Title: Alone in a Crowd
Author: taligator
Rating: mostly innuendo, nothing hardcore, frao (m/m)
Spoilers: Hollywood Brass
Category: episode related, f/t
Pairing: Warrick/Brass
Summary: What Jim needs.
A/N: I did make a few changes to this, cleaned up a few things as well. Enjoy - and thanks for the comments.


He looked around the alley at the cops scattered to and fro, he'd never felt more alone. Ellie didn't want him in her life and yet he couldn't leave her like he'd done all those other times. The familiar faces here did nothing more than remind him of his mistakes. His failed affair led to a failed marriage, the likes of which gave him a failed relationship with his daughter. All failures, all Jim Brass.

Alone, that was what he was destined to be. Any cop worth their salt just took it and kept going. Real men didn't dwell on empty hearts, only empty beds.

A deep sigh and returning breath and he smelled something familiar, it tickled at his senses. The weight of the world dropped off his shoulders at the first word he spoke. Seeing Warrick was like going home. Warrick with his all-seeing eyes, the ones that saw what even Jim Brass didn't want to see.

They slipped into their own familiar grooves and worked together like they had for years. It was good and it was safe. Warrick tore the clouds from the sky and helped him to focus and see what was important, Ellie.

It was that dim hotel room that did it and the lack of sleep, the grit in his eyes confused him. He wasn't seeing his co-worker, he was seeing a man. He was seeing someone else that was alone and someone else that could understand what he was made of.

They'd just called Nick and confirmed everything they already knew and waited for the sun to rise so they could head to the gun club. In that dim light he looked golden and untouchable but Brass knew he'd have to try.

He stood and stretched, arching his back and rotating his shoulders. He was stalling but he could feel Warrick's eyes on him. Peeling off his suit jacket and flinging it on the back of the chair he rolled his neck to the side a few times and then slid his fingers into the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first few without pause. And still he stared.

"Hey Rick, I'm going to crash for a bit. You should grab some shuteye too it's been a long day and it'll be an even longer day if this pans out." He quirked a smile at him and undid his cuffs with efficient practiced motions.

But Warrick made no effort to move, just watched silently.

His belt buckle was next and a sharp yank sent the belt slithering around his waist, snapping out the end. Warrick jerked and his breath hitched, he shifted in his seat. Letting the belt drop on the floor he reached for the tails of his shirt and pulled them roughly up and out of his pants. Undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt he slid first one shoulder, then the other out and let the material slide down to his fingertips where it was clutched in his hand. A quick toss to the chair his suit jacket lay on and a coy glance at Warrick gave him exactly what he wanted: incentive. Warrick's mouth was slightly open, his jaw loose and his eyes focused intently on Brass.

Turning his back to Warrick, he bent at the waist and untied his shoes, sliding his feet out with a sigh. Wriggling his toes, he pushed the shoes to the edge of the bed and then yanked down the covers. It wasn't cold in the room but he despised sleeping on top of the covers. A bed was meant to lie in, not on top of.

He smiled as Warrick swallowed thickly. He leaned on the edge of the bed and pulled up on his undershirt, wrenching it from his pants and up over his shoulders. He never could sleep with clothes on and undid the last barrier, his pants. See, Jim Brass was a proper man. He always wore an undershirt to protect both his dress shirts and provide an extra barrier of cloth. It was what proper men did. But Jim Brass wasn't entirely proper. He'd never liked wearing underwear, not even those sloppy boxers. They didn't fit him and so he'd long foreswore wearing them. The first time he dropped trou in front of someone made them think twice about who Jim Brass was ... and wasn't. It was deliciously shocking and he reveled in it.

Slipping his hands into his waistband, he began sliding the pants down his thighs not losing eye contact with Warrick, who had shifted to the edge of his seat, his legs tightly pressed together. He let them fall down his legs and he stepped out and then bent again, at the waist to push off his socks and then pick both them and his pants, placing them on the chair.

Jim Brass may not have been a Playgirl centerfold but that didn't mean he wasn't well built. His stature was solid and shapely, perfectly proportioned for his height. It all fit and fit him well. He turned back to Warrick, "you coming?" He smirked and slid under the sheets, reaching for the light by the bed and drenching his side of the room in darkness.

Warrick stood with a lurch and did his own abbreviated and not nearly as torturous strip tease, ending with him standing at the foot of the bed, naked as the morning. He was tall and he was sculptured, a warm David. His fingers twitched as he clenched his fists before kneeling on the foot of the bed and crawling up the bed toward Jim. He looked like a predator going after his prey - except he was the prey and didn't quite realize it.

His hips flexed with each movement forward. He was fluid and deceptively unhurried as he prowled closer. It was a short distance but felt too long as Jim watched him, mouth waiting to taste that skin.

And then he stopped, Jim trapped under his body as he crouched over him, "this what you wanted man?"

Jim smirked and one hand slid up over Warrick's neck and pulled him down, with resistance he tugged until Rick's lips were a mere breath away from his. Stretching his neck up to meet and met …nothing. Air.

Jim jerked and looked around the sparse hotel room. He was in bed, but clothed and alone. It was nothing but a dream.

He took a closer look at the room and saw that Warrick was sound asleep at the table they'd been working at. His face flattened against his arm as he lay on the table, his fingers twitched in sleep and Jim smiled.

He moved quickly and undressed to his pants before reaching for Warrick, a soft hand rubbing gently at his shoulder, "hey.”

Warrick roused under his touch, bleary eyes blinking up at him. His arm jerked, having almost been asleep itself, "hey," his voice husky and low.
Jim smiled and touched his cheek, "come to bed." He reached for Warrick's hand and gripped it in his, leading him toward the bed. He pulled down the covers on the unused side of the bed and maneuvered him in, settling the covers up to his chest.

Satisfied, he began moving away and was yanked back by a hand at the waistband on his pants, he looked back at Warrick.

"Don't I get a goodnight kiss?" Warrick’s voice was low and curled through the empty silence.

Jim turned as he was released and knelt down at the side of the bed, putting his face even with Warrick's, "that depends."

Warrick smiled, "on what?"

"If I get one back."