Obsenad

for QAF-post
by B.C.

This Obsenad is brought to you courtesy of the fact that I just finished watching the latest (yes, American) QAF.

And I like our "Brian" better.

"Where is he?" Jim leaned down to scream in Blair's ear.

"He'll probably be on the floor," Blair screamed back, taking Jim's shoulder to lean up and get his lips closer to Jim's ear. "He'd have to be on the catwalks some of the time--that is part of what he's supposed to be getting paid for--but once he spots anyone who'd fit the description, he'd head for the floor and try to get close to them."

"Like he'd have any problem," Jim muttered back, his eyes scanning the catwalks. Well-maintained physiques, running from one end of the skin, body type and style-of-presentation spectrum to the other, gyrated thereon, before strobing lights, as glitter floated through the air.

"You still okay?"

"I'll never be able to find him in here. The dials don't do any good--one minute I've got them down, and the lights drop, and I'm blind, so I dial back up, and the lights go actinic and I'm blind again. You're going to have to find him."

"He said on the cell that he was going to try to stay on the suspect as long as he could. He won't have much time before he's either expected to move on to entertaining another customer or, well, put up. I'll find him as fast as I can."

Jim muttered "Poor guy. I don't think any of us went to the academy for the purpose of winding up as a b-girl."

"Hey, you've pulled the same duty, man, haven't you?"

"Hell no. I spent most of my time in Vice busting numbers rings. The only thing I've done in this sort of bust is mop-up."

"Well, that's why you're here now. Go ahead, try to get private, take the strain off your eyes, and I'll--"

Jim's eyes suddenly focused on a catwalk almost directly overhead. "Wait, forget it. There he is."

Blair's eyes followed Jim's. "Oh, come on. That isn't..." slowly, his big blue eyes grew wider as his full mouth fell involuntarily open.

They were almost underneath him, which might have exaggerated the effect of his movements. It wasn't all hips, though; he had his whole torso involved, and, since the catwalk was transparent, it was easy to see that his footwork was at least the equal of any of the other hired dancers in the club. And if any of those back at the station who'd given him no end of hell for being tapped for this assignment had thought this kind of display would make their friend seem any less masculine...well, they hadn't known shit.

He wasn't wearing one of the more exaggerated costumes, no g-string, no sequins; though his bare upper body glittered a bit with the ubiquitous sparkly stuff that floated around the club at intervals, and the police cap he wore had a gleaming metallic band over the brim; it managed to make his penetrating hazel eyes almost laserlike in intensity. For the rest, he wore a pair of matte-black lycra pants and snug-fitting black leather boots that rose to his knees, managing to suggest a police uniform. The handcuffs swinging suggestively near his groin contributed, too. He also had a billowy white dress shirt thrown on and left open, but it spent more time off of his shoulders than on.

"Jesus. That *is* him. If he's back on the catwalk he must have lost the suspect. He'll be looking either for him or us--"

Just then the object of their attention paused in his more energetic gyrations, going into a slower grind, rotating in a slow circle, arms above his head--he was unobtrusively scanning the floor. Jim suddenly pushed Blair onto the dance floor, picked him up by his slim, denim-clad hips, and whirled in an exuberant circle with him. Blair cooperated by raising his arms and throwing his head back, laughing, as Jim spun them through the crowd.

Rafe made an elaborate, seductive gesture with both arms as his hips issued an invitation to them both; he locked eyes with Jim, and they grinned at each other. Jim let Blair down and they began to dance their way over to the catwalk. Brian was doing a complex half-shimmy, half-pseudo-march step that let him descend toward the floor, on a transparent staircase that was lit from below; he whipped a rapid spin with each step, cracking and flourishing the white shirt like a cape. It glowed in the black lights he occasionally passed.

Jim moved up behind him as Rafe playfully removed his fake cop hat and set it on Blair's curls. The three of them coordinated their movements, Blair facing Rafe. They were all smiling as though maybe a little stoned, a little drunk, a lot high on hormones. Jim yanked Brian's head back so that it fell against his shoulder and planted a deep kiss on him, their movements never slowing.

Blair was ostentatiously getting into the music as Brian's hands squeezed his hips, pulling Blair up against him in time with the song's rhythm. "High, higher than the sun, shoot me from a gun, I need you to el-e-vate me here: as the corner of your lips, as the orbit of your hips--eclipse--you elevate my soul...!"

Brian's head stayed where it was as he hollered to Jim "All three of them! They're all still here!"

"We kinda figured, or we'd be having a conversation, not a three-way makeout session," Jim agreed.

Brian laughed, genuinely amused, but playing it up. Jim grinned back, and Brian continued "Hewson wants me to meet him when I get off work here, which won't be until two; so it's happening before that."

"You know where?"

"He says he's got a job at Aspen and Eightieth--he told me he was a maintenance man for an automated security firm."

"Sondheim's Jewelry."

"That's the place. Unfortunately his buddies don't like his habit of picking up go-go boys to celebrate thier successful heists--like our intelligence said, he talks too much when he's had a few."

"So at least one of them, or another accomplice, is going to stay here to see that his latest choice doesn't do anything suspicious until the job's over, just in case he let something slip, and his pick of the evening has something resembling a conscience...or maybe they'll just pay someone to keep an eye on you...?"

"Yep. Unfortunately it's one of the bouncers." He made a quick gesture with a jerk of his head. "The granite statue over there. I've been here long enough to know that nothing short of the place catching fire is going to move him from his post; no staging a fight or asking him if he'd like a little free party. He's here to stay, so I am, too."

"That sucks," Jim grinned hugely.

Brian grinned back. "Fuck you, Ellison."

"If you don't stop rubbing your ass against my wad, that may become a visible possibility on my personal horizon. Speaking of which..." Jim kissed Brian again, then indicated Blair with an amused nod.

Blair, eyes closed, head thrown back, was still singing as they all moved. "I, and I in the sky, you make me feel like I can fly--so high--EL! EH! VA! TION...!"

"Well, at least he's having a good time," Brian said. "But his dick's about to punch a hole in my lycra." Brian suddenly spun Blair and yanked him up against his front, beginning a slow grind against his ass, coordinating it with the one coming against him from behind, courtesy of Jim.

"Okay, I'm going to get on the horn with Simon and the teams," Jim said into Brian's ear. "We've got a location and a time window; that's damn fast work for no more than you had to start out with."

"Actually you can thank Hewson, for being such a stupid bastard. For one thing, I'm pretty sure my costume is what caught his eye--that kind of self-impressed sense of humor, you know. It's not hard to believe he isn't the brains of the operation. Frankly I wonder that these guys have been so successful with a moron like that on their team."

"No choice, I guess--he's supposed to be one of the best in the country with security systems, and safecracking, both."

"Must be an idiot-savante."

"No doubt."

"Look, you want me to hang onto Sandburg for you, or do you want him on the bust?"

"Aren't you supposed to have made a date already this evening? Won't the watchdog get suspicious?"

"You really think my esteemed colleagues necessarily limit themselves to one transaction per evening? The ones that transact at all, I mean."

"Good point."

Blair turned his head to run his tongue slowly and wetly up Rafe's throat. When his mouth was near both Jim and Brian's ears, he said "I'm not deaf, you pricks. I'm going with Jim."

"Simon would likely rather you didn't, Chief," Jim demurred, suddenly swinging them all around so they were facing each other, a triangular circle, moving in and out against itself, arms and hands wandering up and down backs and asses. "These guys are *slick*. There's no other way they could have avoided getting caught with that moron Hewson pulling this kind of thing. We aren't the first to try to bust these guys in the act."

"You need me, man. I'm your partner. I'm going."

"C'mon, Sandburg," Rafe cajoled, leaning down to apply his mouth to Blair's neck just under his ear, none of them slowing their motion to the music. "I could use the company. This is a real armpit of an assignment. I'm getting tired of being groped by strangers."

"So you don't mind being groped by people you know?" Jim laughed.

"Not you two, no. I know where your hands have been," Brian pointed out, and Jim and Blair both cracked up.

Jim whirled them all in a circle and yanked them all back together again with a tug. "You've been with the two of us for almost a whole dance-mix tune; everyone probaby thinks we've already retained your services for the evening. So it wouldn't raise the watchdog's eyebrows if Sandburg stayed around and gave you a friendly face to dance with every now and then."

"'Face'?" Blair asked exaggeratedly, squeezing Jim's butt with his left hand. The right was massaging its way down the spinal indentation of Rafe's back.

Brian grinned and Jim snorted "Whatever. Give Simon and Brian both a break, Sandburg, what do you say?"

"Well...I'll stay until you think it's going down. When Hewson and at least one of the others have left, I'll join you, wherever your team's positioned."

"Knowing you, that's the best I'm going to get. Right; Simon'll have to settle for that. Kiss me, both of you; make it look like you both expect to see me later tonight, and I'll get out of here."

"We *do* both expect to see you la--"

Jim gently pinched Blair's ass. "You know what I mean. Hold on." He pulled a pager from his pocket, made motions of looking at it, then shoved it back into his tight jeans and said "Okay, go." He leaned down for a lush, wet kiss from Blair, got another from Brian, and let them dance him over to the edge of the floor, where he ducked free and started for the front door.

As he and Brian continued to grind against each other, Blair whipped his soft chamois shirt off, letting it fall to the back of a couch they happened to be near. "What was the pager for?" Blair wondered, as Brian ran his fingers through Blair's chest hair.

"The boner he got rubbing up against my ass. A guy who looks like him wouldn't be leaving this place in *that* condition without some pressing concern to drag him out. Might've looked suspicious to our watchdog, since he can see we've been talking."

"Oh. Yeah, sure, I get it. Anybody ever tell you you are one fucking hell of a dancer?"

"You guys aren't so bad yourselves." Brian pulled him in for a sloppy kiss, hands caressing his ass. "Jim gets the tech points for execution; your forte is being generally delectable and enjoying yourself so obviously."

"No wonder you get this duty so often. You've got the nuances down."

"I get this duty so often because I look like jailbait, and yeah, I can dance. Jim could make a patron easy, but not a dancer; you and I are the only ones in MC who look young enough to pass, and you're--"

"--not a cop, I know, I know. The force hires women to pretend to be hookers to make arrests. I've pulled decoy duty working with Jim. What's the big difference?"

"You're way too attractive to be a hooker, Blair."

"So are you."

"*I* am a dancer who makes dates at work. Sometimes I get paid for them. That's not quite the same thing, trust me. Besides, Blair, this is dangerous shit. You never know what kind of drugged-out s.o.b. you might run up against."

"Look, I may not carry a gun, but I happen to know you don't have one stashed under those slacks, either--if you did, you wouldn't be able to move like that."

Brian chuckled. "Look, it's nearly time for me to take a break; why don't you hit the bar for something to drink, and I'll see you again in a few."

"Sure, Rafe. What do I do if I get hit on?"

"What do you always do?"

"Tell 'em I'm married and faithful, which wouldn't ring very true if we're supposed to be doing what we're supposed to be doing, here."

"Why not? Say you're married to Jim, and the two of you like to look for a little three-way occasionally, no big deal. But hubby might get upset if he's not involved, so..."

"Good idea. Thanks, Rafe. See you in a few."

***

"Hi," came Brian's voice; Jim and Simon turned to see Rafe approaching from the corner, which he was evidently parked around. "Captain," he said, trotting up. He was still in his dance costume, but he'd buttoned the shirt up. There was no tucking *anything* into those pants without creating bulges that would be highly amusing in their unsightliness, so it hung loose. (Brian's own various bulges, of course, were a long way from unsightly.) As always, he looked like he'd just finished getting freshened up--smelling clean with a very faint scent of cologne, eyeliner intact, no beard shadow. "Henri said it came down without a hitch."

"Yep, sure did, for once," Simon said, obviously in a good mood--but he couldn't let this bitch-and-moan opportunity go by. "Rafe, couldn't you have changed clothes, for gods' sake? And, come on, I mean--a *cop* costume? Were you *trying* to blow your cover?"

"The 'Purloined Letter' technique, sir," Rafe grinned. "Hide in plain sight. Besides, the irony appeals to me. Sandburg didn't walk into the middle of anything and screw it up, did he?"

"No," Blair said as he came up to join them, "Sandburg did not, fuck you very much. I went straight to where Jim's team was stationed and stayed out of the way, just like a good little observer," he finished dryly as everyone chuckled at him. "Man, aren't you *cold*?"

"After dancing for hours in that overheated, spunk-drenched joint? I'm loving the fresh air. Patterson--the club owner, you remember--I spoke to him after Henri called me. Said he was glad to have been of service, and anytime I want to quit the force he's got a job for me." He grinned.

"Oh yeah," Jim said, beginning to--very competently--imitate one of Brian's trademark swivels. "You got all the moves, baby--"

"Jim! Jesus, will you cut that out?" Simon groused. "I don't know about you guys, but it's nearly two in the morning, and I'm ready for some shut-eye. I suggest you all get some, too, because I'll expect you all in tomorrow morning to fill out the paperwork on this."

"Of course, Captain," Rafe said while Blair poked Jim in the ribs, making him squirm and stop gyrating. The two began to get into a poking match, but just then Blair looked up. "Looks like they're taking 'em away--uh, oh. Isn't that Hewson--and the other one, the brains of the team--Picietti?"

The other members of the gang had apparently already been taken away; two dark-garbed, handcuffed men were being conducted to separate waiting cruisers. One of them, seeing the four of them, stopped dead--no, the man had stopped on seeing Rafe, specifically. "*Brian*?" he squeaked in disbelief.

Brian grinned and did an undulating sort of pirouette, stopping on a dime and blowing Hewson a kiss. "Sorry to miss our date, Paul. Next time around, maybe?"

"You *idiot*!" the other cuffed man bellowed, trying to lunge for Hewson and being restrained with some difficulty by the uniforms holding him. "A *cop*? You not only pick up another cheap fuck, you not only blab about the job--but of all the ass in the place you pick an *undercover cop*?! I'll fucking *kill* you, you fucking--" he was being stuffed into the car by that point, and the rest of his tirade was muffled by the slamming of the door.

The four of them snickered for a moment, until Simon said "Okay, okay, everybody, come on. Laugh's on him, great. Now let's all head home and get some rest. Like I said, I'll be seeing all of you in the morning." He exchanged final goodnights with them and headed off toward his own car.

"Well," Brian said. "Congrats, you guys. We'll have to get everybody involved in this one and go out to celebrate this weekend, whaddaya say?"

"Sounds great to me," Jim agreed, Blair nodding too.

"Cool. I've gotta say, you two handled yourselves...really well."

"Nothing to the way you did, man," Blair said, softly, and obviously very sincerely. "It can't be easy to keep your cool and still stay in character in the middle of...of all that stuff you were in the middle of."

"It's not. Thanks for hanging with me, makes it easier. Well, I'll head home. You guys...have a good evening, right?" He smiled at them both...then winked, before turning to start back down the sidewalk to the next block where his car was.

"Um, yeah, Brian," Blair called after him. "We will. You too."

Rafe glanced back to acknowledge the well-wish, and winked again, rather pointedly this time. As he continued on, his shirt began to slip from his shoulders; as it fell completely, he caught it and whipped it casually over his shoulder. He was whistling U2's "Elevation", walking--if you could call it that--in time with the insistent rhythm.

When he'd reached his car, gotten in and begun accelerating down the street, Jim and Blair were still standing there, staring after him, looking glaze-eyed.

Finally Sandburg shook himself. "Uh...uhm, I mean, man. Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief." Jim managed to tear his eyes from Rafe's tail lights and turn his gaze down to his almost visibly-glowing friend.

"Sometimes I *really* love police work."

Jim answered his luminous smile with a grin of his own. "Yeah. I gotta admit...it's *really* got its moments. So...time to head home, buddy?"

"My thoughts exactly, man."

***

The End