#fsnfic

He was here on a job. Evidence recalling, and character profiling. Find the boss, bring him to justice, shut this place down. Cut off the head and the body falls limp.

Walking through the ex-bank's lobby, he saw tables covered in mugs of beer, glasses of scotch, and flutes of champagne. It was a damn treasure trove of brazen lawbreaking, and if Laxus played things right then he would be singularly responsible for shutting down the biggest speakeasy in the state. But throwing the patrons in jail would only get so much done; he needed to figure out who was running the place. When the raid came, Laxus needed to know who he had to chase.

As inconspicuously as he could, he wandered towards the bar. It was a rambunctious mess of drunkards, all vying for attention from the probably beautiful women serving. They would laugh and flirt and be paid well in response. Laxus absently wondered if doing the same would make him look more like a regular patron, but one of the servers wandered over to him.

"What can I get ya, sweetheart?" She hummed.

"What d'you recommend?" Laxus said, voice deep. Not flirtatious, but it could be preserved that way. The woman's eyes flashed with something, and she leant forward.

"A big man like you, I think a hard scotch is what you need."

She reached for a half-filled bottle from the shelves behind her, and poured him his drink. He took it, slid the money and a tip toward her, and took a drink. Years of legally enforced sobriety had dampened his alcohol tolerance, but a month prior he had been assigned to speakeasy investigations and had been given a regimented allowance of alcohol, so he could drink without looking out of place and getting drunk too quickly. Still, the scotch was strong, and he winced a little.

"That's got a kick," He chuckled, because it was better to joke about it than to try and hide it.

"Everything we serve does," The woman grinned. "First time?"

"I live across town," Laxus shrugged, feigning amusement. "There was a place near Oak Street, but the cops got to it," Of course, Laxus was the cop that closed it down. Best not to mention that. "Wouldn't have wasted my time there if I knew what I could be getting here."

"Oh sweetheart, a man like you could get anything he wanted, I bet," She purred and Laxus didn't miss how her chest suddenly seemed to heave. He put on a show of looking. "You should go down to the vault. I bet a guy like you knows how to dance. Maybe you could save me one."

"Maybe I will," Laxus murmured back, hoping he sounded seductive. "But ma'am, you'll have to forgive me. I ain't the best with directions."

"Ah, of course. Up those stairs, follow the corridor and you'll start hearing the music. Follow that and you'll find the real party," Her eyes sparkled. "See you in there, sugar."

"Thank you, ma'am," Laxus nodded. He lifted his drink and turned away, missing how the woman's face fell and she immediately turned to her colleague, whispering something to her. The colleague nodded and rushed away.

Laxus didn't rush to the vault, as it might bring attention to him. He leant with his back against the bar, watching as people laughed and drank as the night went on. After perhaps ten minutes of seeing nothing but people slowly getting drunker, Laxus downed the rest of his drink, slammed the glass onto the bar top, and followed the barmaid's directions. People parted for him, and he received many an interested glance from both women and men. Only the glances of men made him flush a little in the cheeks.

As distraction, he thought back to the bars he attended before prohibition. He ignored the quiet part of his mind pointing out the hypocrisy of him once being a regular bar crawler, and now being the person to close them down. Instead, he focuses on how interesting these speakeasies always were. An old bank building wasn't conducive to a bar, but it certainly gave it character.

Chaotic music started to dance at Laxus' ears, and he followed the sound of it through a narrow corridor. The louder it got, the more the distinctive instruments could be discerned. There was saxophone, a trombone, a bass guitar and a piano. They piano dominated the music, the musician obviously a master of their craft with the speed in which they were playing. Laxus could only imagine how fast the pianist would have to move to get the manic symphony. Speakeasies always had jazz musicians; Laxus had never cared for them before.

The vault – aptly named given it was housed in what would have been the bank's actual vault – was the speakeasies dance room. Laxus had to admit it was clever; tucked away in the back room with the thickest walls, the music definitely wasn't going to leak onto the streets, which often was what gave away a speakeasy.

Laxus only had a short moment to appreciate the ingenuity before his breath caught in his throat.

In the back corner of the vault laid the band. They were a regular sort and not anything that Laxus hadn't seen before, except for the pianist. He was stood in a partial squat, the backs of his shins resting against a stool. He wore a black tailcoat that that slid down elegantly against his form. A curtain of long green hair lay gently against his back. His fingers danced along the keys with a speed that made them blue. His eyes were closed; an expression that of perfect calm in spite of the manic movement of his hands. He was beautiful. A criminal, but a beautiful one.

Unprofessional though it may be, Laxus was transfixed. This man, whoever he was, had a magnetic draw to him. All Laxus could do was stand and watch.

Music had never been exhilarating before. It had been good – had been great in some instances – but never exhilarating. Other musicians had garnered reactions from Laxus, but never had music made his bones burn with lightning. Never had it made him fall stock still at the chaotic hypnosis of the trilling of a piano. The music behind the music – the thumping of the piano keys hitting wood and the tapping of the keys of the saxophone – coursed through Laxus' body and he couldn't look away from the pianist. The man cast spells on Laxus with every note.

The man was something new.

One song was all Laxus got: half a song really. It reached exuberant crescendo, the pianist kicked back and let the stool clatter to the floor, and the crowd cheered their praise. Laxus still couldn't move.

Eyes ensnared by this stranger, Laxus watched as the man stood tall, elegance becoming him. The suit and tails accentuate the muscle of his chest and the thinness of his waist. His face adorned a calm and almost stoic expression. He bowed to those who applauded him before setting right the stool and motioning for another man to take his place. The man did and music began up again, a lower sound that twinkled in the background and was perfect for dancers and drinkers alike. It didn't hold a candle to what this stranger had managed to do.

The spell broke when the man looked directly at Laxus, a smile of equal mischief and scheming on his face. Laxus was frozen as the man slowly began to walk to him, taking his time. Laxus waited.

"Mr Dreyar," The man greeted. "Or should I call you Sergeant Dreyar?"

The words were said so melodiously that Laxus almost missed the title. "Excuse me, sir?"

"No need for that. I know who you are, as did my dear barmaid. Well, she knew you were a cop, anyway. But a man of your statue… a man who needs to know you, will know you on sight. I am one such man."

"I really don't know-"

"You are Laxus Dreyar, sergeant of the 12th precinct and current golden boy of the speakeasy program. You find establishments such as mine – I run the place, you see – and you destroy them," The man smiled and politely offered a hand. "It's a pleasure to finally have your attention. I was wondering when it would happen. I'm Freed Justine."

Laxus looked down at him. It wasn't a pseudonym; everyone knew the name of the man who ran this place, just not the face. That was a confession. Why the hell would be do that? It didn't matter, it was enough.

Taking the man's hand, Laxus tugged him close and growled lowly. "Freed Justine, I am arresting-"

Freed laughed, and it cut Laxus off. "Oh, Sergeant Dreyar. The number of times I've been told that would defy expectations," He grinned. "Come, let's sit down. I promise not to run off if you promise not to take out those handcuffs. Deal?"

"No."

"Laxus," Freed soothed. "I knew you were here before you knew what I looked like. I didn't run, I didn't hide, I made myself the centre of attention. Ask yourself one question; based on my actions, who do you think has the power here?"

Laxus said nothing. It was best not to respond; a criminal of one type could be a criminal of another and one wrong move could lead to Freed pulling out a gun. Freed didn't seem perturbed and took Laxus jovially by the arm. He was taken to a small table tucked into the corner of the vault, where only near empty mugs and glasses of booze occupied. Freed sat in one seat and motioned for Laxus to take the other. He did.

They sat in silence for a moment, Laxus holding no desire to relent first, and Freed seemingly happy to listen to the music. Eventually, though, Freed broke the silence.

"Normally I'd have one of the women tend to you," He said it conversationally. "Of course, I'd have a guard watching you if you tried anything with her. Not that the women here need protecting, mind. But it's best to be sure."

Laxus blinked. "The hell are you talking about?"

"You're not my first, Laxus. As much as you might wish it so," Frees looked at him with sinful eyes. "I've entertained many a man like you, make no mistake."

"Men like me?"

"Your colleagues, Sergeant. Though I'm delighted to see how your mind works," Freed laughed. "But you can't think I've never had an officer in here before. Most weeks one of your darling coppers comes in with dreams of shutting us down. Hopes of being the man to destroy us," He chuckled. "Most of them are now customers of mine."

"Bullshit."

"Prohibition? Yes, it is," Freed grinned. "That is what you meant, right? You can't truly think a cop, of all people, is infallible and incapable of hypocrisy."

Not having an answer to that, Laxus stayed quiet.

Again, neither spoke for a little while. Freed made a gesture to one of the women who worked for him, and a minute later she brought him what Laxus thought was a glass of rum. He slowly drank it, neck convulsing as he did so. Laxus tried to look away. He failed.

"As I was saying, normally when a copper comes here, I'd have a woman flirt with him," Freed started up again. "That won't work with you, will it?"

"No," Laxus grunted before he thought better of it.

"I thought so. Now, let's pretend you mean you're too dedicated to policing for a woman do charm you. That's not what you meant, but if I say what you meant you'd get defensive so we'll put a pin in that for later," Freed put up a hand before Laxus could speak. "So, a regular officer comes in. A beautiful woman flirts with him. She doesn't mean it, and he knows that. His ego is stroked, and he goes back with a smile on his face. He feels good for a day, maybe more, because he was complimented. Maybe he has fuel for a fantasy in the lonely hours of the night. Maybe he has a little smile that he can't quite tamper down. Name one crime committed. One irrefutable law of common decency that was broken."

"There wasn't any."

"Now, picture the same story, with one tiny little difference," Freed took one of the abandoned drinks, pushing it forward. "He drank this. Not much. Not even a full glass. The night plays out the same way. The following day play out the same day. Why should that man suddenly now be jailed?"

"He broke the law."

"Oh, Laxus. Don't be tedious," Freed scolded. "Let's assume the law is what it claims to be. Punishment and rehabilitation for immoral acts. What is so immoral about this liquid," He dipped a finger into a half-filled tankard of beer. He brought it to his lips and sucked it dry. "Why should that small consumption of alcohol break the rules of decency."

Laxus, yet again, had no answer.

"You see, it's difficult isn't it," Freed beamed at him. "I must say, this is much more fun than having a girl flirt with you. The debate. The victory. I'm desperately glad you only want to fuck men."

Rigid tenseness snapped up Laxus' spine, and he whispered his next words with acid. "The fuck did you just say?"

"Nobody's listing Laxus. No one heard and no one would care if they did," Freed assured him. "But it's a fact, isn't it? You forced yourself, rather comically or so I'm told, to ogle Lucy. But with me, your eyes couldn't seem to choose where to settle. My arms, my waist, my crotch. I take it as a compliment; and so will my tailor when I tell him. The man's a marvel."

Laxus grabbed Freed's wrist and slammed it onto the table. "You trying to blackmail an officer of the law."

"No," Freed's voice was void of all mirth. "I wouldn't do that."

"Then why the hell are you saying that shit?"

"Because, Sergeant Dreyar, you're the only man who has ever come into this place that might actually shut us down. Every single one of your colleagues is corruptible and bribable. But you, I think, actually see the police as a way to make the world better," Freed hissed. "And I think that your superiors saw that and used it to warp you. Against people like me, yes. But against yourself too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Laxus growled.

"Then I propose a bet," Freed suddenly was back to a showman. Voice filled with mirth and quiet seduction. "You spend the rest of the evening here, acting as a customer and not as an officer. I believe that, before the night is up, you will see the stupidity of prohibition, and perhaps other laws as well. Provided you engage in the spirit of things here."

"I won't break the law for-" Laxus cut himself off when Freed got close to his face and sniffed.

"You already have broken the law, Dear Sergeant," Freed laughed. "You've been treated well. That's an expensive label if I'm not wrong."

Laxus leant back. His cheeks were red, and he spoke with firmness. "Freed Justine. I am arresting you on-"

"Stop it Laxus," Freed said firmly. "Now, to our bet. I bet that you will understand the need for places like these, and the stupidity of prohibition, in just one night. If you engage – however you wish, consuming alcohol is not required - then you will know why these places are loved. You will decide to pretend that you found nothing."

"Ain't gonna happen."

"I disagree. As such, if I lose our bet, you can take me out of here in handcuffs and I will fully admit to every law I've broken in court, wholly accepting the consequences," Freed smiled. "But if I win, you have to come into my office and let me kiss you."

Laxus balked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing at all. I know what I want and know how to best give myself the advantage," Freed smiled. "You're attracted to me – don't deny it – and I'm attracted to you. Your profession has kept you contained, and I intend to free it. If you can admit to yourself that prohibition is pointless, then perhaps you can shake off the shackles of silly laws entirely and indulge. The choice is, of course, entirely yours. But I won't deny I'm guilty of imprinting the idea of kissing me into your mind. Nor will I apologise."

"You'd risk your freedom for a fucking kiss?"

"Laxus dear, there's no risk at all," Freed soothed. "So, do we have a deal?"

Chewing the thought for a moment, Laxus hardened his expression. He knew himself, knew his resolve, and knew what this could do for his career. For some reason, he trusted Freed, and knew he couldn't pass this up. "When I win, you cough up your suppliers as well."

"That's fair. But if were making amendments, then you have to say 'thank you' after I kiss you," Freed laughed as Laxus felt his cheeks burn. "A little embarrassment will do you well, dear? But I ask again, do we have a deal?"

Laxus didn't say anything, but he put his hand in Freed's and shook it.

"I shan't stay with you for the entire night," Freed grinned, standing up. "Where would the fun be in that; I'd like a challenge at least. And anyway, I've got another performance to do."

Laxus' gaze flickered to the piano, which had been left vacant at the end of the last song. The mingles passion and elegance in Freed's playing of the instrument thundered back into the forefront of Laxus' mind; he shuddered at the raw presence of it. Having seen the sweet words that dripped with acid that Freed was capable, it would paint the music in a much more sinister light. Sinister, but exhilarating. Laxus was desperate to hear it; to listen to the music while knowing more about its musician.

As if hearing Laxus' thoughts, Freed leant down and spoke lowly to Laxus. "In the interest of full honesty, one of the crimes I might have to admit to is multiple cases of sodomy. Twelve of which happened on that very piano."

Unable to stop himself, Laxus swallowed audibly. He glanced at the piano, and multiple images of Freed in various stages of undress with various men shutters through his mind. He imagined Freed as a domineering and in control lover, one who used his easily underestimated form to his advantage. Would the keys make music as he and his loved fucked? Would it ring of guilt of overwhelming pleasure.

"I've always thought twelve such a sad number to end on. People say thirteen is such an unlucky number, Freed mused, and Laxus turned to see Freed's eyes raking over him without shame. "But I have a feeling that thirteen could be very lucky indeed. Something to think about, Sergeant Dreyar. Enjoy your night."

With that, Freed walked to the piano again, and not once did Laxus look away from his retreating form.

——

There were, evidently, a lot of things Laxus didn't know. The night had made that particularly obvious, as moral quandary after moral quandary seemed to plague Laxus. Worse still, the only respite from his spirally mind was the music and the man responsible for it.

If the night were to have a highlight – or lowlight depending on your perspective - it was when the singer took her break. Not because the lack of her voice brought focus back onto the piano, which would have been bad enough, but because Freed himself picked up the slack and sung in her place while still dominating the piano. He sang a song of temptation and allegiances; his voice as sinful and blasphemous as the lyrics.

The performance rang through Laxus' mind as he looked at the door in front of him. He'd been standing there for about a minute now, not sure if he should knock or storm in.

This was ridiculous. He stormed in.

Flickers of the night hit him as he walked into Freed's office, and he wished he could will them away. Memories of people laughing and dancing, drinking and revelling, hating and loving all hit him. A tapestry of the city condensed into a single, supposedly abandoned building. A bank turned into something it was never meant to be, yet a safe haven for people to be exactly who they needed to be.

Men had kissed men. Women had kissed women. Skirts and trousers were worn by anyone and everyone. Nobody paid any mind. Nobody judged anyone. Nobody cared.

"I don't know what the hell to do," Laxus said without thinking.

"I know," Freed said from behind his desk. His voice was softer now they were alone. "I am sorry for that."

"I'm meant to be a police officer," Laxus continued, slamming the door shut and pacing the room. "I decided that when I was a kid. I told each of my teachers that's what I wanted to do. I trained. I busted my ass at the start and worked my way up the ladder. I'm meant to be an officer and if I… if I do this, I'll have to quit the force. I ain't a hypocrite. I don't wanna be one."

"A hypocrite or a cop?" Freed asked, and Laxus growled at him. "Sorry, I deserve that. May I offer you an anecdote that might help?"

"Sure," Laxus exclaimed, not sure if he were being sarcastic or not.

"I went to law school. I'm meant to be a lawyer, or so I thought. I was going to be a legal prosecutor, if you can imagine it," Freed chuckled. "In another life we might have been colleagues in the fight against lawlessness. But instead, I made a choice. The evidence presented to me was saying that the law's ideals and Mindy own were not aligned. I chose to reject them. Well, I basically spat in their faces, but that's beside the point."

"And what is the point?"

"Who we are meant to be, is who we are. In every moment, we are who we're meant to be. We can be nothing else," Freed smiled. "And all that leaves us with is a question. In this moment, who are you?"

"A confused jackass," Laxus muttered.

"Well then, follow your gut," Freed instructed. "Right here, right now, end our bet. I demand it. No thinking. No second guessing. Just be the man the moment demands."

"But I-"

"Did I tell you to say something or did I tell you to act?"

The words, both tempting and grating, were a call to action. Laxus strode forward, his hands immediately going to the handcuffs hanging inside of his jacket. Freed didn't flinch, nor did he look ready to flee at the sight of them. Laxus continued to walk forward, sliding them open and feeling every click of it. Within a moment he was as close to another man as he could ever remember being. He grabbed Freed by the wrist, expecting a struggle or at least a flash of panic. Instead, there was amusement in Freed's eyes.

"What?"

"You haven't noticed, have you?" Freed asked. Laxus frowned at him, and Freed nodded towards a spot in the floor a few feet back. Laxus followed his look and gaped.

His handcuffs. He'd dropped them and hadn't even known he'd done it. If there were a better example of a man's instincts warring with his gut, Laxus hadn't known it.

Wordlessly, Laxus turned back to Freed and cupped the man's cheeks with both hands. He pulled Freed towards him, tilting his head following an instinct he hadn't known he possessed. He closed his eyes and felt the chapped sensation of another man's lips against his, moving and controlling and alive. His heart hammered inside of him as his lagging mind made the situation clear. He was kissing a man. For the first time in his life, Laxus was kissing a man.

Twenty-seven years of repression fell away, and Laxus fell nearly limp with overwhelming relief. Maybe Freed sensed it because he turned Laxus around and pushed him against the side of his desk. Laxus placed both hands on the desk for support, Freed running his hands through Laxus' hair as he kissed him.

Laxus was alive. He was in the arms of, and at the mercy of, a man and he was alive.

Whether it was hours or seconds, the kiss ended far too quickly. Laxus pulled away only when his breath struggled, and he refused to move further than an inch away from Freed's lips. He breathes slowly, pulse hammering in his head. He cautiously moved a hand to slowly move a string of Freed's hair that had fallen out of place. It was a gentle movement, and Laxus wondered where it had come from. But the smile that Freed gave him – devoid of the gangster's bravado that had seemed ever present throughout the night – sent a warmth through Laxus that he'd never felt before.

"I believe," Freed whispered. "We made a deal. Have you anything else to say?"