Nighthawks.

Freya turned, looking for the source of the single word. She got halfway around when the picture flashed into her head - a view of four people from a distance - four people seen through a diner window. Three men and a woman - one man behind a counter, the other three customers. The whole thing in deep jewel tones with the interior of the diner in a welcoming yellow.

Nighthawks. Edward Hopper, 1942. She's perfect. Chloe will love her.

She got the rest of the way around to see Brendan and another man at his desk. Brendan was, as usual, on the phone. The other man had one hip hitched up onto the corner of Brendan's desk and was looking around the bullpen with sharp eyes. He looked at several other people closely, but then his eyes returned to Freya.

Nighthawks.

Brendan hung up the phone and motioned her over. Hope she likes him. Hope he's not thinking anything too bad. Not last night, with the handcuffs...

Freya jumped out of his head. She wasn't supposed to look, wasn't supposed to listen - but Brendan thought so damn loud sometimes. Especially when he was happy, and she could see the soft smile he aimed at the guy on his desk.

"Freya," he said. "This is James McBain."

McBain turned to her and held out a hand.

"James, this is my partner, Freya McAllister." Brendan and his loud damned thinking. Like him, like him. She was sure she would if he'd just stop yammering.

"Nice to meet you," James said, and at least he had some control. She couldn't hear anything from James now, and it was something of a relief, even as much as it was hilarious to hear normally rather tightly-wound Brendan mentally falling all over himself like an excited puppy.

"Nighthawks," James said, aloud this time.

"The Hopper painting?" Freya asked, and Brendan looked at her, dumbstruck.

"Yes!" James pointed with one finger. "You'd be perfect!"

Freya tilted her head to the side. "What exactly are you talking about?"

James snapped his fingers and moved his hand in a circular motion. "My sister, Chloe." He paused, as if trying to figure out how to say something. "She's an artist. She does paintings - trompe-l'œil. She mixes painting and actual people made up to look like part of the painting. She's looking for a new one to do for an exhibition, and you'd be perfect in Nighthawks."

Brendan was nodding behind James, and he sent her an image. An image of James as Cupid in one of the paintings - much younger and barely dressed, kneeling on a small ledge and shooting an arrow at a Boticelli nude. She raised her eyebrows nearly to her hairline. Luckily, James took it as interest, not her unexpected view of James in a pair of wings and not much else.

"You should meet her," James said. "Give her a chance. She'd love you."

"Uh, okay," Freya said slowly. "I guess I could do that."

James grabbed her elbow. "Cool, come on." He started leading her to the door. Okay, the sort of leading that a lot of people called pulling. "Brendan," he said, his voice going a little softer. "Let's go."

Brendan gave him a small smile and trailed along behind them, thinking the "Gilligan's Island" theme song at her. It was his revenge for asking him to knock it off with "Scooby Doo".

Chloe, as it turned out, did love her. Apparently, she and her brother were on a similar wavelength, as the first thing Chloe thought when she saw Freya was, Nighthawks.

"Chloe, Freya; Freya, Chloe," James said by way of introduction, then pointed at Freya. "Nighthawks."

"Yes!" Chloe said, clapping her hands. "Are you a model?"

"No," James said, rolling his eyes. "She's a Fed."

"Agency observer," Freya corrected.

"Whatever," Chloe said, waving her hand. "Can you sit still for about two hours?"

"Probably," Freya said. "But why would I want to?"

That's when Chloe dragged her off to the front of the gallery to show her the photographs from the insurance calendar. Behind her, she could hear Brendan, projecting loud enough to almost make her flinch. Jesus Christ he can kiss.

That's how Freya wound up being painted red. Her dark hair was teased up, extensions were added, and the whole mess was painted red. Her body was painted red to mimic the cap-sleeved dress portrayed in the painting. She'd drawn the line at being nude, so she wore a strapless bodysuit that didn't hide all that much once the thick wet paint was applied. Her face and arms were painted with a pale beige color, her right arm darkened all along one side as a shadow. Her lips were painted the same bright red and her eyelids a dark silver with thick mascara drawing her lashes out to unnatural lengths.

Luckily, the woman she was portraying was seated and also had her eyes closed, so she didn't have to worry about blinking. The only other real person in the painting was the man seated next to her. He'd introduced himself as Lionel, then submitted with good grace to being painted. Freya could easily read his deep affection for Chloe, and that his mind wandered to a series of dresses as he stood placidly on a drop-cloth.

Chloe had summarily tossed James and Brendan out when they kept trying to crack Freya up and ruin her make-up. With the excuse of "checking the refreshments," they were sharing a bottle of wine in the front of the gallery, sitting on the floor under the plate-glass windows.

As the time for the opening drew near, Chloe gave Freya and Lionel their final instructions. They were to stay inside the painting for one hour. Once Chloe had all of the patrons gathered at the back of the gallery, they were to step out. Luckily, Chloe had provided Freya with a red skirt and Lionel with a pair of grey pants, even though their lower halves were obscured while in the painting. Freya would have preferred to have a shirt.

Chloe arranged them inside the painting, checking a photograph of the original to make sure it was perfect. She gave them quiet directions until their hands were almost touching and Lionel's hat was set at the correct angle. She then ran off to change clothes.

Freya had her eyes downcast, but she could tell that Brendan and James were nearby. She could also tell that James had his hand on Brendan's ass and that Brendan liked it a lot. When the bell over the door tinkled, they moved away to welcome patrons into the gallery with glasses of wine and trays of food.

The bell sounded several more times, and Chloe stopped in front of them. "Thank you guys," she said. "You look perfect." Then she turned and walked quickly to the front, greeting people along the way.

"Here we go," Lionel murmured under his breath.

The first half-hour was easy. Brendan came by periodically. He deliberately sent, you look great at her a couple of times. After that, she caught occasional flashes from him as he and James sneaked around the gallery, doing their damndest to not get caught up in stupid small talk, hoping that no one recognized James as the young Cupid in the photo up front.

A few minutes later, she got something completely different from Brendan, a kind of secret glee. Easy, don't push. Too much stuff in here. Stay quiet. Can't let anyone hear us.

They were in the storage closet, the one that shared a wall with the gallery, and Brendan was projecting his thoughts like crazy. She supposed it was because he couldn't say anything out loud - it was all going through his mind. She shouldn't listen; she should've tried to block him out. There were some things she shouldn't know about her partner. But, god, she was bored, and this whole thing was Brendan's fault anyway.

Oh, Jesus. His mouth. His mouth. Fuck, so hot. Like last night, cuffed to the bed, his mouth on me. I probably have bruises on my wrists. Oh, god - I do. I hope they last.

Freya pulled back for a moment, making a mental note to check Brendan's wrists out as soon as she could. And, hell, maybe try out the cuffs thing herself. He sure seemed to like it.

She let her mind wander, and was able to slide into Brendan's mind about halfway, cutting out his incessant mental babble and just feel what he felt. And, god - what he felt. He had James turned around, hands on the wall, and Brendan was untucking his own crisp white dress shirt, throwing his tie over his shoulder. Shirt unbuttoned enough to push it out of the way; James' untucked and pushed up, the smooth skin of his back, the salty taste of it.

Brendan unbuttoned and unzipped James' pants, pushing them down. His chest pressed to James' back as he touched him, one hand traced the length of his cock under his boxers, the other reached down to cup James' balls. James arched back against him, dropping his hands to slip his boxers down. Brendan rocked against him, his cock sliding against the cleft of James' ass.

Oh, and that was interesting - to feel like she had a cock. So this was how the other half lived. She could see why they were obsessed with them - sensitive and hard and right there - no guessing games; it was obvious.

She felt Brendan unbutton and unzip his own trousers and let them fall away, followed by his own boxers, and his cock felt even better - bare skin against James' bare ass. And then Brendan bent down to rummage in the pocket of his pants, coming up with a small tube.

Oh, my god, Freya thought. Lube. Brendan was going to fuck James and she was going along for the ride. There was no way in hell she was passing this up. She'd bring Brendan expensive coffee for a month to have this. She felt the lube, slick and cold, felt the scorching heat as the first finger slid in. James' body gripped tight around the finger, his hips pushing back, the sound of a muffled moan.

Brendan used his free hand to rub the small of James' back, gentling him before beginning to slide the finger back and forth inside him. When James pushed back harder, Brendan pulled the finger out and went back in with two, working the tips inside, feeling James opening to him, tight and hot.

By the time the third finger went in, Freya was controlling her breathing only by force of will. She was completely turned on; she could feel how wet she was just from this. She wanted to squirm in her chair. More than that, she wanted to get her hand down under the cover of the table and put it under her skirt. She wanted to press her fingers inside herself, to feel the wet clutch Brendan was feeling.

When Brendan eased a handful of lube over himself, she nearly moaned out loud. Cold over hot, slick over hard - Brendan was barely holding back. It felt different, different than the way she felt, different from the slow build that she was used to. This was barely controlled, hot pressure at the base of his spine. When he pushed into James, Freya was sure that she jumped a little in her seat.

Hot and slick and oh, god - tight. That was it, the tightness around Brendan. Unforgiving, clutching down, almost pulling Brendan's cock inside. He stayed still, his legs trembling, his forehead against the sweaty skin of James' back. After a minute, the pressure eased and James' hips stuttered back - an invitation.

Brendan started to move, to thrust into James's ass, and the sensation was overwhelming. Of course, she'd felt it from the other side, felt a cock in her, felt that same slow slide working its way up to sharp, quick movements. But this, this was completely different. She felt like she was in control, like she was the one pushing inside, working James into a silent frenzy.

Brendan reached around James' hip, and Freya felt his hand curl around James' cock, staying still and letting the motion of their bodies push it through Brendan's fingers. She'd admired Brendan's hands before - those long, elegant fingers, the length and breadth of his palm. James fucked forward, groaning almost silently as he came in Brendan's hand. Freya felt it all, felt the warning throb, the twitches and jerks, the sensation of hot come on his hand, on the backs of his fingers. The rhythmic tightening of James' ass around Brendan's cock. She didn't know how he held on through that.

Brendan's wet hand went back to James' hip, pulling him back hard, meeting Brendan's thrusts, Brendan slamming into him, James' head hanging down between his arms. And then Brendan pushed all the way inside, grinding his hips against James'.

And there it was. Not the drawn-out waves of her own orgasms, but the heat gathered in his body pushing up. Not about in, about out. Brendan panted harshly, the sensation rushing through him, leaving him breathless and loose and blissed-out.

Brendan placed a gentle kiss on the middle of James' back, his fingers unclenching from padded hips, a hand moving forward to rub the soft hair on James' belly. Brendan pulled out, and Freya could feel the sensitivity of the skin on his cock, the cooler air of the storage room almost too much.

Brendan reached for a towel from a neat stack of them and cleaned them both off, his hands gentle against James, still pausing now and then to kiss his back or neck or the skin just above James' elbow. When Brendan pulled James' pants back up and reached for his own, Freya reluctantly dragged herself away.

When Brendan and James rejoined the party, looking neat and unruffled, Freya smothered a smile. Just then, Lionel let his hand brush hers and they opened their eyes and stood up from their places in the painting to the applause of the assembled patrons. They stepped out and allowed the guests to come closer, to admire Chloe's handiwork. A few minutes later, Lionel told her to go take the first shower in the well-appointed bathroom. She was glad to do it, as much to get the paint off as to spend a little time by herself. As she got into the shower, she spared a fleeting thought for handcuffs.