Brendan liked being early. Well, he despised being late, and since New York traffic was less predictable than Freya's mood during that one special week of the month, early it was. However, it was bad form for a federal agent to be early for a meeting with his scumbag informant at said scumbag's pawn shop, so Brendan looked around for an inconspicuous shop or restaurant to duck into. Half a block down from his target's place was what looked to be an art gallery. That would work.

A tinkling bell sounded as he walked in the door. A glance showed the gallery's name painted onto it in thin gold script: Trompe-l'œil.

From the outside, the place looked like any other storefront on the street - okay, maybe a little nicer, but inside...it was awash in vibrant color. Tall white panels set up as free-standing walls separated the large space into something like a maze, and each one held framed artwork - sometimes a grouping of smaller works and sometimes single large pictures.

Brendan noticed one that looked like a hyper-realistic painting of a fluffy pastel dress, but when he stepped forward he realized that it was an actual dress, framed and behind glass. Running down one side of the wall next to the dress were photographs of models wearing similar clothing, walking in what looked like a country garden festooned in fairy lights.

Brendan was so absorbed in the photos that he jumped when he heard a soft, "Hey," at his shoulder.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," the voice said, and a hand briefly touched his upper arm in a steadying gesture.

Brendan turned to see a man - light brown hair curling over his collar, striking blue eyes, crooked smile, expensive casual clothes, ratty sneakers, his freaky brain kindly supplied - looking at him.

"We're still hanging the exhibit, but you can look around if you want," the man said.

"Okay, thanks." Brendan looked at his watch. He still had half an hour to kill. He stepped away from the dress and photos and walked over to another painting, this one of a beautiful old house in near-total disrepair. It was rendered in some sort of smooth color that made it look like it would run off the canvas if it got wet. Whoever had painted it obviously loved the house.

He moved to another wall. This one held a huge blown-up photograph of what must have been an enormous painting. It showed a reclining woman and a smaller Cupid aiming a golden arrow at her. The Cupid had curly blond hair, and his face was made up with lipstick and blush. He was wearing only a halo, a set of white-feathered wings and what amounted to a feathered Speedo. Brendan looked closer, and he figured out that while the woman and the background were painted, the young Cupid was real, a post-adolescent boy perched on a narrow shelf.

"It's called Trompe-l'œil."

This time, Brendan managed to not jump - the same man as before was standing a few feet away.

"It means 'trick the eye,'" he said.

Brendan looked at him, then looked back at the photograph. "You were much younger then," he said, smirking when the man's mouth fell open.

"Oh, you're good," he said, after closing his mouth with some difficulty. Brendan shrugged. "James McBain," the man introduced himself, holding out a hand. "Though they called me Jimmy back then."

"Brendan Dean." Brendan shook the proffered hand. McBain made a surprised noise when Brendan's jacket fell open enough to reveal his shoulder holster.

"Do you generally carry a gun to look at art?" he asked.

Brendan straightened his jacket. "No, not really," he said. "I'm on duty."

"You're a cop?" James said, his eyes bugging out a little.

"Federal agent," Brendan said.

"Why are you here?" James asked. "Is my sister in some kind of trouble? I mean, I know she can be a little on the flaky side, but...oh, god, this isn't a tax thing, is it? That fucker Hopkins is supposed to take care of all that and..."

"Your sister?" Brendan broke in, a little confused by the torrent of words pouring out of McBain's admittedly pretty mouth.

"She owns the gallery, and she painted that." He gestured to the Cupid painting. "So, what did she do? Why are you here?"

"I'm not here for your sister," Brendan said, then held up a hand to stop McBain from speaking when he opened his mouth again. "Or anyone else associated with the gallery. I have an appointment with one of your neighbors and I was early, that's all."

"Oh, good." James said. "So you like the painting?"

Brendan stared at him.

McBain snapped his fingers. "Come on, keep up. Segues are for kids."

Brendan shook his head and grinned. "Yeah, it's very cool. Are there any more like it?"

"There are eleven more," James said. "They were originally done for an insurance calendar."

"What happened to the originals? They must have been huge."

"They were," McBain said wistfully. "They took up whole walls. Chloe - that's my sister - wanted to leave them all up, but we didn't have enough room for all twelve. I hated painting over those walls." He glanced at the picture of the house. "They all went down with the house. It was destroyed ten years ago."

"It's gorgeous," Brendan said - he'd always been a bit of an architecture buff. "It was demolished?"

"A storm got it," James said. "It was structurally unsound and it just went over."

"That sucks," Brendan said.

"Sure did," James replied, "since we were all living there up until the day before."

Brendan gaped at him.

"It's a long story, but suffice it to say that the family recovered nicely."

Obviously, Brendan thought. McBain looked prosperous, and the sister owned the gallery. Not bad for people in their late twenties. Brendan's phone vibrated in his inside jacket pocket.

"Sorry," he said. "I need to get this." McBain waved away his apology. "Dean," Brendan said into the phone.

"It's Harper. Your snitch got picked up for possession of stolen property about an hour ago. He's singing like a bird downtown as we speak." Harper sounded as constipated as always.

"Yes, sir," Brendan said. "I'll head back, then."

"Jesus, Dean," Harper said. "Take a lunch."

"Yes, sir," Brendan said, and flicked the phone closed. He would be extremely happy when Freya returned from her vacation with her sister. She could talk to Harper. Tightass.

"Your meeting get cancelled?" McBain asked.

"Uh, yeah," Brendan said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"Well, if you've got a minute, I can show you something that might interest you."

Whoa, Brendan thought, was this guy hitting on him? Sure, he was attractive in a quirky way, and his broad shoulders and big, expressive hands were right up Brendan's alley, but really?

When he nodded absently, McBain took him by the elbow and led him deeper into the gallery. Brendan wondered where they were going. Some sort of storage room, or a bathroom? Was he about to have sex with a near-stranger in an art gallery bathroom? Was this really what his life had come to, a bad porn-movie setup?

"Look," James said, gesturing expansively to the mural in progress on the back wall. It was huge, taking up the entire width of the gallery and stretching from floor to ceiling.

Brendan recognized it immediately. "Seurat," he said.

A woman in paint-spattered overalls stood up from where she was painting a corner. "It is," she said, grinning at him. "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. Who's your friend, Jimmy?"

"Chloe, allow me to introduce Brendan Dean. This is my sister Chloe." McBain bowed slightly to his sister, then waited until she'd shaken Brendan's hand to give her a brotherly push on the shoulder. "It's James now, and you know it."

"Oh, honey," she said, returning the push. "You'll always be Jimmy to me." She simply laughed when he folded his arms over his chest and pouted at her.

"Your work is incredible," Brendan told her.

She smiled broadly. "Thank you. Are you in the market for something? Or are you just an art lover?"

Brendan rubbed the back of his neck. "Well," he said. "I don't know much about art, but I know what I like." He was wholly unable to stop his eyes from flicking over to McBain.

"Ah," Chloe said. She turned to her brother. "Jimmy, take your friend and get out for a while. I need to concentrate on this next bit."

"But...we...I don't..." James spluttered, and Brendan took pity on him and laid a hand on his arm.

"Ms. McBain, how about I take your brother to lunch and get him out of your hair?" He smiled at her and she gave him a piercing look before smiling back.

"You do that," she said. "And it's Chloe. I hope we meet again."

"That would be nice," Brendan said and this time he took McBain's arm and led him away.

"You know you can call me James, right?" James said as they walked.

"Not Jimmy?" Brendan smiled when James scowled at him. "Call me Brendan."

"Well, Brendan," James said when they got to the door, "Chloe wanted to have the whole family in the Seurat painting for the opening night, but I managed to convince her to hire models. Well, I convinced her to let me hire models."

"Sounds like you got off light," Brendan said. He let go of James' arm and slipped on his sunglasses as they stepped out into the street.

James stayed close - almost too close - as they started walking. "That's exactly what I was thinking about," he said in a low voice. "Getting off."

Brendan turned his head and gave him a wicked smile. "You live near here?"

"Just up the street," James said, and Brendan felt one of those big, warm hands against the small of his back.

They didn't speak on the way to James' apartment, actually a converted loft over what looked to be some sort of industrial facility. Brendan allowed himself to be steered to an elevator and up to a cavernous living space. The ceilings were at least twenty feet high, crisscrossed with beams and ductwork. The floorplan was completely open, with a living room, dining room and kitchen grouped to one side. The rest of the floor was a huge living room/office, set up with a plasma TV, a pool table and one corner filled with nearly as much computer equipment as was contained in Brendan's entire field office.

"What's with all the computers?" Brendan asked.

"I'm a software geek," James said, closing the door behind them. "I design games. Have you heard of Door to Heaven and Lost City? Those are my newest ones."

"Sorry." Brendan shook his head. "I work a lot."

"Well, you know what they say about all work and no play..." James trailed off and stepped up even closer behind him. He wrapped strong arms around Brendan's waist and kissed the side of his neck.

"Oh," Brendan moaned, and he tipped his head backward, moaning again when James' mouth found the spot under his jaw that made him shudder. He turned around and cupped James' face in his hands, then leaned in for a kiss. He'd thought to start out slow, but James wasn't wasting any time. Brendan felt James' mouth open under his, and he gave in to the urge to let go and just kiss him. He lost himself in the play of lips and tongues and occasional soft bites until he felt fingers at his neck, undoing his tie.

He broke the kiss and started unbuttoning James' shirt, then pushed it off his shoulders to reveal a nicely toned chest with an arrow of light brown hair pointing downward. He let James handle his own cuffs, and bent his head to kiss his collarbones and the little notch between before seeking out one already-hard nipple with teeth and tongue.

"Oh, fuck, Brendan," James moaned. "That's...oh, that feels good."

Brendan smiled around James' nipple and bit it gently just to make James gasp. He felt his tie come off, followed by his jacket, then his shirt being swiftly unbuttoned. He put his hands on James' hips and moved to the other nipple while his cuffs were unbuttoned and his shirt pushed away, following his tie and jacket to the floor. When James' fingers started undoing his belt, Brendan pulled up.

"Bedroom," he rasped. "Let's do this in bed; let's do this in your bed."

James grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him toward the back of the apartment, where there was a spiral staircase Brendan hadn't even noticed.

"Up," James said, pointing. Brendan climbed, only pausing once to shudder at the feel of James' questing fingers tracing between his legs and across the back of his balls. The stairs led to a loft bedroom with a soaring ceiling and enormous skylights over the bed. Brendan kicked off his shoes and reached for the hem of his undershirt.

"Yes," James said. "Naked. You should be naked." He crossed the floor as Brendan's chest was revealed, pulling him close to run his fingers through Brendan's chest hair, finding a nipple and teasing it into hardness.

Brendan kissed him and brought one of James' hands to his already open belt. James unbuttoned and unzipped his suit pants and slipped them down over his hips. He broke the kiss to look down, staring at Brendan's cock. It was fully erect and straining at the confining cotton of his boxer shorts. James touched him, lightly at first and then harder, molding his fingers around Brendan's cock and squeezing.

Brendan thrust up into his hand. "Please," he begged, and James got the idea, sliding his hand under the waistband to touch hot, bare skin. He had to let go so they could scramble out of the rest of their clothes, but as soon as they were naked, James pushed them over to the bed and tumbled them onto it.

They settled on their sides, facing each other, and Brendan wasn't sure what James wanted, how far this was going to go. He knew what he wanted - to bury himself to the hilt in James' gorgeous ass - but he didn't know if that was on the menu. He kissed James again and then pushed against his shoulder to see if he would roll onto his back. James did, pulling Brendan on top of him.

Their kisses became more and more frantic, and Brendan couldn't help but grind his cock against James' hip while his hands swept over soft skin and hard muscle.

"Let me," James moaned and started moving Brendan to the side.

"No," Brendan whined - and it was a whine - gripping James' shoulders in an effort to stay where he was.

"Relax, Brendan," James said. "You get to fuck me; I just can't reach the supplies."

Brendan huffed out a laugh and slid over, but he had to rest his head against James' bicep to regain control - just from hearing James say "fuck me." James dug around in the bedside table, then turned back, holding out a tube of lube and a condom. Brendan got up on his knees and pushed James' legs apart so he could balance between.

James had a gorgeous cock, and it lay hard and dark against his belly. Brendan had to lean down and lick the tip. He wanted to take it into his mouth and suck it until James lost his mind and fucked his throat, but it wasn't safe, not with a stranger. Instead, he quickly slicked his fingers and reached down to rub against the entrance to James' body. He let the tip of one finger catch on the rim, teasing and playing for a moment before sliding slowly inside.

"Yeah," James breathed. "Oh, yeah." He pushed down against Brendan's hand, his fingers finding Brendan's hips and clamping down.

Brendan took the hint and slowly worked two fingers inside. "Is that good?" he asked.

"Christ," James moaned. "Come on, give me three."

Brendan shuddered at the raw need in his voice, but he pulled out for more lube and pushed with steady pressure and three fingers, avidly watching as James' body opened around him. "Tell me you're ready," he begged. "Please be ready. I want to be inside you."

"God, yes. Hurry up," James said. He reached for the condom and opened it, slicking it onto Brendan's cock with light touches. It made Brendan shake with the need to just get inside and fuck and come as hard as he possibly could. He pulled one of James' legs up, bracing the knee in the crook of his elbow. He moved forward, and James reached down to guide him inside.

Brendan felt the head of his cock go in, and he clenched his jaw, holding in place and waiting for James' body to give, to welcome him. James took and released a deep breath and Brendan was sliding inside, pushing all the way in with one seemingly endless stroke.

He groaned, and James reached up to run his fingers through Brendan's hair, to cup the back of his neck and pull him down into a long kiss. Brendan held on as long as he could, but James' ass was tight and slick and hot, and he had to move. He dug his knees into the bed and braced his hand against the mattress. James' other leg came up to wrap his waist, his heel finding the small of Brendan's back and pushing impatiently.

"You want something?" Brendan said, and even he could hear the breathlessness in his own voice.

"You," James answered, and Brendan couldn't hold out a second longer. He pulled back, groaning at the tight pull of James' body. Once he was almost all the way out, he thrust back in hard enough to move them slightly up the bed. The leg around his waist tightened further, and Brendan gave in to his body's needs.

James was beautiful under him, his face flushed and his eyes wide. His mouth was open and wet and red, and he made low noises and deep moans and short, breathy sounds that went straight to Brendan's cock. He raised his hips to meet every stroke. Brendan felt like he was in the zone, in that place where he could do this forever - like he could stay in this perfect place and never give it up.

But James had other ideas, taking his own cock in one hand and stroking hard and fast. Brendan couldn't help looking down between them to watch, and it took his attention away, made him lose his concentration. When James started coming, his head going back with a wail and his ass clamping down hard, Brendan lost it. He fucked into James three or four more times, then came, seeing stars behind his closed eyes.

He managed to lower James' leg to the bed and brace himself on both hands, when what he really wanted to do was slump down and bury his face in James' sweaty neck. Brendan got his knees back under him and pulled out carefully, sorry as he'd ever been to leave the heat and tightness of James' body. He slipped the condom off and knotted it before tossing it into the trash can by the bed. He slumped onto his side and lay there, still breathing hard.

When he felt James stirring next to him, Brendan propped himself up on one elbow. He looked down at James, who had his eyes closed and beatific smile on his face. Brendan leaned down and kissed him gently on the cheek, and James' eyelids fluttered open. Brendan was mesmerized by his incredibly long lashes, and he reached out to stroke the backs of his fingers along James' smooth jawline.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Never better," James said sleepily. "And I mean never."

Brendan grinned. "So, you're saying you'd like to do that again sometime?"

James pulled him down for a kiss. "I'm saying I'd like to do that again anytime."

"Cool," Brendan said. He looked at his watch, which had somehow stayed on, and frowned. "God, I have to go back to the office. Can I use your shower? I smell like a whorehouse."

"Hey," James said, reaching out to push Brendan's shoulder, much the way he'd pushed his sister's.

"Okay," Brendan said, grinning. "I smell like a classy whorehouse."

"Get in the shower," James said.

Brendan kissed him softly, then levered himself out of the bed. He could almost feel James staring at his ass as he padded off to the bathroom. When he came back, clean but with dry hair - he'd kept it out of the spray; there was no way he could explain that to Harper - James had gathered his clothes and shoes and left them on the bed. Brendan got dressed, then went down the stairs.

James was in the kitchen area, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and drinking from a bottle of water. He handed one to Brendan, who took it gratefully. "I...uh, left my card by your bed. Call me sometime?"

James kissed him, his mouth cool from the water. "I will," he said. He drank some more water, then looked at Brendan. "The opening at the gallery is Thursday. Would you want to go?"

"Sure," Brendan said. "Will you let me take you to dinner after?"

"Sure," James echoed.

"I've really got to go," Brendan said. "I don't want to."

"Go fight crime," James said, kissing him one more time. "I'll see you on Thursday."

"Okay," Brendan said with what he was pretty sure was a goofy smile. "See you then."

He made it back to work at a relatively decent time, and was rather surprised to find Freya sitting at her desk. He peeled off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair before slouching down into it.

"You're not due back for two more days," he said.

"June got called back early," Freya said, tapping away at her computer with a small smile on her face.

"Don't sound so heartbroken," Brendan deadpanned.

"You're an only child, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yep." He booted up his own computer, preparing to go over some reports and hoping for a quiet afternoon.

"Then you have no comprehension of what a hideous hell it is to be trapped in a mountain cabin with your sibling for five days." She stabbed at the keyboard a little harder than was strictly necessary.

Brendan left her to it, immersing himself in descriptions of their most recent take-down. After about an hour, he could feel Freya looking at him. He glanced up at her; she had a quizzical expression on her face.

"What?" Brendan asked.

She tilted her head and pursed her lips. "Why are you thinking about Cupid?" she said.