"This is supposed to go the other way, dumbass," Brendan said, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that was screaming. It was screaming that he was forever going to have a crystal-clear memory of watching James bleed out on the art gallery floor.

He'd sent Chloe to call 911, unable to look at her horrified face. He wished Freya was there, wished it more than anything. He needed to know what James was thinking; needed to know that James was still in there.

"James," he said, pressing his hand to James' bloody shoulder, staring into his pale face.

"Sir? Sir, you have to move." Brendan hadn't even heard the paramedics arrive. He took his hand away reluctantly and stood, moving back enough to let them work.

Chloe stumbled over to him, and he caught her, pulling her close.

"Brendan?" She sounded young and scared - nothing like the happy free spirit he knew her to be. She clung to him, and probably didn't even notice that he was clinging back so hard that he was leaving bloody handprints on the back of her flowy white shirt.

Brendan didn't generally wear a gun to look at art but sometimes he came by the gallery when he was in the neighborhood. Sometimes he had lunch with James and Chloe, and sometimes he and James spent the hour in James' comfortable bed.

Lucky for him, today had been one of those days that he'd worn a gun to look at art - or, rather, to look at Chloe's new piece and James' ass, both equally interesting. Being armed in the gallery was perfectly okay with Brendan. Because he was armed, he'd been able to shoot the pawnshop robber who had gotten off the wild shot that took James down with a bullet in his shoulder.

Brendan hadn't even tried to disable the gunman. He just lined up his sights and shot the fucker in the chest. If he hadn't thought it would have provoked an investigation, he'd have shot him in the head.

"Brendan?" James was lying there on the carpet, surrounded by the broken glass that had once been the front windows of Trompe-l'œil. The shot had come out of nowhere: eighteen inches to the right and it would have hit Brendan, eighteen inches to the left, Chloe.

Before James could call his name again, Brendan was on his knees, feeling his pants rip from the broken glass, the shards digging unheeded into his skin.

"You're okay, Jimmy," he said, scrabbling at James' jacket, trying to get down to his shoulder, down past cotton and blood to James' warm skin. To living skin.

James coughed and looked up at Brendan. "Don't call me that," he said, his voice faint and wheezy.

"Shut up," Brendan said. "No talking."

James smiled and closed his eyes. "Bossy," he whispered.

"Do what I say," Brendan said, his voice quietly desperate. "This is supposed to go the other way, dumbass."

Chloe's white shirt had a big bloody handprint on the back. She didn't even notice it until Freya pointed it out. Freya got her one of the paint- stained tee shirts - one without any trace of red on it - and helped her slip into it.

Chloe had called Freya without thinking as soon as she hung up with the 911 operator.

"I sent Brendan with the ambulance," she said. "He was a mess. I don't think I've ever seen him scared, but he was terrified."

Freya took Chloe's hand. "Is there someone who you can call to secure the window?"

"Lionel," Chloe said quickly. "He always helps. He's very trustworthy."

Freya remembered. Lionel from the Nighthawks adventure. She took the phone out of Chloe's hand and scrolled through the numbers until she found the right name. When he picked up, she simply said, "get down here."

After a short pause, he said, "okay" in his usual unflappable way, then hung up the phone.

He got there in record time, and Freya could feel when his concern and curiosity turned into fear and horror when he saw the blood on the gallery's floor. He rushed into the back and wrapped Chloe in his arms.

Lionel looked over his shoulder at Freya, who rapped out a concise explanation of what had happened. Lionel pushed Chloe gently toward Freya. "Go on," he said. "I've got it here. Call me when you know something."

Freya grabbed Chloe and hurried her out the door.

Brendan wasn't in the habit of wearing a gun to the hospital, but he went through the metal detectors at high speed, throwing his credentials at the gaping desk nurse. He walked as close as he could to the gurney holding James. He was trying desperately not to freak out over the IV, the oxygen mask, the neck brace, the backboard, and the bloody bandage being pressed against James' shoulder.

One of the nurses pushed him back a little. "You can stay, Agent, but you can't get in the way." She gave his forearm a squeeze. "He's in good hands."

Brendan nodded and found a bit of wall to lean on and stood there blankly, trying not to hear phrases like "the bullet's still in there," and "pressure's dropping," and calls for blood and drugs and a trip to Radiology.

He pushed away from the wall when they started wheeling James away, but the same nurse as before waved him off.

"They're taking him for x-rays and then to surgery. I'll make sure you get to see him before he goes in." She gave him a soft smile, then pushed him back toward the waiting area.

As soon as he came through the doors, he saw them. Freya's head snapped up and she stood, moving quickly to Brendan's side. When she opened her arms, Brendan practically fell into them, sparing a thought for the chaos she must have been reading from his mind.

Freya didn't even care that Brendan's mind was shrieking at her. All his fear was threatening to take her over, and she struggled to keep it together; she needed to concentrate on him. Brendan - who was always so cool and collected - was shaking hard enough to wrack her body, too.

"Easy," she whispered into his chest, where he was almost crushing her.

"Brendan. Honey," she said. "You have to get it under control. This isn't helping anybody." She accompanied her words with soothing strokes up and down his back.

After a minute or so, his mind calmed - by sheer force of will, Freya could tell - and he slowly released her from his tight grip. When he looked up, Freya pointed him toward Chloe. She was ashen-faced, slumped into a plastic chair. Freya was getting nothing at all from her.

She watched as Brendan knelt in front of Chloe and took her hands in his. She could hear the low murmur of his voice as he spoke to her, trying to gentle her back to them.

Freya left them alone and went to look for a coffee machine. She had to use nearly all of her strength to block out the hundred frightened voices trying to push their way into her mind. When she returned, she brought two cups of crappy coffee and a couple of granola bars.

"Here," she said, shoving the food at them. "I have to...go."

Brendan grimaced at her and tapped his temple. She frowned and nodded.

Brendan was actually glad when Freya left. It gave him the freedom to freak out as much as he wanted to, at least in the privacy of his own head.

Chloe gripped his hand tightly. She'd come out of her shock a little when he reassured her that James was in good hands. Still, it was an absolute relief to not have to suppress his panic. He stood there and remembered James' blood on the floor, the sound of breaking glass, and the sound James made as he went down.

"Agent Dean?" It was the nurse who had been so kind earlier. She handed him his credentials, then looked down at his knees and made a disapproving noise. Until that moment, Brendan hadn't remembered the glass.

"Come with me," the nurse said. "Let's take care of that."

Brendan sighed and stood up, Chloe clinging to his hand. The nurse looked back and forth between them before shrugging and leading them to a treatment room.

"Up there," she said to Brendan, pointing to the bed. Chloe continued to cling. The nurse lifted Chloe's chin so they were looking each other in the face.

"I'm Terry," she said gently. "If you'll let go of Agent Dean for few minutes so I can fix his knees, I promise to give him right back."

Chloe slowly released Brendan's hand, but kept her eyes on Terry. "He's not mine," Chloe said, glancing at Brendan. "He's Jimmy's." She moved to a chair next to the bed and sat, closing her eyes.

"These pants are a loss," Terry told Brendan. "Want to step out or have me cut them off?"

Brendan stood and shrugged out of his jacket. Terry looked surprised at the gun, but she didn't say anything. Brendan checked the safety and set it aside. When he dropped his pants, Terry smirked at his boxers, which had ‘hot stuff' written all over them. "Gift," he told Terry, kicking off his shoes and hopping back up onto the bed. He and Terry both looked down at his bloodstained white dress shirt.

"I'll get you some scrubs when we're done," she said quietly.

Brendan shrugged and looked at the top of her head as she examined his knees.

"There's some embedded glass," she said. "But none of the cuts need stitching."

Brendan winced when she washed his knees with antiseptic, and a few times while she was removing the larger shards, but he was mostly numb. After she finished patching him up, she left and came back with a set of green scrubs and a packet of wipes. Brendan nodded at her and she left.

Chloe sat placidly in her chair while Brendan pulled off his shirt and undershirt and cleaned James blood from his chest and arms, his legs, and his shoes. There were splashes of blood on his boxers, but he kept them on anyway. The scrubs were a loose fit, but they were clean. Brendan stuffed his clothes into a hazmat bin. Just as he finished, Terry came back.

"You can see him," she said. "They're prepping him for surgery to get the bullet out."

Brendan found Chloe attached to his hand again while Terry led them to a small room. James was there, all the blood cleaned up and with a large pad over the front of his shoulder. He had an oxygen mask on, but he smiled through it. The anesthetist lifted it away.

"Oh, god," James said softly. "Tell me they aren't letting you do the surgery."

Brendan didn't get it for a second, but then he looked down at the scrubs he was wearing. "Come on, Jimmy. I'm an old hand at this. I've been shot a few times."

"That doesn't make you a surgeon," James said, trying to glare but not quite making it.

Chloe stepped up and laid her hand on James' leg. "No more getting shot," she said, "either of you."

"We promise," Brendan said. "We'll be good." James smiled, looking sleepy. Brendan and the anesthetist both looked at the IV bag. Brendan leaned down and pressed an awkward kiss to James' knee; Chloe squeezed his thigh once more, then they stood back as James was wheeled away.

Four hours into what was supposed to be a three-hour surgery, Brendan called for reinforcements. "Freya, I need you," he said, desperate. "I know the hospital drives you batshit insane, but they won't tell me anything; Chloe is practically catatonic, and I can't hold it together much longer." He was panting, and when he stopped talking he had to suck in several deep breaths.

"Stop hyperventilating, Brendan. I'm leaving now. Go take care of Chloe." He heard her phone click shut.

By the time Freya reached them, Chloe was curled into Brendan's lap, her face buried in his chest. He was smoothing her tumbled hair and staring off into the distance, just waiting. He was waiting for Chloe to speak or move, for Terry or the doctor to come out and talk to them, just waiting.

He was jolted awake when Freya walked up to them and snapped, "Get up."

Brendan stared. Chloe even lifted her head. "I said, get up." Freya crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. "Chloe, you are a family member, and you, Brendan, you are an armed Federal agent. How is it that you don't have any information about James?"

Brendan looked up dumbly. "I gave the security guy my gun."

"Get. Up," Freya repeated. Chloe held out a hand, and Freya pulled her up by it. She jerked Chloe into a short, hard hug. When they broke apart, Chloe's expression firmed. She nodded and she and Freya headed toward the reception desk. Brendan sat up straighter in his chair as Chloe's expression got grimmer and grimmer. After a few minutes, she waved him over. "They say they don't know anything. What about the nurse from earlier?"

Brendan immediately pulled up a complete mental picture of her; right down to the name badge she'd been wearing. "Terry," he said. Brendan turned to the nurse at the registration desk, his eyes going cold. "Terry Gordon," he snapped. "I need to see her right now." He thought that his authority was probably undermined by the fact that he was wearing wrinkled scrubs and his hair looked like a bird's nest, but the nurse stared at him for a second before picking the phone up. A few minutes later, Terry came through the door. She looked at Brendan and smiled softly. "I should have known it was you kicking up such a fuss, Agent," she said, laying a hand on his forearm.

"What's going on with Jimmy?" Chloe demanded and Brendan looked at her, surprised by her vehemence.

Terry turned to her. "He's fine, honey. They're finishing him up right now.

Freya's eyes narrowed. "What happened?" she said. "Some sort of complication?" Brendan knew she was taking the information right out of Terry's mind.

"He's okay," Terry repeated. "They're just finishing up his stitches. His doctor will be out to talk to you shortly."

Brendan looked at Freya, and she gave him a tiny nod.

"Fine," Brendan said. "We'll be over there." He pointed to the little cluster of chairs they'd claimed as their own. Terry nodded and went back through the doors.

"Chloe," Freya said, "why don't you go clean up a little?"

Chloe nodded and walked toward the bathrooms. Freya immediately turned to Brendan. "The bullet's out. They nicked an artery on the way out and had to call in a vascular guy to fix it. He lost a good bit of blood. Trust me, you do not want to see that image." She shuddered. "Anyway, he's fine. They really are stitching him up. It'll take about an hour to get him up to his room." She looked Brendan over before laying her hand on his arm. "Go get something to eat. Take Chloe with you." When he started to shake his head, she gave his arm a warning squeeze. "Eat," she said. "Food and coffee and maybe a cookie. Go. Now."

Just as Brendan was about to protest, Chloe came back. "You," Freya said to her, "go with him."

Brendan looked back and forth between them for a moment before folding like a freshly laundered towel. He led Chloe away, glaring back at Freya and deliberately sent a picture of her as a drill sergeant, complete with hat and riding crop.

Sometimes, Brendan accused Freya of holding back information she deemed irrelevant. It was true. She didn't think he needed to be privy to the bloody death many of their suspects wished for him. He didn't need to know how many witnesses spent time mentally undressing one of them. Or both. He didn't need to know that Harper envied him almost to the point of psychosis; that two of his fellow agents thought he was an arrogant prick, and he certainly didn't need to know how close James had come to dying on the table.

It had been pretty close. She'd seen it in Terry's mind. Lots and lots of blood - both going out and coming in - and the mad scramble to get the vascular surgeon scrubbed and gowned and into the room; the terse orders and the quick sure moves that had stopped the bleeding. Brendan didn't need to know those things because once known, Brendan would be incapable of forgetting them, and Freya would spare him that as much as she could.

She waited in their little fortress of chairs and empty food wrappers, keeping her head down and blocking out as much of the mental noise as she could. Brendan and Chloe were back inside twenty minutes, and both looked a little less haggard.

"Feeling better?" she asked Brendan. He nodded, and she could feel that it was true. His panic had receded somewhat. Hearing that James was out of the woods had helped. The food had calmed him even more. Chloe looked better, too, though her hair was a mess.

"Come on," Freya said, and led her to the bathroom. Once there, Freya brushed Chloe's snarled hair and wet some paper towels, handing them over so Chloe could wipe her face.

"I'm not usually this helpless," Chloe said with a wry laugh.

"It's okay," Freya said, putting the brush back into her purse. "Where's the rest of the family?"

Chloe sighed. "Mom and dad are in St. Barts and Daphne is in Prague. I figured the was no use calling them until I knew...until I knew..."

Chloe's eyes started to well up and Freya wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "He's going to be fine, Chloe. He's going to be okay."

Chloe looked into the mirror, her gaze meeting Freya's steadily. "I believe you," she said firmly. "You're never wrong. How do you do that?"

Freya didn't answer; she just led Chloe back to Brendan. He was speaking quietly with Terry, and Freya resisted the urge to peek. She didn't have to; Brendan's look of relief told her everything she needed to know.

"He's in Recovery," Brendan said. "We'll be able to see him soon."

Chloe practically jumped into Brendan's arms, and she dragged Freya with her. The feeling of Brendan's warm palm against her back was more reassuring than anything.

Three hours later, James still wasn't awake. Brendan was at his bedside, Chloe had been persuaded to go home to rest, and Freya hadn't needed to be persuaded to drive her - Brendan could see from the way she frowned and wrinkled her brow that the mental "noise" was getting to the point where she couldn't block it out.

Brendan was exhausted. He knew he looked as bad as he felt - a quick glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed that. He just wished that James would wake up - one quick flash of blue eyes and Brendan would be able to rest. If James just opened his eyes and said one word, Brendan could let go of the tension that held him tight as a bowstring.

He leaned forward in his chair and put his head down on James' bed.

Brendan woke suddenly. He woke suddenly because he was being poked in the head by James' bony index finger. He swatted at the annoyance before coming fully awake. When his head cleared, he sat up fast. "James?"

James blinked up at Brendan, then smiled. "Not dead," he said, as if it was a happy surprise.

Brendan grabbed the bed rail to keep himself from smacking James up the back of the head. "Yes," he said tightly. "You're not. And I'm keeping you that way if I have to lock you in your apartment."

"Wasn't my fault," James insisted, his words slurring a little. "I was minding my own business."

Brendan fell back into his chair, defeated. "This is supposed to go the other way, dumbass."

"Right," James said, leaning back against the pillows. He rolled his eyes. "I don't know if I want to this from that seat either."

Brendan felt his heart sink. "James," he said, and he knew his voice sounded tight and strange. "It's my job." He didn't know if James was asking him to choose. He didn't know if he could - he didn't know if he could be anything else than what he was.

James thumped him on the back of the hand. "I'm not asking you to quit your job, and I'm not breaking up with you. I'm just saying that I'd prefer it if you didn't get shot."

Brendan felt a happy smile break through. "You'd prefer it?"

"Yes," James said. "I have a strong preference for not sitting on one of those crappy chairs and keeping a deathwatch over you."

Brendan leaned down and kissed the back of James' hand. "It's not a deathwatch. I prefer to think of it as a vigil."

"If it's a vigil," James said, "where are all the candles?"

Brendan looked up, happy to see James so animated, even though much of it could be attributed to the fact that he was doped to the eyeballs with the really good drugs.

"You want candles?" Brendan said. "I'll give you all the candles you want if you just stop getting shot. I'll give you whatever you want."

James' smile was getting sleepier. "Whatever I want? You'll do my taxes? Buy me a pony? Let me fuck you?"

Brendan looked at him very seriously. "I will ride you like a government mule if you'll get better and never get shot again."

James fell asleep giggling and snorting, choking out "government mule" just before drifting off. Brendan watched him fondly, and then went out to call Freya.

James' family's idea of recuperation was quite different than Brendan had expected. They descended on James' apartment, packed up James, Brendan and Chloe and bodily moved them to a gorgeous country house in Connecticut.

James and Brendan wound up in what the family called "Jimmy's room" - a huge suite on the second floor complete with a library, a tremendous bathroom and a balcony that overlooked the gazebo and pool Brendan recognized from the photos of Lionel's fashion show.

After three weeks, James was complaining about the physical therapy, the restrictions placed on him, the itchiness of his stitches, and his mother and sisters' constant hovering. For his part, Brendan was kind of weirded out. He'd never been in any situation where he was constantly asked what he needed, and Chloe finally had to take him aside on the third day and give him a stern talking to because he was making the staff nervous because he wouldn't let them do their jobs. After that, he'd tried to be better about it, but it still made him feel weird to be fussed over.

The end of the fourth week meant the end of Brendan's time off, so that weekend took on the feel of the last days of vacation. James was going to stay another two weeks (argued with the whole family down from four in one of the toughest negotiations Brendan had ever been party to). Chloe wanted to get back to the rebuilt gallery, and James wanted to get home. Daphne wanted to go back to Prague, though she declined to say why. The tremendous amount of time she spent on international phone calls gave Brendan a clue.

"It's the last Saturday," James said from the bed.

Brendan was looking out one of the bedroom's large windows, watching the limousine head up the driveway. "Looks like everyone cleared out so we could have lots and lots of farewell sex."

"They're nice that way," James said.

Brendan turned away from the window to see James unbuttoning his shirt with one hand.

"Hey," Brendan said. "Can't we...uh...have dinner first?"

James sat up. "You absolutely do not have to do this, Brendan."

Brendan felt foolish. He wanted James to fuck him. At least, he was pretty sure he did. He hadn't planned on always being on top, it had just happened. All the guys he'd been had been happy to bottom all the time. So, at the advanced age of thirty-six, fifteen years out of the closet, Brendan Dean was a virgin of sorts.

He walked to the bed and sat on the edge closest to James. "I'm just being stupid," Brendan said. "You want it. I want it. There's a huge bed here, and no one's home. Your father even gave the staff the night off."

"No pressure, right?" James slid down to sit next to Brendan, placing a soft hand on his thigh. "We can keep going like we're going, you know."

James meant the very careful sex they'd had over the past week. Brendan had sucked James off several times, admonishing him to not move and hurt his shoulder. James had moaned and flexed as much as he could under Brendan's restraining hands, coming with low moans and gasps. After, Brendan had rolled James over on his good side, slicked lube along the cleft of his ass and rubbed off on him, moving as slowly as he could. It had been good, but being so close but not inside James had frustrated him to no end.

"You can do me," James said, "You know I'm dying for it."

"No," Brendan said quickly. "You might get hurt and then it would take you longer to get home."

James squeezed down on Brendan's leg. "Seriously, you're making me feel like a date-rapist. I don't even want to fuck you anymore. I think I'd feel guilty."

Brendan was about to protest when he caught a flash of James' sly smile. "Guilty, huh?" he said. "Like maybe you need therapy? Like sex therapy?"

James turned and kissed Brendan on the cheek. "Smooth, B - you scare off a lot of boyfriends with lame lines like that?"

Brendan turned and kissed James lightly on the mouth. "Haven't scared you off yet."

"Not gonna happen," James said. "I'm keeping you."

It was James' words - spoken with such conviction - that made up Brendan's mind. He could do it - for both of them. He had to think that James wanted turnabout, though he'd never said a word until he was drugged and his inhibitions were lowered. Brendan wondered how long James had been waiting.

Brendan turned and gently pushed James down onto the bed, easing him back onto the pillows. "Stay there," he said.

"Hey!" James fought just a little, probably for form's sake.

Brendan smiled down at him. "Relax."

James watched avidly as Brendan stripped them both before reaching into the bed table for the lube. Brendan knew that he wasn't all the way hard; knew his nerves were inhibiting him.

James looked Brendan over and frowned. "You aren't really convincing me here, Brendan," he said.

Brendan climbed over James, straddling him. "Stop pressuring me," Brendan said. "I'm trying." James opened his mouth to speak, but Brendan shut him up with a kiss that went quickly from sweet to rough. By the time they pulled apart, Brendan was fully hard and rubbing his cock against James' hip.

"Okay," James said. "That's more like it."

"Glad I could meet your approval," Brendan said dryly. "Now get your hands - hand - on me."

James complied, amazingly dexterous with one hand, digging his fingers into the nape of Brendan's neck, sliding it down to twist a nipple, reaching to give Brendan's cock a few hard strokes.

"I can't believe I'm going to be in you," James moaned, fingers slipping down, tracing behind Brendan's balls. Brendan couldn't repress a hard shudder. He'd had one of James' fingers inside him during blowjobs, but this was going to be totally different - totally new.

"You've wanted this for a long time," Brendan said, somewhat ruefully.

James twitched his hips up, pressing his cock against Brendan. "I just want it. Want you."

"Want you, too." Brendan wanted James - had always wanted James. If there was anything James needed or wanted from him, Brendan was willing to do anything to make it happen. He sucked in a deep breath, then leaned down to whisper into James' ear. "I want you," he said - softly, roughly. "I want you to fuck me. I want you in me."

It was worth it to feel James shake under him, to hear James' breath catch. It was going to be okay. He knew James could and would make it good for him. Brendan took control then, kissing James hard and deep until his lips were wet and red. He moved of to James' good side. Once there, he didn't stop touching, his hands dancing over James' skin, exploiting every hot spot.

"Please," James finally begged. "Please, Brendan."

Brendan smiled to hear it. He hadn't been able to work James up this much in a month. Once he started begging, James got louder and louder. Despite the distance of James' room from his family's, they had still felt weird about broadcasting everything they were doing to the entire house.

"Please be ready, Brendan," James moaned. "Come on; let me put my fingers in you."

Brendan had to swallow hard, but he reached over for the lube, straddling James again, lifting up to make more room. The first couple of fingers went in fairly easily. James used a lot of lube and went slowly, making Brendan work himself down.

"More," Brendan said, breathless, and he was a little surprised at himself. He was very surprised at himself when he didn't tense up as James pressed a third fingertip against him. Three seemed much larger than two, though, and Brendan had to exert most of his control to avoid pulling up and away. He was trying not to freak out, trying to just relax and take it.

"Jesus fucking Christ," James said in a tight voice. "You have no idea how much I just want to pull my fingers out and shove my cock into you." James' eyes opened, his gaze pinning Brendan in place. "You're so tight, you feel so fucking good. Open up for me."

James' words made Brendan's face heat up, but he knew exactly what James was feeling - he'd been there himself, keyed up and horny and walking the fine line of self-control. "Do it," Brendan said quietly. "Do it. Fuck me."

James let out his breath. "Not til you take three."

Brendan bit his lip and sank down, taking all three fingers in a slow push. He felt stretched and full, James' fingers just there, not moving, just spreading him open. Suddenly, he wanted it. He was dying for it, just the way that James had been so many times. "Yeah," he said quietly, then in a stronger voice, "yeah. I want it, James, want it bad."

"Okay," James said. He used the three fingers in Brendan's ass to guide him up a little higher. "Help me out."

Brendan found the lube, and James pulled his fingers out and held up his hand. Brendan poured lube into his palm, then took some more and slicked James up. He moaned when James' slippery fingers went back into him. He reached down and steadied James' cock and positioned the head against his body.

"Wait," James said. He pulled his hand back and curled his fingers tightly around the base of Brendan's dick.

Brendan groaned. "God. This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"A little," James confessed. "It's the first time and you're so..." His voice trailed off as Brendan slid down just a little, just enough to take the very tip of James' cock.

"Oh," Brendan said. It was weird. It certainly didn't feel like doing it from the other side. He eased himself down further, stopping abruptly when the head of James' cock went in.

"You okay?" James' voice was strained.

Brendan couldn't have told him the answer to that question. It didn't hurt exactly, but he could tell that James' tight grip was the only thing keeping him hard.

"You okay?" James repeated. "We can stop."

"No," Brendan said. Seriously, he'd been shot three times - he could handle getting fucked. He took a deep breath and let it out as he pushed further down. James moaned deep and loud, choking out Brendan's name. Brendan decided he liked that a lot, so he pushed down harder. This time it really hurt, enough that he pulled up and nearly off. James' hand on his hip stopped him. When James had let his cock go, it went completely soft.

"I'm sorry," Brendan said quietly. "I don't think I can do this."

James stroked Brendan's thigh softly. "Brendan," he said, his voice rough. "Can you...god...I need..."

"Okay," Brendan said. "I'll try."

"Up," James said.

"I said I would." Brendan started to panic. He wanted to do this, he at least wanted to try. And, yeah, it might not do a lot for him, but he could give this to James.

"More lube," James grunted. "That's all."

Brendan felt relieved. He got the lube and wet his fingers, hesitating before finally reaching back to touch himself. He pushed in with one finger. It was slow going - he'd tightened up. While he slowly worked his fingers in, James touched him - stroking his chest and belly, cupping and rolling his balls, slowly getting Brendan's body to respond.

Brendan used about twice as much lube as he thought he'd need, then slicked even more over James' cock.

"Go slow," James said. "Look at me." Brendan did, keeping his gaze locked on James' eyes - deep blue and pleading. "Just...just a little at a time. Let me in."

Brendan lifted up and got them both into place. James put his hand back around the base of Brendan's half-hard cock, but Brendan was pretty sure it was a lost cause. This time it was easier. There was still pain, but it was more of a burn than anything. It didn't start to actually hurt again until he was almost all the way down, and James got him through it with hoarse encouragements and deep moans.

When he was sitting in the cradle of James' hips, Brendan let out a breath. James squeezed his cock, and Brendan was surprised when it started to fill, pushing up against James' palm. James choked out his name, and Brendan knew exactly where he was. He knew that moment when he was in James: that moment where he gathered his control and waited, giving James time to adjust.

"I know," Brendan panted out. "I...but, can you hold off?"

"Yeah," James groaned. "But, god. Brendan, not...not too long."

Brendan clenched down against James' cock experimentally and James cried out, sharp and loud. Brendan leaned forward, gasping at the shifting motion inside and put his hands on the bed on either side of James's neck. When he moved, the sensation changed - he was getting bright flashes of pleasure - he knew that James' cock was pressing against his prostate. He'd done it to James before, driving him crazy with hard, short strokes.

"Good?" James asked, his hand going to Brendan's hip.

"Getting there," Brendan said, but it still felt weird. James dug his fingers in and started guiding Brendan's motion - back and forth, up and down.

Fucking, Brendan thought. He was getting fucked. He had James' cock inside him and he was getting fucked. He let James guide him, twisting his hips experimentally, finding out what felt good and what made James thrust and whine. Brendan could feel the tension in James' body, see the way he was biting his lip and trying to hold still.

"You can," Brendan said. "Move. Fuck me."

"Oh, thank god." James held Brendan down by the hip and thrust strongly upward. Brendan could feel the base of James' cock stretching him wide, filling him up, controlling his body - Brendan didn't often let go, and he only ever did with James, but this was new and different. This was Brendan giving himself over, trusting James with everything.

James made a small sound of pain, and Brendan refocused his attention. He stopped moving. "This is hurting your shoulder, isn't it?"

James opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut, his expression hardening with determination. "Don't stop," he gritted out. "Not now."

"I'm not," Brendan said softly. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"Brendan," James said, exasperated, "we are fucking here. Could we hold this conversation for later?"

Instead of answering, Brendan pushed James down onto the pillows.

"Okay," James said, then threw his head back and groaned when Brendan moved over him, fucking himself up and down, trying out angles and speed until they were both slick with sweat.

"Can't take anymore," James finally said. "Need to come. I need to come inside you."

"Yeah," Brendan said. "God, yes." James reached up with his good hand and jerked Brendan off, using short hard strokes.

"Can you come like this?" James moved his hand faster.

Brendan couldn't tell. His body was shaking, his heart was pounding, James was touching him just right, but there was...a cock in his ass and it was still, despite everything, weird. "I...I don't know," he stuttered out.

"I've got you," James said, then his voice dropped low and hot. "God, Brendan, you feel so good. When you come, I'll feel it, feel your ass squeezing me. It's gonna make me come with you."

It was enough. It was enough to send Brendan over into what might have been the best orgasm of his life. It twisted through him, making him come on James' chest, making him make noises he'd never heard come out of his own mouth. He could feel what James had promised - his muscles clenching down on the solid, hard cock in him, and he could feel James press up into him and freeze.

Brendan laid himself down slowly onto James' chest, trying to avoid the bad shoulder before he collapsed. James pushed him to the side, causing his cock to slip out. Brendan jumped at the sting, then relaxed onto the bed. He could feel James' come leaking out of him, which wasn't as strange as he would have thought.

He was lying there with his chest pressed to James' arm, drifting fuzzily. He came back to himself when James started giggling, then laughing. "What?" Brendan said. "What is so damn funny?"

James laughed even harder. "Mule," he wheezed. "Government mule."

Brendan poked him the side. "Shut up," he said.

"Mule." James coughed, then snorted.

Brendan bit him lightly on his good shoulder, then kissed the spot. "Ass," he said.