A Professionals/The Chief crossover. Rated NC17.

For Lily, with sincere thanks for feeding the Shaw obsession, and for the incredible visual of the threesome. Set in present day Eastland. Enjoy!

---

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU MEAN, CI5?!?"

Detective Superintendent Rose Penfold stopped mid-step less than a foot from her boss' door. She glanced over at the Chief Constable's secretary, arching an inquiring brow. Diane gave her a blank look and a half shrug in response, and Rose squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and prepared to beard the lion in his den.

Chief Constable Alan Cade was not having a good day. Elena began it with the unwelcome news of another demonstration by the younger ranks of Liberty Watch, and Gemma made matters even worse with the one-two punch over the telephone that first, there were too many differences between them for anything to ever develop, thank you very much, and two, she was representing a client in yet another suit against the police. Having ruined his breakfast, he went on to the office only to find that a very long-running, extensive, bloody damned expensive undercover operation had just been blown sky high because of the unexpected, uninvited, and damned well unwanted presence of CI5 in the middle of it.

Cade wanted to kill something. Or someone. Preferably Nigel Crimmond. With his bare hands.

Slowly.

At the moment, the Deputy Permanent Undersecretary of State and Permanent Resident Pain in the Arse politician was parked in Cade's office, hands laced primly together, speaking soothingly and evenly and at mind-numbing length about just why Cade could not take matters into his own hands and go hunt down some CI5 agents. And kill them.

It was not appreciated.

Cade glowered at Crimmond, grumbled under his breath, and finally lost his temper completely. "What I want to know is who the bloody hell let them in here without so much as a by-your-leave and let them run rampant through the middle of an ongoing -- and extensive -- and damned expensive -- undercover operation!! Blood and Homeland are a bunch of violent, stupid, half crazy paranoid mongrel skinheads and it has taken us bloody-forever to get a man inside, and for what? SO CI5 CAN BLOW THE WHOLE BLASTED THING!"

"It was not my call," Crimmond raised both hands in an attempt to keep Cade from running right over his words. Again. "But you know the kind of power Murphy has over at CI5. It's on a need to know basis, and the Home Office was informed by and agreed with Mr. Murphy that there was too great a risk of a leak if the local constabulary were informed beforehand."

Cade growled at him. Crimmond shrank slightly back into the chair, then cleared his throat nervously. "Anyway, I'm awfully sorry, but that's how it all came about, and we've the task of dealing with the results. Mr. Murphy will be here from London very shortly. Please, Chief Cade, do be polite to him. We don't want to be the ones accused of letting down the side on interagency co-operation now, do we?" He practically bolted out of the room as he tossed the last words over his shoulder, shutting the door between them and drawing a deep breath of relief at escaping with his skin intact. Catching the two women staring at him, he straightened his tie, licked his lips, gathered what was left of his dignity and proceeded with great dispatch out of police headquarters. DS Penfold licked her own lips, tightened her hold on the manila envelope in her hands, and knocked firmly on the closed door.

"Yes." Not encouraging, but at least calm. She stuck her head in the door and waved the file, rather like a white flag.

"Got the background you were requesting on the weapons smuggling, sir."

He waved her in. "Come in, Rose, I won't bite. You, at least."

Not hearing her wistful, murmured "One can hope," he took the folder without looking up. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you, Rose. This should at least get me started." He was glaring ferociously at the papers spread across his desk. Someone's head was going to roll. At least it wasn't going to be hers. Giving her best impression of striding confidently away while actually tip-toeing, she made it out the door without drawing any friendly fire. Tossing a wide-eyed glance Diane's way, she escaped into her office.

Behind the closed door, Alan Cade took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It was incredibly tiresome to be fighting battles on every front at once. This wasn't the first time he'd been left in the dark about operations going on in his turf -- at least this one hadn't resulted in a trainload of children getting bombed. But it was bad enough. The skinheads had vowed violence against anyone who stood in their way, and were quite prepared to carry it out. Liberty Watch and other human rights organizations saw this as a challenge, and were responding with organized marches. His daughter was leading one of them. Every time he thought of it, his spine tried to crawl up and hide under his hair. All five foot seven stone of Eleni against fifteen stone nutcases with truncheons in their fists. And now, so bloody close to having the evidence he needed to go in and close them down, and what happens?

"Mr. Colin Murphy, from CI5, here to see you, sir." Diane's voice over the intercom answered the question neatly.

"Send him in, please," he managed to growl as politely as his tensed vocal chords would allow.

The chap Diane ushered in the door was tall enough, but rather unassuming for the vaunted Controller of Britain's version of a national police force. There was a lot of talk about CI5 wearing the mantle of a private army for the government, but with the continuing terrorist activities and the increase in drug and weapon smuggling, no real effort had been made to absorb them into the local police authority structure. There were times when Cade was appreciative of the work CI5 did, and many other times when he considered their methods highly questionable.

This was one of those times.

He rose politely enough, taking the hand extended to him and doing his damnedest not to allow the other man's height to bother him. Had to be six two, if he was an inch. Firm grip, too. Big hands.

"Thank you for taking the time to see me, Chief Cade." Smooth voice. Nice smile. Probably spent most of his life kissing politicians' arses.

"I would have been delighted to do so before the invasion, Mr. Murphy," he managed to modulate the anger into just the slightest edge as they both took seats. He knew by the widening of the smile on the other man's face that his point had been taken.

"CI5 makes a practice of keeping our cards as close to the vest as possible, Chief. At times, this can lead to-"

"Royal fuck-ups."

"- ... " Murphy stared at him, one brow raised. Cade didn't back down an inch. The smile widened, and finally lit his eyes. "Royal fuck-ups," he agreed.

Cade wasn't the least bit mollified. "So, how do we avoid it the next time? I assume there will be a next time. I notice your lot isn't exactly packing up their kit and going home."

Murphy settled more comfortably in his chair, staring hard at the Chief. Cade stared back. This was his patch, damnit. And it was his daughter on the front line, not to mention his coppers with their butts in the sling if this went bad. "CI5 will go back to London when this is done, but I have to stay here and clean up the mess. So, tell me. What will I be cleaning up?"

"Our intelligence was not as thorough as it should have been." Cade snorted, and Murphy ignored it. "As a result, there was a complication, both to your operation and to mine. I propose that we pool necessary information at the highest level only, and keep all operational details on a need to know basis. There is too great the possibility of a leak, otherwise."

Cade stared at him. Pompous ass. Handsome with it, of course, but a pompous ass all the same. Then he blinked. Handsome? Where had that come from? Bringing his attention fully back to the situation at hand, he barked, "What about the press? They're not exactly co-operative about keeping their mouths shut."

"D-notice. CI5 have it and we will use it."

Harrumph. "If you'd come to me before this thing went to hell--"

"If wishes were horses, Chief. I'm here now, and we need to work together." Cade bristled slightly at the interruption, but Murphy had a point. "This is too important an operation for us to abandon."

"How much co-operation are you planning on extending?" Not much, he'd wager. "I will agree to act as liaison for this office, and obviously Home Office is happy with the arrangement." His tone made it clear he was not. "So I haven't much choice, obviously. But I need to ensure that I'm not putting my people at unnecessary and unwarranted risk. As against the grain as it must be for you, you will have to share some information here."

Murphy grinned at him. "To the very best of my ability."

That'd be the damned day, Cade thought, and most determinedly did not smile back.

---

Day nine of the joint CI5-Eastland Constabulary operation to bring in the arms smugglers operating off the coast between Skegness and Mablethorpe, and things were not progressing smoothly.

Cade tore through the offices at Headquarters like a particularly violent, if somewhat short, whirlwind. Caught in the draft, Colin Murphy trailed along behind him. In the foyer, all motion stopped, and a secretary, three constables, and a stray member of the press stared at the door, waiting for the fireworks.

Making sure the door was completely shut, Murphy leaned against it and prepared for the latest bout. Cade was exhausting, entertaining, sharp as a tack, frighteningly honest, and a copper down to the soles of his shoes, lack of uniform notwithstanding. He was also damned cute, not that Murphy would ever tell him so to his face. He liked his jaw just as it was, and didn't want to damage the Chief protecting it from being broken. He tacked a 'listening' look on his face and waited for a break in the tirade.

"-not dealing with total amateurs here, damnit! If we'd had -- if I'd had -- so much as an inkling that Hodges had anything to do with the timers and C4 coming in-"

"Then Hodges would have known." Cade turned red, and actually started toward him, so he hastily qualified the statement. "Face it, Alan, in the last week there have been three separate times that we've been this close-" he held up his thumb and forefinger, a centimeter apart "-to nailing the money man. And every time, I warned you, you changed rosters, and they slipped through the net. Now, once, I'll buy, coincidences can happen. Twice is pushing it. The third time's a leak."

Cade had gone both pale and quiet, two very bad signs indeed. "Are you making an accusation, Mr. Murphy?" Glaciers could learn a thing or two from that tone.

"Not against you, Chief Cade," Murph returned formally. "But no organization is completely free of nor exempt from corruption. No man is perfect, and when there is this much money involved, there will always be both the temptation to partake and the weakness to give in to it."

Cade stared at him for several moments. "Get out of my office." He stood his ground, holding Cade's stare, trying to get through.

"Think about it, Alan. Before someone gets killed." Then he turned and left the room. Nodding pleasantly to the assembled gawkers at the door, he shot a glance over his shoulder. Cade was leaning against the front of his desk, tie pulled askew, hair standing up at all angles, face flushed, arms crossed over his chest.

Absolutely delectable.

He pulled in the errant thought, smiled absently at the young woman craning her neck up at him, stepped around a young lad who didn't look old enough to be out of school yet much less in a uniform, and headed for his hotel. It had been a very long day and he needed a belt of good Irish whiskey. Preferably a double.

---

Cade stared into nothingness for a solid minute, turning over Murphy's accusation in his mind. Much as he hated to admit it, the man had a point. Moving slowly around to settle into his chair, he fiddled with the papers on his desk for another ten minutes while he figured out what the hell he was supposed to do about it, and how he could do it without tipping off any moles that might be lurking in the woodwork. When it came right down to it, he only trusted three people in the entire Constabulary. DCC Wes Morton, DS Penfold, and his secretary, Diane. And Diane was a gossip, so that left her out.

Making up his mind, he punched the intercom button and summoned Wes and Rose into his office. They came in at once, confirming his suspicion that once again, he and Controller Murphy had entertained quite an audience. Sighing, he shrugged it off and got down to business.

"We have a leak." Rose looked at Wes, Wes looked at Rose, and they both looked at him. Expectantly. "We have to find it, plug it or eradicate it, and do it fast, before this operation goes as far into the toilet as the last one did. I need the two of you to nose about a bit, start listening. Let me know anything you find out, no matter how trivial it might appear. We've got to get on this, or CI-bloody-5 will take the whole thing over and we'll be out on our ear."

It took them a good fifteen minutes to hammer out the details, but by the time they left, Cade was breathing much easier. He'd have some answers, now, for the next time Mr. High-and-Mighty Murphy started slinging 'round his accusations. Bastard.

Propping his half-glasses back on his nose, he dove into paperwork, pushing the memory of just how good Colin Murphy had looked, even on his high horse, to the back of his brain. Feverish starts like that one he certainly didn't need. Too bad Gemma was being so contrary. If the Controller of CI5 could get this kind of rise out of him, it had been much too long since he'd gotten laid.

---

The pub was busy. So was Rose. Nursing a pint of bitter, she leaned as unobtrusively as possible against the bar and perked up her ears. It wasn't long before they were filled to over-brimming.

"'Course he's queer as a three quid note. Did you ever meet that Frenchy ice queen he started out with? Turn any man queer, she would. And the way he and that London bastard get in each other's faces? Luerve, mate. Or at the very least, getting his end away." One of the lads, Swift, she thought. Never had measured up to his name.

"No bloody wonder he was so easy on that fairy Camfield. Home team, ain't he?" She recognized that one, too. Walsh. For half a moment, she wondered who they were talking about, then it hit her.

Rose nearly spilled her beer. It wasn't what she was listening for, but it was fascinating. Rather like passing a train wreck and not being able to take one's eyes away from the remains.

"I dunno," a new voice chimed in. Ellison. A little older, hopefully a little wiser. "What about that South American writer? She was a woman. And I hear he's been seeing the judge, you know, the bleedin' heart what got Dudgeon off for killing his kid."

"And that cute little blonde chippie from the ad agency. Didn't last long, but they were going at it like weasels when she was in town." Hanson. Christ on a crutch. Didn't they have anything better to talk about than the Chief's sex life?

"So, he gets it both ways. One o' them Bis, innit. So what? I still say he's making it with the Irishman." Swift again. Before her morbid curiosity could take her completely away from her mission, the group broke up, some home to wives, some off to play darts. She stared down into her now empty glass, head reverberating with the gossip. Wouldn't that be a kick in the head ...

Three days of pints and headaches later, Rose and Wes compared notes. The gossip was running like wildfire through the constabulary, as usual where Cade was concerned, but there had been a few nuggets of gold among the buckets of dross. They were able to narrow the possible leak down to two who had motive, opportunity, and a pressing need of funds. They made a joint report, and Cade reviewed their findings, passing along the information to Murphy with a sincere thanks to them both. At the point of following Wes out of the room, Rose turned.

"Sir?" Cade looked up and she swallowed, gathering her courage. It was only fair he know, after all. "A word with you?" She glanced briefly at Murphy. He rose in response. "In private?" Cade looked at Murphy, already on his way out the door, sparing a sweet smile for her. She smiled back tentatively, then took a deep breath as the door closed behind him.

"Have a seat, Rose. What's bothering you?" Such a kind tone, such concern in those big green eyes. She wondered if she'd have time to run before he exploded, after she told him.

"Rumor is running rampant among the rank and file that you and Controller Murphy are having an affair," she blurted out all in one breath, then sucked in a lungful and held it while she waited for his reaction. He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. Taking this as encouragement, or at the very least shock holding him still long enough for her to tell him the rest of it, she plunged on. "Opinion seems to be evenly split between you being bisexual and currently engaged in a liaison with Mr. Murphy or being a deeply closeted gay who's only now allowing himself the freedom of having a fling, since Mr. Murphy will be returning soon to London. A minority insist that you're straight and that Mr. Murphy is somehow pressuring you into having relations with him, and an even smaller minority say it's the other way round, but opinion is solidly behind the idea of the two of you being involved with one another. Sexually," she added, wanting to be clear. Clear away to Truro if she had her way. Cade was still staring at her. "That's all, sir. I thought you should know." He hadn't moved. It didn't appear as if he was even breathing. "If that will be all, sir?" Taking the glazed eyes and dead silence as assent, she hopped up from her chair and backed out of the room, keeping a careful eye on him for any signs of incipient explosion. He was still staring at her chair when she closed the door with a carefully quiet snick and sighed with relief.

"All finished?"

The calm voice nearly sent her right out of her skin. Staring wide-eyed at Colin Murphy, waiting patiently to go back in and talk to Cade, she nodded wordlessly and waved ineffectually at the door. She couldn't stand by and watch this. She had to escape. She really needed a drink.

Murphy watched the retreating back of the policewoman with some confusion. Cade had the oddest effect on his staff. Some of the gossip his people had gathered was positively amazing. And rather heartening, actually. After all, if his own people believed it so completely ... there was seldom smoke without a fire. Smiling congenially, he tapped on the door and stepped into Cade's office.

The Chief Constable sat still as a statue at his desk. He was staring at an empty chair, looking dumbfounded. Murph thought he was unbearably cute with that shell-shocked look on his face, but managed to keep the opinion to himself. Before he could open his mouth, Cade shook all over, a bit like a dog shaking off water, and sent Murphy a killer glare.

"You bastard," he breathed. Murph looked behind him, just to be sure it was indeed he Cade was addressing, then turned back around to face the Chief.

"What did I do this time?" Mercurial didn't begin to cover it with this one.

"First you come sneaking onto my patch without saying so much as a word. Then you turn it all around so it's somehow my fault that the operation goes haywire. You get the Home Office in your pocket, you turn the whole damned area on its ear. You cast suspicion on my people-"

"Justified by your own investigation," Murph interjected, feeling his own temper rise.

"- making me set spies on my own staff, you manage to bollix up four different stings-"

"Wouldn't have if your coppers weren't so bloody loose-lipped," he chipped in again, tension and frustration loosening his grip on his control.

"- can't keep hold of the criminals long enough to get them to lock-up, lie to the press-"

"C'mon, Alan, this is ridiculous!" A cry from the heart. And parts further south. Damn, but Cade was tempting when he was pissy.

"- get me up to my ears in hot water with everyone from my own constables to the entire bloody Police Authority Board -"

"A-lan ..." Warningly, this time. Cade had risen during his little speech and was now around the desk and right in Murphy's face. Too close. Too cute, and too close.

"- and NOW I find my entire police force thinks we're fucking one another! They're taking bets on it, for god's sake!"

The mental image of fucking Alan Cade sent every single iota of common sense out of Colin Murphy's brain, and his tongue spilled out words before his higher reasoning could step in and censor them. "Really? How much? How do I get in on the action?"

"BASTARD!"

That did it. Cade was right in his face, hissing like a ferret in heat, and Murph could take no more. Cupping the pugnacious chin six inches below his own, he did what he'd been wanting to do from the first moment Cade had thrown that particular insult at him. He kissed him. Hard. Open mouthed. Tongue going for the tonsils. God, but he tasted sweet. When he finally drew back for breath, Cade stared up at him, mouth still wide open, lips wet and swollen. Murphy was caught by the picture so close to his face. He never even saw the fist coming.

Next thing he knew, he was stretched out on the floor, the door was banging against the wall, his jaw felt like he'd been hit with a tire iron, and Cade was nowhere to be seen. Diane stared at him from the relative safety of the doorway.

"Would you like an ice pack, sir?"

Murph shook his head, painfully, no, and pulled himself to his feet. As he headed out the door, he heard a young constable tell another, in a wise undertone, "Lover's tiff."

He'd've laughed if his jaw didn't hurt so badly.

Two hours and several shots of Glenfiddich later, he headed for Cade's home. True, the gossip wasn't his fault, but he should have had better control over his reactions. Shouldn't have let Cade get to him like that. Should have thought with the head on his shoulders instead of the other one. And now he had to apologize. They still had to work together, and he did respect the Chief. He just also wanted the man. And Cade had pretty well put the kibosh on that idea.

Flexing his jaw, he paused on the doorstep, gathered his thoughts, and rapped sharply on the door. Cade opened it, stared at the bruise darkening his jaw, and snarled, "What?"

"Can I come in?"

"Why?" Not giving an inch.

"Need to talk to you." He raised his voice just enough to catch the attention of any stray passers-by or neighbors who might be interested. "Of course, we can talk out here, Alan, if you would rather." Just enough smarm in his voice to make the skin crawl. Cade glared daggers at him, turned his back to him, and stalked off into the house. Murphy made sure the door latched and locked behind him. After all, Cade had a kid, and it wouldn't do for any unexpected visitors to come across them right in the middle of his apology. This was hard enough to do without an audience.

"So, talk." Cade stood in the middle of the living room, arms akimbo, glaring at him. Murph was torn between wanting to strangle him and wanting to fuck him into the middle of next week.

"I apologize."

Some of the fight went out of him at the simple statement, but not all of it. Distrustful little bastard, Murphy grinned.

Cade saw the grin and immediately tensed up again. "For what? Acting like a prat?"

"Kissing you." Cade's mouth opened, and Murphy couldn't resist. "Without permission."

"Permission?" Amazing. He'd never before heard a male voice go from gravel to soprano in three syllables. And Cade was hissing again. Murphy tingled. This time, however, he was expecting the fist.

Six inches of height, ten of reach, three stone weight advantage, four years younger and Macklin-trained, Murphy had no trouble restraining Cade. Which, of course, only pissed the Chief off even more. It was a short, angry, brutal wrestling match, and Cade didn't have a chance.

Especially once Murph noticed Cade's erection.

It was a short step from that to recognizing the shortness of breath, the light panting, the flush in the cheekbones, and, oh, yes, mustn't forget the leg wrapped around Murphy's waist. Hands that began by trying their damnedest to tear him into small bloody bits were now doing the same to his clothes, and he winced as he felt a seam give. Oh, well, it was worth the sacrifice. After all, he was the one signing the expense chits now, and this definitely qualified under the 'interagency cooperation' clause. Then one of Cade's hands tangled in his hair, drawing their faces together, and one of his hands slid down to discover that it was the perfect size to cover and cup Cade's left buttock, and any hope of responsible behavior went right out the window.

He didn't quite suck Cade's lungs out through his throat, but he gave it his best shot. Clothing was no obstacle, although Cade did sort of fumble a bit with the gun harness. Shoes landed on one side of the sofa, shirts on the other, slacks and jacket somewhere in the middle. Then Murphy had his arms full of naked, fully aroused, eight-armed, Hoover-tongued Alan Cade, and he let himself go with the flow.

For a beginner, the man had great instincts.

Roving hands nearly made short work of him, but Murph was a trained, cream of the crop CI5 hard man, best of the best, leader of the pack, and by the manful expedient of nearly biting through his tongue, and mentally listing the exhaustive details of the top ten most wanted for every nation in the European Commonwealth, he managed not to come in the first five minutes. Then he wrestled Cade to as close to a standstill as he could, pinned the wriggling form to the ground, and proceeded to give him the best blow job he could possibly manage.

Above his head, the steady stream of invective had mellowed into an equally steady stream of encouragement interspersed with the occasional colorful description of his family tree. Giving Cade full marks for verbal facility under extreme duress, he planted one arm across Cade's midriff, wrapped his other hand around the testicles under his nose, and ate Cade like a lolly. Across the top, slurping down the sides, 'round the bottom and up to the top again and again. Eventually, no coherent words at all were coming out, just random appreciative and urgent noises. The cock in his mouth and under his hands was leaking steadily, straining against him, and he could feel abortive movements under his forearm as Cade attempted to thrust. Sneaking the hand that had been rubbing the balls back a little further, while at the same time taking Cade's full length down his throat and swallowing repeatedly, he gathered up sweat, pre-ejaculate and some of his own spit on a finger, then rimmed it around the edge of Cade's opening. Contrary to expectations, Alan didn't immediately try to shake him off and run for the hills. Instead, he opened his legs, braced his knees and did his best to ram his cock down to Murphy's belly button.

Encouraging, that.

Determined to really make him want it, Murph abandoned the erection currently demanding his attention. Ignoring the noises that were sounding more and more like whimpers as he went along, he dove further between the spread thighs and began licking from the back of the ball sac all the way to the anal opening. Fuck whimpers, Cade was screaming now.

Sounded like he liked that.

Murphy took his time, holding Cade in place, alternating between rimming and thrusting, up between his legs to swipe at the erection, not wanting it to feel ignored, then back down again to his primary area of interest. After long enough at this that the bruise on the side of his jaw was beginning to throb enough to distract him, he got down to serious business. Cade was back to whimpers by this time, and his voice was sounding rusty.

Swabbing 'round and 'round the tip of his cock, Murphy gradually widened his mouth and the length of his licks, until he had swallowed back down to the root again. Then, keeping his head in place, he began a strong steady suction, slipping his fingers in and out the rear channel in rhythm with his swallows. In very little time, the whimpers died due to lack of oxygen, and the attempted thrusts were strong enough to nearly strangle Murph. With one final glottal groan, Cade came like a firehose. Murph held him steady, allowing the majority of the semen to leak out past his lips over the drawn-up testicles, and down the crease between Alan's buttocks.

When he finally fell back from the orgasm, Murphy let go of him and slid up to rest on his knees between Cade's spread thighs. Pillowing Cade's ass on his own thighs, canting his pelvis to make a tighter fit, he gathered up as much fluid as he could, which was quite a lot. Looked like Alan'd been celibate for awhile. Slathering it over his own cock, ignoring the 'it's about fucking time!' it screamed at him, he worked his way into Alan's relaxed hole.

It was like putting his cock into a milking machine lined with velvet. Spasms from Cade's orgasm, still rippling through him, pulled Murphy in, massaged and squeezed him. It took another hard bite and another criminal countdown to keep from coming immediately, but it was worth the wait. Hazy bright malachite eyes stared up at him, and that arse he'd had his eye on from day one started to writhe against him. Pure, unadulterated bliss.

He leaned forward, resting his weight on his palms, leaning in to kiss Alan, sharing the taste with the source. Swallowing the moan Cade gave, he began a steady rocking rhythm, driving in deeply enough to satisfy them both without putting too much strain on virgin territory. He'd never been anywhere hotter, or tighter, and he was floating on it. Cade's arms were wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in for little biting kisses on his neck, his chest, a nipple, the point of his collarbone. He pulled his head back at the last, panting for breath, and threw his back into it, Cade encouraging him all the way. When he finally did come, he felt like his head exploded, and every drop of fluid in his body was pumped into that glove of muscle holding him.

Rousing himself enough to pull out carefully, then rolling to lie side by side with Cade, he glanced over at his ... what was he? Friend was insufficient. Lover was inaccurate. Co-worker was a little cold, considering he'd just had some of the best sex in his life and he felt like a train wreck survivor. While he was still trying to figure it out, a raspy voice whispered across to him, "You know this doesn't mean I like you."

He grinned up at the ceiling. Didn't matter what you called him, Cade was unique. "Yeah. Me neither." He could work with that.

-- THE END --