#sezin

The call for them comes in just when Gavin gets a good grip on Sezin’s shoulders and Sezin starts looking a little less fully in control of himself.  The comm gives two alerts before either of them notice.  Gavin lets out a groan and then a little laugh of resigned exasperation.  His skin hasn’t even worked up a sweat yet, but he feels hot and giddy, hand clutching one of Sezin’s wrists before he scoots off Sezin’s lap to reach over for his comm.  He isn’t surprised to hear the sound of Lieutenant Chung’s voice with something no less than a bombshell reveal about their latest case.  She wouldn’t have called them otherwise.

“Sounds like hell, lieutenant,” Gavin says, forgetting for a moment where his hands are.

It isn’t going to be the first or last time they’re going to be interrupted, stumbling back to Sezin’s apartment in the early mornings after a long night shift.  Listening to Chung’s next set of orders, Gavin glances around the room, still inwardly thrilled by the novelty of knowing the ins and outs of his partner’s bedroom, but he keeps his eyes off mostly because he can feel Sezin still heaving for air, the shaky drawn breaths as he tries to settle back down. If Gavin looks, he know it’s going to be even harder to roll off and get dressed again.  

The gentle drop of Sezin’s dorsal arms from Gavin’s thighs is a good enough indicator that Sezin’s got a better hold of himself.  Thumbing his comm off, Gavin repeats the information Lieutenant Chung has given him, heroically leaving out the omission of her additional comment; ‘Is Sezin with you? Of course he is.  Save Rosser the trouble of making the extra call and let him know.’

“Ngh,” Sezin says, sounding less eloquent than what Gavin is used to hearing.

Shaking his head, Gavin hops off from the couch—couch, Sezin had been pretty eager to get things started—and starts toeing around the floor for his pants.  It doesn’t take long.  They hadn’t made it very far. Hence the couch.  Gavin’s already got both his legs through the necessary parts of his pants when he looks back over his shoulder.

“Sezin, you coming or what?” he asks, the last word of his question trailing off.  He catches Sezin furrowing his blunted talons over the couch before Sezin meets his eyes with a blank look.

“What?” Sezin says, like he’s heard absolutely nothing the past thirty seconds Gavin has been telling him about the case.  

“Gotta hustle back to the station.  Forensics has something to tell us,” Gavin says, sparing Sezin the details for now.  He can just repeat it in their cruiser on the way.  He grins, a little smug.  “You good to go?”

His teasing tone seems to kick Sezin back into action out of sheer habit of being contrary.  Sezin bolts up from the couch, grabbing his own comm and shoving it into his pocket.  He has the virtue of having most of his clothes still on, if not a little rumpled and unbuttoned in a few key places.    For the most part, Gavin is unrepentant about their abrupt stop.  He assumes Sezin understands as well, and knowing the serious way Sezin regards their work, his partner would likely appreciate it in the long run.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m good,” Sezin says, rolling his shoulders back. His dorsal arms slip back beneath his sleeves.  He hurriedly buckles his belt.

By that time Gavin has his suit jacket on, smoothing out his collar.  A quick glance at his reflection in one of Sezin’s decorative wall mirrors shows him more or less presentable for work, though he isn’t quite sure if he could say the same about his scent.  No doubt he’d smell like Sezin to their hirsa coworkers, but just how much like Sezin makes him pause.  The hirsa have different notions of being discreet, he supposes.

Sezin brushes past him to get the front door, not even bothering with the mirror.  His normally impassive expression looks a tiny bit flustered, eyes darting back to Gavin every so often before he sets his jaw and turns away.  Gavin stares, hands stilling over the cuffs of his jacket before he tugs them straight.  Barring work circumstances, it’s the most disheveled he’s ever seen Sezin—shirt tucked in the loosest sense, the top two buttons undone, tie missing—but at least the jacket’s made it across Sezin’s shoulders, if barely.  

Sezin looks like half a wreck, a very attractive wreck, but still a mess all the same.

“Need some help?” Gavin asks, concerned.  He brushes a crinkled fold on the back of Sezin’s dress shirt.

“I, ah—” Seizin glances down at him, seems to consider the offer for longer than necessary, then ducks his head to the side.  He sways from Gavin’s outstretched hand, an automatic habit Gavin has grown used to without taking offense. “No?  Just a moment, I need to find—”

Gavin takes a polite step back, allowing Sezin some space.  He bites his bottom lip, amazed.

I did this to him, Gavin thinks, watching as Sezin fumbles to clip his badge to his belt, mumbling something in hirsan.  The heat rises to Gavin’s face.

He’s fantasized about this—having Sezin so undone to notice what everyone might see, reduced to incoherent words when asked the simplest questions. It must come with wanting to compensate for being unable to make his own mark on Sezin, the way Sezin does on him.  No bite marks to hide beneath shirt sleeves or reddened skin under upturned collars, and Sezin has no hair to leave in disarray or brush privately back into place.  

For a moment, Gavin is given in by the selfish thought of letting Sezin out in public like this, all messed up and bedraggled from all the wicked things he has done to him.   Let the world see how he’s left his mark on Sezin—that he can be as territorial as any hirsa.

Sezin puts his hand on the front door, the control panel beeping.

“Alright,” he says, breathing a wear sigh.  He shoots Gavin a bashful smile, his countenance a little embarrassed.

The thought passes.  Gavin says, “Hang on.”  

He rushes back to the living room, snagging the tie Sezin’s left on the floor—that he’d dropped, while they were fooling around—and loops it through his own neck.  Gavin’s got quick enough hands to do up a passable half-windsor, guessing the length as best he can.  He walks back to Sezin with the tie, pulling it off and holding it out.

“Forgot your tie,” Gavin says.

Sezin’s hand comes up to pats his own chest, confirming that he has.  At Gavin’s hurried insistence, he bends his head, letting Gavin pull the tie around his neck.  And then, on his own accord, he tips his chin up, allowing Gavin to tuck it beneath his collar and adjust it at his throat.

Gavin brushes his fingers over Sezin’s neck, unable to help himself this time.  

“Better?’ Sezin asks, looking wry.  It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if he had gone to the precinct without a tie, but the grateful way he leans towards Gavin’s hands is telling enough.  

Gavin grins, but he steps out of the apartment.  “Honestly, I’d rather have you back on the couch.”