark hair, pushing behind one ear and down, to cup the slim neck. Finally, a groan - the first stirrings of something more than excited terror - escaped Lewis' throat to be swallowed into the kiss. Morse's fingers dripped inside the stiff collar, aching now to touch more intimate skin. Coming around to the front, skilled fingers unfastened several buttons and at last his hand splayed across a smooth chest.

With that touch accepted, Morse slowly pulled out of the kiss. Once again he deliberately locked his gaze with Lewis' and held it. He waited just a few seconds, delighting in the soft, breathless panting of his lover, before moving his eyes downward to admire the exposed chest. Aware of Lewis' eyes on him, he unbuttoned the remainder with slow movements, finally drawing the white cotton back. He leaned in carefully, remaining aware for any sign that his actions weren't welcomed. He touched his lips to the hollow of Lewis' throat, tipping his head slightly, fingers combing into soft hair, mouth tracing the path of the jaw.

A tender nip to his lover's shoulder, and Morse pulled back, again capturing a mouth that was learning fast. This part was no different to making love to a woman, and Lewis had enough experience of that.

When he broke the kiss this time, Morse waited, gazing, smiling, into the eyes of the other. Finally, a sweet expletive found voice in that cherished Geordie dialect and Morse chuckled.

"It's all right, we've got all night." Once again he carded his fingers into beautifully fine hair. Then he sat up and took the bottle of wine into his hand, pouring two glasses with practised ease.

Settling back, Morse put one of the glasses into his lover's hand, brushing his fingertips over the knuckles. He took a sip of the expensive Chardonnay before commenting very softly, "You look scared to death."

Lewis stared at him. "We don't have to do this. We don't have to do anything."

As he'd hoped it would, the idea that this could end right now cleared Lewis' mind of the haze he'd hidden behind thus far. "I want to do this."

"But?"

"Just that... this is not a side of you I've seen before, if you know what I mean." The gentle tone of the sometimes harsh voice stroked against Morse's nerves, the effect unexpected but far from unwelcome.

"You can understand that I keep a lot about myself hidden. And this isn't how I usually spend my evenings."

"This is... just for me then?"

Morse smiled in disbelief. "Yes. It's just for you."

The reassurance gave Lewis some confidence and allowed him to gain some much-needed ground. He took a sip of wine and swallowed it before leaning forward slightly. Aware of the other's every move, Morse met him half way, lips parted in invitation. Moving a little closer, Lewis uttered a sound; part pleasure, part desperation. Morse smiled, not unkindly, into the kiss and also shifted, bringing one leg up onto the sofa with more suppleness than Lewis would have believed possible of the older man. When Morse's other leg came to rest over his own, his mind was blown clear of thought.

Again, the kiss was ended, and Morse pulled back to take another sip from his glass. Lewis watched intently. It seemed Morse was going to drive him insane before the night was out. And then teasingly light fingers were touched to his neck once more. They traced a path of faint sensation to the top of his jaw, over the shell of his ear, into his hair, splaying out to comb through his hair and coming together again at the back of his neck.

"There are no strings here, Robert. I'm sure I'm too old for you anyway. But if you believe that the only options open to you are dating agencies and escort services you're wrong." The words were spoken with a deep sincerity.

Lewis could barely think into the next moment. He hadn't considered anything passed this evening and he didn't want to. What he did want was that skilled mouth closed once more over his own. He rose shaking fingers to Morse's face, touching the smooth jaw, seeking to feel the softness of the white hair that was so familiar. Whatever signs of age adorned the face, Morse's eyes shone, deep blue against white, clear and dancing now with something Lewis had never known before.

Morse reached for his lover's arm, clasping it gently, stopping the fingers exploring his face. Knowing he had the other's full attention, Morse turned his head and pressed his lips to the smooth skin of the inside of Lewis' wrist, drawing a tiny path the followed the pulsing artery up into the palm. Very slowly, one by one, each finger was traced by the tip of that tongue, and as each nail was reached, the mouth slid down, taking the whole digit in to be suckled for a time before being released and the next finger assaulted.

Lewis watched with rapt fascination and an ache in his groin that was becoming unbearable. Trying to equate the man making love to him with the man he worked so closely with was impossible. They were two different people. One was cloaked in impenetrable defences and wore the mask of a cold-hearted cynic for whom the world held no more joy. The other was a creature of unleashed passion, quiet, softly spoken, with love enough to wrap around others and hold them there. A wave of soul-deep emotion crashed over him, drawing a moan as agonized as any he had uttered in pain.

Morse heard it, and understood. Releasing his lover's arm, Morse placed their glasses on the table. Settling back, he was delighted when Lewis' arm came around him and pulled him closer into another, deeper kiss. Morse's hand strayed to the bare chest and stomach he'd earlier revealed, fingers playing lightly over a sparse covering of dark hairs, gauging reaction to every movement. Lewis' own hand had bravely ducked under Morse' jersey and was tentatively exploring soft flesh. With every second that passed, that hand became more confident. Sure fingers stroked his side, passed once over his nipple before scooting shyly back to safety.

Morse briefly interrupted their kissing to mirror his lover's trial and watch Lewis' face as he did so. "Do you like that?" The question was whispered. Lewis nodded in response, and when Morse's fingers returned to his nipple to bestow further attention upon it, Lewis first dropped his gaze to watch, and then closed his eyes and moaned softly.

Satisfied with his answer, Morse resumed the kiss, his tongue dipping back into Lewis' mouth, stroking luxuriously against the rough tongue that once again licked over his own.

A tear of wax slid down the outside of a thick, white candle. Banished to irrelevancy, time slipped passed unnoticed. Quietly murmured endearments, soft moans of tantalizing pleasure, rough pleas for both continuation and the end of this sweet torture, all filled the room while the flames danced lower and lower.

At Morse's urging, they now lay side by side on the deep sofa, mouths still locked together, arms wrapped around each other, now confident hands seeking out new pleasures each to give the other.

Morse slipped his fingers into the waistband of Lewis' soft black jeans, revelling in the heated reaction; the push of a begging erection against his own, a long sound released from low in his lover's throat to be muted by his own mouth. He teased for a while, as he had done at each step, allowing Lewis to get used to every new idea, every new intimacy, each more personal then the last.

Lewis, for his part, had mirrored Morse's actions, learning quickly and employing some of his own tactics to coax rare moans of exquisite pleasure from his lover. The real world didn't exist here in this room, it couldn't. He felt unbearably turned on, like he'd been teetering on the edge of orgasm forever. Yet the burning desire blazing in his blood was more than orgasm; prolonged pleasure that was setting every nerve alight.

With a certain movement that might have spoken of some skill and practise had Lewis been thinking at all, Morse deftly moved his hand between them and unfastened five buttons to open his lover's jeans. A higher pitched gasp of excitement broke from Lewis' throat as Morse's palm flattened for a few long seconds against his stomach before moving to curve around his hip, skin against smooth skin, fingers parting over the swell of one buttock. Morse squeezed ever so slightly, and all at once the kiss was broken.

Lewis was gazing at him, a sudden frightened misery filling the lusting eyes even as Morse watched. He reached up, stroked reassuringly over Lewis' hair.

"It's all right."

"I'm sorry...."

"No. Don't be." Morse kissed him gently. "Only what you're comfortable with. I promised you that and I meant it."

"I want to be comfortable with it." He hesitated.

"Go on."

"Just.... Growing up in Newcastle you get certain 'rights' and 'wrongs' beaten into ya."

"This isn't wrong."

"I know. I know...."

Morse kissed him briefly. "Does it feel good?" A sly smile turned Lewis' lips. "Then it's right."

Lewis nodded. "I don't want to stop."

"Neither do I."

*

Moonlight filtered in through the crack in the curtains. Waking slowly, aching gloriously, Morse turned his head to look at the sleeping man next to him. Lewis was sprawled out on his front, sheets covering him up to the small of his back. His left hand still clasped Morse's left heavily. Carefully, Morse reached out and touched his lover's forehead, moving sweat-damp hair back simply to touch it. He smiled, contented and happy despite himself.

They'd taken it too far - he'd taken it too far. When, at some point, Lewis had pulled away from him and stood, reached for both of his hands and suggested they 'take this upstairs', both had been too far gone to see sense.

Morse could smell the heavy aroma of a still-cooking slow casserole in the oven, and swore softly to himself. Dinner was ruined, that was for sure. Not that either of them had shown the slightest interest in eating.

He lay back again, listening to his sergeant's breathing overlaid on the usual sounds of the house at night. His sergeant.... Oh god. Of course he'd considered the consequences before leaving that note on Lewis' desk yesterday. He'd weighed any potential awkwardness between them against the risks Lewis was taking trying to satisfy his ever-growing curiosity concerning the other side to his sexual nature. He hated to see his friend getting hurt again and again. He'd been able to help. That was all it was, wasn't it? Helping out someone very dear and close to him.

But he'd never expected it to go as far as it had. He hadn't expected to get so caught up in it. And Lewis! He'd never expected the man to gather such confidence so quickly!

Again he turned to look at the lithe body of his lover of one evening. Very blue eyes opened to meet his own, and a lavish smile spread across the young face. Morse felt that deep well of emotion again, and smiled bountifully.

"You look beautiful with your hair all tousled."

Lewis made a small, heartfelt sound and crawled across the bed on his front to plant a slow, deepening kiss on Morse's lips. They lingered together for a time, before Lewis snuggled down and lay his head against the other's shoulder. Still their hands remained joined.

"You said earlier you loved me. Did you mean that?"

"Yes." Morse titled his head so it rested against the top of his lover's. "How could I not?"

"I think, perhaps, I love you too. I wish I could give you some idea of how much this all means to me."

Morse closed his eyes in utter contentment and not a little joy. "I think I know, Robert."

They slowly fell asleep, lying there together, neither contemplating the morning. If nothing else, the shared experiences of the night had finally broken the cord of tension strung out between them.

*

Wearing comfortable trousers and an open shirt, Morse padded down into the small kitchen and finally turned the oven off. He didn't even want to imagine what state the casserole was in, let alone the dish. Quietly, he filled the kettle and switched it on, turning to lean against the work-surface when he heard Lewis come downstairs.

Morse's blue towelling gown wrapped loosely around him, Lewis walked into the kitchen and didn't stop until he had his arms wrapped around Morse, was held tightly in the other's embrace. They remained like that until the kettle boiled and Morse was forced to take one arm from around Lewis' waist to flick the switch. He leaned back, trying to read the expression on the younger man's face, but was distracted by a soft, almost tentative kiss. They seemed to melt into one another as they had done the previous evening. Despite the height difference, they fitted together.

"What happens now?" It was a small whisper, almost frightened. And for once, Morse wasn't sure he had the answer. But he had brought them to this place, and he wouldn't abandon Lewis now.

"Life," he replied quietly. He pulled out of the embrace just enough to be able to look up into his lover's eyes. "I hadn't expected last night to go that far, but I'll never regret that it did. I told you, no strings. This will never go further than the two of us. If you need me, I'm here."

Tears stung Lewis' eyes as he realized the priceless gift he was being given; unconditional love, perhaps for the first time in his life. He lay his forehead against the other man's. "Will this... change things between us?"

Morse chuckled lovingly. "Only those things that should have changed a long time ago."

"You won't ... push me away, at work."

"No. How could I when I cherish your company so very much?"

They cuddled again in the hallway as Lewis was leaving. The molten flow of desire that had overwhelmed them the previous night had left in its wake a warmth that Morse felt had flooded his soul. With the pressure of one last kiss lingering on his lips, Lewis stepped out into the fresh, early morning sunshine. He hesitated in the porch and turned back, smiling at Morse in the doorway.

"Thank you." Never, he thought, had those words sounded so inadequate.

"Anytime." And never had Morse sounded - or been - or sincere.

He watched as his lover carefully reversed the dark blue Callibra around his own maroon Jaguar and head out of the gravelled driveway. Lewis had barely turned out into the road when Morse's phone rang.

"Morse."

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