Work Text:
Confessions
by Perpetual Motion
In his third month of working under Jack McCoy, Mike Cutter sits down at a bar, orders a cheap domestic beer, and considers his fuck up ratio in regards to wanting to fuck Jack McCoy.
The ratio isn't promising. He's offered immunity to a woman involved in assisted suicide. He's sent the detectives in without a search warrant. If he keeps trying to get Jack to notice him by pushing the boundaries, a lot of guilty fuckers are going to get loose and start shouting his name from the rooftops.
Mike would much rather have Jack shouting his name while he came.
Fuck. He's got it bad.
He orders another beer and eats a handful of peanuts.
*
The next morning, nursing a headache that's not quite a hangover, Mike knocks on McCoy's door and waits to be told to enter. The way Jack looks him over, Mike feels naked, and god, but that's not an image he needs when he's already jerked off to Jack in the shower this morning.
"Got a minute?"
There's a wry smile tugging at the corner of Jack's mouth. Mike wants to lick those corners. "Juggling more chainsaws?"
"I don't know." Mike sits across from Jack and watches the way he leans back. Jack tucks his hands behind his head like they're about to have a bullshit session. Mike considers his options and goes for blunt. If nothing else, at least they'll have no confusion. "Look, my behavior recently, it's been sub-par."
Jack's still leaning back, there's still that smile on his face. Mike looks down at his feet so he that he doesn't try to memorize the way Jack's chest is arching. "Glad to see you figured that out," Jack says quietly, but there's no scorn or malice, just truth. "Now, do you want to tell me why you've been acting like a hotheaded asshole?"
Mike presses his fingers against his eyes and makes himself look up. Jack has, thankfully, returned to a more proper position, leaning against his desk with his hands folded over his paperwork. "I've been trying to impress you."
"Do your job." If anyone else had said it, Mike would have laughed. It's such a trite thing to say. But Jack makes it sound genuine and important, and Mike has to breathe deep to keep himself in control. Goddamnit, now Jack being a good boss is getting him wired. He's further gone than he thought.
"I will," he says, everything else tucking away as he stands and turns towards the door.
"Mike," and Jack's reaching into a desk drawer and pulling out aspirin. "Three glasses of water in fifteen minutes, and four of these should handle it."
"It's not a hangover." He wonders if this adds to his fuck up ratio.
"I know." Jack doesn't sound disappointed or pissed, so Mike figures the headache's not going to count against him.
*
Late in the afternoon, long after lunch should have been, Mike and Connie order out, settle in, and start sifting through the files that are slowly curving towards collapse on a corner of Mike's desk. They're halfway through their burgers when Jack wanders in, hands in his pockets, eyes closing in on all the small details.
"Plea bargains?"
Connie holds up the stack she's been sorting in her lap. "Six. Three are barely felonies, one's a stupid kid, and the other two are giving us information."
Jack takes the files from her, flipping through a couple, and Mike tries not to notice his hands. Fuck, but he hasn't been this easily distracted in years. There's something about Jack McCoy that rattles him in every joint in his body. Mike realizes Jack is watching him. He raises his eyebrows. "Yeah?"
"You didn't hear a word I said." And that wry little smile is on Jack's face again. Mike licks his lips just to give himself something to do with his tongue.
"You got a minute?" Mike asks, standing up, wiping his mouth with his napkin and flexing his hands to keep from straightening his tie.
"What do you need?"
Mike gives Connie a look. She looks between the two of them, rolls her eyes at Mike, and stands up. "I'll just take my burger and go, then," she says archly. Mike's got no idea what she thinks is about to happen; he's just hoping he can convince her that it's not about her once his head is clear.
She goes, and Jack closes Mike's door. "Note for the future – don't piss off your ADA."
Mike shakes his head. "She just gets grumpy if I make her move when she's eating."
"Still," Jack lets it lie. "So what's up?"
"You need to know something about me personally that may well affect my job." Mike watches the way Jack's eyes cut around the room, looking for some clue. When Jack settles on him again, Mike breathes deep and gets it out. "I've been trying to impress you because I want to sleep with you." There's no lightening of his load, no sudden release of tension, just his hands clenching at his sides in case Jack decides the best response is a punch to the face.
Jack doesn't seem shell-shocked, but he does look a bit taken aback. Mike's not sure how to read that. Jack breathes, shakes his head, and laughs a little. "Goddamn." He looks at Mike again, and Mike wonders if he should be insulted at the amusement on his face. "I thought I'd finally broken that particular habit."
He's a fish out of water, so Mike just asks, "What?"
"Surely my reputation preceded you into this office, Mike."
"Which one?" Mike asks, because it's a fair question. Jack McCoy's known for a lot of things in this office. Passion. Rule-bending. Classic closing arguments. His love of Scotch. His motorcycle. The long line of ungodly good looking female-oh. Yeah. That. "I'm not the pretty female ADA."
"You're not pretty at all," and there's an undertone to Jack's voice that makes Mike's thighs clench a little. Jack's working his way around Mike's desk, backing him against the wall with his mere presence. "You still work under me," said no more than a foot away, the smile on his face carrying a small predatory edge.
"You going to stop telling me not to be a fuck up?"
Jack laughs quietly. "No."
"So where's the problem?" Mike reaches out and grabs Jack by the waist of his pants. "I'll stop trying to impress you, and I'll stop doing stupid shit, and the working relationship gets a lot easier."
"And Connie?"
"I don't think she wants to sleep with you." Mike chuckles when Jack laughs again. He tightens his hold on Jack's belt. "So, this is a yes?"
"Why break with tradition when it seems so willing?"
And maybe that should be insulting, but Jack's smiling, and Mike leans in and licks the corner of his mouth because Jack's close enough and definitely isn't against the idea.
end