Opportunistic

by krwaken

Summary:

Carl and Akram do what they have to to get ahead in their investigations. And if that means pretending to be a couple sometimes... then so be it.

Kind of a 3 times Akram saw an opportunity to flirt with Carl +1 time he flirted with Carl anyway.

Notes:

I hope this description is accurate to what's written here. It's kind of a few stories in one, with the general concept being that Akram takes advantage of every moment he can to get close to Carl, and then the one time he doesn't wait for an opportunity to get close to Carl. Thanks for reading!

1.

Carl can’t say that he’s ever had anyone fight for him before. He’s definitely had people fight because of him. Carl knows how to stir up a situation – he thinks of it as a talent, though he knows not everyone would agree with that sentiment. He’s an instigator. He had to be to survive his youth. Growing up, he was skinny, lanky, and lacking the strength and skills to physically stand up for himself. So he sharpened his tongue and whittled his wit until they became useful weapons. 

 

So Carl can usually twist a situation well enough that he’s no longer the focus, and suddenly the fight is deflected off of him and on someone else. As a punk teenager, Carl would usually take his leave – or stick around and watch blood be shed if he really hated whoever was fighting. But, as a police officer, he’s usually able to use his powers to pull a confession out of some tight-lipped arsehole. Until they’re so mad and red in the face that they spill their guts because he has them so angered. 

 

He and Akram left the office two hours ago, working an unusual late night. Akram has two young girls, so Carl knows the man has to be home at a respectful time. Probably so he can sit at the table, have dinner with his girls, ask them how their days were, and be the good father he is. Carl has never met Akram’s daughters, and he probably never will. Carl would never want to taint the sanctity of Akram’s homelife. 

 

Because that’s what Carl does. He’s like a mold spore floating through the air until it finds the next thing to contaminate. Carl doesn’t even have to try. It seems he just has a special, magical, moldy touch. 

 

Either way, Akram had mentioned something about a new babysitter. Someone younger, going through school, so she could stay later hours with the girls. And that meant Akram could stay out later with Carl, so Carl could put him in dangerous situations like the arsehole he is. 

 

Tonight’s dangerous situation is winding up in what is actually an underground fight club. The bar that they thought they were investigating, turned into a club with a two-level basement. Carl thought he was being slick by throwing around a few thinly-veiled threats at a man claiming to be a co-owner, but then that co-owner smugly jutted his chin at a man on the other side of the room – one with thick arms and a round belly – who tilted his head right back. 

 

“You might find more answers down there,” the co-owner said. His stupid blond hair was so greased up that it looked like a hair piece belonging to a doll. “But you’ll have to beat them out of someone first.” 

 

Carl wouldn’t consider himself to be a naive person, but the double-meaning went right over his head until he was standing at the edge of a make-shift stage holding two men beating the shit out of each other. One has a bloody nose, the other a split lip, but the takeaway is that they’re both covered in blood. 

 

They’re muscled, tattooed, snarling like wild animals, and Carl knows he’s already lost this one, because there’s no fucking way he’s getting in the ring with any of the devious criminals waiting their turn to fuck someone up. 

 

“Welp.” Carl shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket and holds them out at his side. “This is going to lead us fucking nowhere.” 

 

Akram glances at him, but his face is that usual level of passiveness he wears so well. As if he’s taking in everything around him, but hasn’t made a decision on how he feels about it yet. Akram might be one of the most observant men Carl knows, and it drives him nuts. It’s not fun spending his days next to someone who sees so much. 

 

And yet Carl looks forward to their time together every single day. In a very weak and pathetic way. He’d also never admit that to anyone. Ever. But Akram is the most interesting person Carl has met in a while. He’s intrigued by just about everything the man exhibits. He’s patient, level-headed, dangerous, intelligent, kind. Carl didn’t think a man like Akram existed.

 

He’s too good to be true. 

 

Carl rolls his eyes away from Akram and searches for anyone who might be able to help. There’s a man standing near the ring with flaming red hair and strong freckled arms crossed over his middle. He’s watching the fight with the utmost seriousness, lip curling every time someone lands a hit. 

 

Carl starts walking so Akram falls into line because he’s ridiculously respectful and never questions Carl’s authority, even when he’s a raging dickhead.

 

“Hey,” Carl calls as they near the redhead. 

 

The man turns to face them. Turns out his lip is permanently curled from a scar that cuts through the left of his upper lip all the way up to his nostril. His nostril is disfigured from the injury, looking as if it’s melting into the rest of his skin. Carl does his best not to look at it, knowing that a man like this will only grow insecure if his gaze lingers too long. 

 

He pulls his phone out from his pocket, a picture of the victim already pulled up and ready. 

 

“Do you know this guy?” 

 

The ‘guy’ in question is twenty-four-year-old Trent McMann, missing for two years and ten months. He had a record of assault, even spending a year in prison after being accused of breaking both legs of a teenager that lived in the same neighborhood as him. Trent always claimed that he was innocent, but it was his word against three kids – one being the kid he assaulted (allegedly). 

 

The redhead scoffs. “I did. Fucker’s been dead for, what, three years now?” 

 

“Actually, missing.” Carl pockets the phone again. “Word has it that he used to frequent this bar. I couldn’t understand why anyone would frequent this shithole until about five minutes ago, when I found out there’s a secret fight club down here in this very smelly basement. Color me surprised.” 

 

The man pushes off the half-wall he was leaning against and stalks forward. Now that he’s standing just a foot from Carl, it’s obvious just how fucking huge the man is. He’s easily four inches taller than Carl, and his shoulders are twice as wide. Carl wouldn’t say he’s intimidated, but he heeds the obvious warning. 

 

Carl has learned a lot since his youth, like how to throw a good punch, and he also learned enough to not try and take this guy on. All he sees when he looks at this giant is a trip to hospital. Carl learned from an early age to pick and choose his battles… that is, if his anger didn’t get the best of him. 

 

“What do you want, cop?” 

 

Carl bites back a sigh. He tilts his head sassily and offers a smile that’s always too tight to be kind. Carl does try though… somewhat.

 

“I was hoping you, or anyone here without brain damage, would be willing to answer a few questions for us.” Carl tilts his head forward and looks up at the man from under his lashes. “Can you do that for us?” He speaks slowly and patronizingly, knowing that treating this meathead like he’s dumb will allow Carl to burrow even further under his skin. 

 

The man’s scarred smile furrows, but it’s full of hatred. “Sure. I’ll answer your questions… if you go five minutes in the ring with me.” 

 

Carl’s teeth squeak as they grind together. 

 

The redhead lifts a finger out from between the crease of his elbow and points across the room. “You see those two guys over there? They might have some information for you. If you last another five, I’ll get them to talk to you.” 

 

Carl’s eyes glide back to the man, unimpressed. The bastard knows, just like Carl does, that he won’t last a minute. There is a skill to this kind of fighting – Carl can’t just go in and throw punches – so he doesn’t stand a chance. 

 

“May I go in his place?” 

 

The redhead looks over Carl’s shoulder to Akram, noticing him for the first time. He looks the man up and down, frowning. “You’re willing to get your arse beat for your mouthy boyfriend?” 

 

Carl’s head snaps in Akram’s direction, furious that he’d throw himself into the line of fire like that. If given a few more minutes, Carl might have been able to use his evil powers to get him a more desirable result. But here Akram is, throwing himself in front of their investigation like some sort of knight. 

 

“Yes.” Akram answers easily. 

 

“No,” Carl snaps. He turns to Akram and then back to the redhead, more resolute with his next, “No. Absolutely not.” 

 

Turns out, Carl doesn’t have a say in the matter. The redhead stops responding to him and starts directing any and all answers to Akram. At one point, he begins to lead Akram away, but Carl grabs Akram’s forearm to stop him. 

 

“Akram,” Carl grits the name between his teeth, realizing he’s reached the stage where he has to beg. “Don’t fucking do this. I was never going to–” 

 

Akram lays his hand over Carl’s, his smile soft and barely there. He gives Carl’s fingers a gentle squeeze, which Carl thinks is supposed to be a reassuring gesture until he realizes Akram is slowly pulling his hand away. Carl takes his hand back at lightning speed, face flushing red in humiliation. 

 

“This will be beneficial for our investigation.” Akram apparently thinks logic is what will soothe Carl. He’s fucking wrong. 

 

Carl shoves his fists into his pockets, fuming and embarrassed. He walks off, leaving Akram where he stands. Akram doesn’t linger long, he follows after the ginger troll to get ready for a fucking fight that’s happening all because of Carl. 

 

There’s one side of the room, the side that’s furthest from the bar, that less people occupy. Thank fuck, because Carl might snap at the next person he even brushes against. He isolates himself as much as he can in an enclosed room with a bunch of idiotic people, and waits for the show to start. 

 

Wherever this investigation leads them next, Carl is going alone. He’ll send Akram and Rose on some other chase while he goes after the most promising theory. Whenever he comes up with a promising theory, that is. 

 

After the current fight ends (one of the fighter’s is bloodied, both eyes almost swollen shut, and his mouth hanging agape – two men take a spot under either arm and help him limp off while the winner cockily bounces around the stage). The fucking cunt takes one last victory lap before sliding out of the ring like the slug he is. 

 

The troll appears, hands wrapped and his red hair pulled back into a ponytail. Real fucking cool, Carl thinks. He looks like a primary art teacher that tries too hard to be cool. 

 

Akram appears a moment later, wearing a white tanktop that he must have been wearing under everything else, and the same slacks. His shoes are gone though, and his hands are wrapped. Besides Akram’s state of undress, there’s also the cold, calculated look in his eyes. He’s entirely predatory. 

 

What sends warmth coursing down Carl’s spine and right to his groin is the way Akram looks like he already won. The crowd doesn’t see that though. They believe the favor to be in ginger’s favor solely because he’s bigger. How wrong they are…

 

Carl hasn’t seen Akram in ‘action’. Not like Rose did – when Akram shoved a man down the stairs. The man who acted as the getaway driver for the arsehole who threatened Jasper. Carl never thanked him, and he knows Akram doesn’t want a thanks either. It’s not as if Akram harmed the man for Carl. But sometimes Carl’s thoughts wander and he thinks what if he did do it for you. For the safety of your child. 

 

Akram’s gaze sweeps over the crowd until he finds Carl. When their eyes connect, Akram doesn’t smile. His expression hardly changes, other than a brief flash of recognition when he finds Carl. Akram’s shoulders rise and fall with his next breath, eyes holding Carl’s for as long as he’s able. 

 

Carl holds his gaze because it feels like he’d have to accept some form of defeat if he were to look away first. His own chest rises with a deep breath he takes in through his nose, tendrils of anxiety working out from his chest, down his arms, and into his fingers. He pushes away all of those intrusive thoughts that say Akram’s only up there because of Carl. 

 

But the fight is being called to a start, shattering whatever was happening between them and that prolonged staring. 

 

Akram walks calmly around the ring while the redheaded troll bounces around like a jackass. It’s no surprise that he’s the first one to make a move, dashing forward just to see how Akram reacts. Akram is calm, dodging smoothly, and continues moving around. The redhead smirks cockily as he continues to bounce, fists raised in a way that makes Carl think of Bugs Bunny. 

 

When the troll lunges again, Akram hits him with a sharp jab to the jaw, followed by another punch to his ribs. The man was so stunned by the hit to his face that the hit to his side winds him. He stumbles backwards, coughing and gasping. Now would be a great time for Akram to knock the asshole out, but he stays back, waits for the man to recover. 

 

Of course he’d display some ridiculous chivalry even in the middle of a fight. 

 

Carl shakes his head. Regardless of how fucking angry he is, he can’t take his eyes off of Akram. The man is dangerous, intelligent, and incredibly fucking attractive in his stupid tank top. The foul thoughts of what Carl wants to do to him – or really what he wants Akram to do to him – has his face heating up. He shifts his feet and clears his throat, willing those thoughts away. 

 

The troll lashes out like a cornered animal, and Akram takes a hit to the left side of his face. Carl doesn’t need to have a trained eye for fighting to know that Akram allowed the hit. The troll goes for more – one strike with his right hand, another with his left, a third with his right – and Akram blocks each one. 

 

Unnervingly, the club has grown quieter as they watch, invested in the fight. Akram, Carl realizes late, is making the fight interesting. He’s being a fucking showman, and Carl wants to punch him for making him feel guilty about this. Akram has been in control the second he stepped foot into the ring. 

 

Akram matches the troll’s three strikes for three of his own. The first strike either side of the troll’s face, and the last one to his chest, which sends the troll flying backwards. He lands on his back, staring up at the low, dark ceiling in a daze. 

 

Akram walks calmly over, lowers down to one knee, and holds out his hand. Surprisingly, the troll takes it, and Akram speaks. It’s unfortunate that Carl isn’t a better lip reader. He can hazard a guess as to what Akram’s saying though. They’ve been in the ring for barely five minutes. Akram’s probably checking on the rules of their deal.

 

The troll nods, so Akram helps him to his feet. The crowd wait to see if the fight will continue, but then the troll grabs Akram’s wrist and holds it up. The cheers are jilted, confused, but at least there aren’t any boos. The troll continues to surprise Carl when he claps his hand on Akram’s shoulder, a clear display of good sportsmanship, and walks off. 

 

Akram’s eyes find Carl’s. He nods after the troll, then walks off in the same direction. 

 

Carl takes a deep breath in through his nose. Sure… follow. Carl can do that. 

 

He skirts around the crowd and takes a left down the first hall he finds. The lights are dim, the walls are grimy, and the tile is chipped. Carl scoffs. He’ll never understand why anyone would want to spend their nights in a place like this. Regardless of how many people he has met, how many he knew in his youth, he’ll still never understand. He never inherited the same urge, nor did he learn it from those he grew up around. 

 

Akram’s low voice can be heard coming out of the door on the left, so Carl quickens his steps and enters. 

 

Akram is sitting on a wooden bench with three unbelievably broad men sitting across from him. They’re nodding along to what he’s saying, up until Carl enters. All heads snap in his direction. 

 

The troll’s mouth twists into a smirk. “This is the mouth I was telling you lads about.” His eyes trail up and down Carl’s frame, sizing him up. 

 

Akram watches the troll, his jaw clenched tight. He clears his throat, drawing the attention of the three fighters back to him. 

 

“Carl,” Akram holds their gazes as he speaks. “These three are willing to answer our questions.” 

 

Carl walks around, standing just behind Akram. He leans back against the lockers that are starting to rust, gliding his gaze over the three men. There’s the redheaded troll, the orc-looking man with a mop of black hair to his right, and bald man to his left that has tattoos as far up to his neck and down the rest of his body – as far as Carl can see. 

 

“Your boyfriend fights well,” the troll continues to tease. He leans his freckly arms onto his knees, smirking up at Carl from under his fringe. “I figure it makes sense that a mouth like you can only be handled by a fighter like him.” 

 

Carl crosses his arms and gives them a withering smile. 

 

“I was hoping this would be the part where you'd tell me he’s not really your boyfriend and that you just said that as some sort of cop ruse,” the troll sits up again and sighs. “I really wanted to see how else you can use that mouth.” 

 

Carl’s brows shoot up to his hairline. 

 

Akram sits upright, brows knitting as he stares down the troll who had the audacity to say something so vulgar. “Carl. Your questions.” 

 

The bald man slaps the troll on the back of the head while the orc-looking man laughs like a horse at what just transpired. 

 

Carl decides he best conduct his questioning before the men derail entirely. He’s able to complete a total of twenty minutes of questioning before the men start to run out of answers. Nonetheless, they were able to acquire incredibly helpful information that might lay out the timeline of the day Trent McMann went missing. The men were actually friendly with him – not quite friends since Trent was still new to the scene, but it seems they could have been had Trent not disappeared. 

 

A woman enters the room, out of breath and smirking wickedly. Her hair is buzzed close to her scalp, and she has two piercings through her left eyebrow, another through her lower lip. “Sean, you’re up.” 

 

The orc gets up, and the other two follow. 

 

The troll reaches out to shake Akram’s hand one last time while the other two filter out, following behind the woman who has started to bounce because she’s so excited. She definitely wants to witness some violence. 

 

“Good fight, Akram.” The troll’s eyes skate over to Carl, respectful this time as he nods. “I hope you find Trent,” as an afterthought, he tacks on, “alive.” 

 

Carl nods back. “Me too.” 

 

The troll leaves, and takes all of the noise with him. 

 

After a minute, Carl steps over the bench and inspects Akram. He’s a little bruised, he’ll definitely be sore tomorrow, but he looks to be in good condition otherwise. Guess that’s the benefit of being a fucking insanely trained whatever-the-fuck-he-is. 

 

Akram’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath. The exertion it took to fight a man as large as Akram just fought is not lost on Carl. And it might be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Akram, dressed down to a white tanktop, the white wrapping around his knuckles tinged red from dealing out punch after punch to the ginger’s face. 

 

Carl kneels down and gently takes Akram’s right hand in his. He starts to unwrap the tape and gauze around his fingers.

 

“You are angry with me,” Akram deduces from the way Carl refuses to meet his eye. 

 

“Maybe I’m fucking angry that I didn’t get a taste of blood quite like you did.” Carl drops Akram’s bare right hand and grabs his left.

 

Akram swipes a drop of blood from the cut on his lower lip, the cut that’s been slowly leaking since the fight ended, then drops his hand to his lap so he can stare at the crimson that fills the lines in his fingerprint like tiny red rivers. His eyes, that have been a titch darker since the fight, land on Carl’s mouth. 

 

Carl just finishes pulling the last bit of wrapping from around Akram’s hand, eyes flitting up to Akram’s for a moment to see why he’s been so quiet, when Akram presses that ruby thumb to Carl’s bottom lip. 

 

Carl stops breathing. Like prey when they realize a predator is watching them, every single fucking muscle in his body freezes. 

 

Akram’s thumb, which is scorching hot, sweeps over his chapped lip, then drags Carl’s lip down. The tang of iron and copper hit Carl’s tongue when his lip bounces back into place. 

 

“Does that satiate you?” 

 

Carl is suddenly hot between the legs. Every ounce of feeling has been redirected there. Carl has to stop himself from grinding up against the pressure of his unforgiving zipper. At least something is better than nothing. But Carl doesn’t move. He can’t. 

 

Akram’s brows lift, just barely, but it brings Carl crashing back. 

 

“No,” Carl answers, but the answer comes out rough and uneven. He clears his throat, and redirects his attention to balling up the sticky wrapping. 

 

He turns his back on Akram so he can discard the wadded up gauze and tape in the trash by the door. On his way, he grabs Akram’s shirt, tie, and jacket, then returns to the mysterious man. Carl has to be honest, his brain isn’t working. Not even working enough to ask what the hell. In fact, his mind is silent for the first time in a while. 

 

Because something completely Earth-shattering just happened, and he’s not sure how the fuck he’s supposed to process that. Akram just stuck his blood-covered thumb in Carl’s mouth. A totally fucking normal thing to do to your boss, surely. That’s what Carl’s brain has decided for him, because he faces the truth – which is that what just happened is far from fucking normal – he might explode. 

 

Akram stands for the wobbly wooden bench as Carl approaches. His eyes roam over the detective’s face, but Carl focuses on the garments in his hand. First, he hands over the shirt, which Akram takes and slips his arms into, but leaves it unbuttoned. 

 

“Thank you, Carl.” Akram takes the tie and jacket, slinging both items over his arm. “Should we return to the office?” 

 

“Yeah,” Carl snips in his usually sarcastic, bitchy way. He turns on his heel and pulls the keys of his pocket, not bothering to check to see if Akram’s following. He knows he is. “We fucking should.” 

 

2.

A week after speaking with the meatheads, the search for Trent McMann leads Carl to an informant that wants to remain as anonymous as possible. He knows this because he receives a hand written note, no return address on the outside of the envelope, not even a stamp, addressed to him. 

 

The note reads: DCI Morck, Meet me at the Lion’s Mane tonight. I have information about Trent. 10PM. Don’t worry about finding me. I’ll find you.

 

“How romantic. A little love note,” Hardy jokes. 

 

Carl looks up from the note after reading it for the tenth time. The piece of paper and the envelope have been passed around the four of them for the last hour since it arrived. There’s no clue, despite what crime shows may have you think. No scent to the paper, the envelope is clearly one right off the shelf, and the lined notebook paper has nothing but black ink on it. 

 

Akram has his prayer beads in his right hand, something he does as he thinks. “Are you going?” 

 

Carl doesn’t have a chance to answer since Rose butts in. 

 

“Why the Lion’s Mane? Why tonight? Why the secrecy?” Rose twiddles her pen between her fingers, then presses the clicker to her bottom lip. She thinks, and the rest of the room allows her moment. She then points the pen at Carl. “Trent was known to frequent bars, but nothing as fancy as the Lion’s Mane. Who would he know that would even bother with that place?” 

 

Hardy throws a few ideas out there, but they’re all guesses. Rose has a point. From what they’ve been able to learn about Trent, the Lion’s Mane would be the exact sort of place he’d despise. But, in the end, it could all boil down to convenience. 

 

There’s only one way to find out, and that’s if Carl goes. 

 

Carl check the time in the lower left hand side of his laptop. As far as he’s concerned, it’s time to go home. He shuts his laptop and gathers his keys and coat.

 

“I can go with you,” Rose suggests as everyone starts to follow Carl’s lead, gathering their things to go home. 

 

“I’ll be fine, Rose. Go home to your cats and enjoy the rest of your night.” 

 

Rose rolls her eyes. “I don’t have a cat. You know I don’t.” 

 

Carl tips his head, narrows his eyes, and hums. She’s right. He knows she doesn’t own any pets, but it’s fun to mess with her. “Right. You just seem the type.”

 

Rose flips him off with a black-painted nail. 

 

Carl smiles, amused by her reaction, and makes his way to Hardy’s desk. Wordlessly, he grabs Hardy’s bag and slings it over his shoulder. Hardy never asks for help and Carl never asks to help. They simply just do. If Hardy told him to fuck off, Carl would, but he doesn’t. This is how they work, always have and always will. 

 

They don’t always all leave together, but Rose and Akram linger so they can all hop in the elevator together. The ride up is mostly silent, only filled with Hardy’s sigh as he leans against the back wall of the lift. 

 

“I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Carl says when they exit. As the highest ranking officer out of them all, it feels like something he should do. 

 

Rose waves a hand over her shoulder, already on her way out the door. Akram looks over his shoulder at them, lips pressing together in what should probably be a smile, before he turns and disappears outside. 

 

“I don’t think Akram’s too happy about you going tonight,” Hardy comments. 

 

Carl presses his back against the exit door to hold it open for him. Hardy makes his way through, careful not to get his crutch stuck in the broken tile right by the door. It has made his arms buckle on more than one occasion due to the uneven surface. 

 

Carl notified Moira of the tile. The front exit is going to be redone in three weeks. It’s unfortunate they have to wait that long, but it will be worth it. 

 

Carl's brows knit together as they reach the pavement. He’ll drive Hardy home tonight, as he does every Friday night. “Why wouldn’t he be?” 

 

Hardy waits for Carl to open the passenger door, his smirk wide and bothersome. Carl glowers and stands beside the door as Hardy falls into the seat. Instead of answering his question, Hardy tips his head to the driver’s seat. “What are you doing standing out there? Get in already?” 

 

Carl rolls his eyes up to the sky, praying for patience. He shuts the door with a bit too much effort. He gets behind the wheel and tosses Hardy’s bag onto his lap. Hardy huffs when the bag lands on him, but doesn’t bite back. It’s because he knows their little tiff is in his favor. 

 

Carl refuses to ask again. He has some dignity, and he’s a stubborn arse too. So he starts the engine and pulls out onto the road, wondering how long Hardy’s going to make him wait. 

 

They’re at their second red light when Hardy lifts his chin like a smug bastard. 

 

“He’s worried about you, mate.” 

 

Carl scoffs immediately. “I’m sure he’ll lose sleep over it.” 

 

“I don’t get it either, pal, but he is.” Hardy’s head twists towards the window as they pass a sweets shop. He’ll probably make Donna take him this weekend to buy a ridiculous amount of candies. 

 

Carl’s not sure what to say to that. Hardy isn’t a man that just says stuff for the hell of it, unless he’s ribbing Carl. But this isn’t just ribbing. This is what Hardy thinks is true, but it’s just an added benefit that it annoys Carl. 

 

When they pull up to Hardy’s house, Donna’s already outside waiting for them. She beams as Hardy throws the door open, and can’t help but come to him. She helps him out of the car, then wraps her husband into an embrace, complete with a passionate kiss. 

 

“Ugh,” Carl pretends to be disgusted. 

 

Donna dips her head down into the car, her eyes dancing mirthfully over Carl. “Guess that means you don’t want to stay and watch, Carl?” 

 

Carl’s mouth twitches, but his eyes show just how amused he is. “I don’t even want to imagine it, Donna.” 

 

“Suit yourself,” Donna shrugs. 

 

“Oi,” Hardy says before she shuts the car door. He takes the space she previously claimed, bending over to meet Carl’s gaze. “Text me after. Let me know how it goes, will you?” 

 

Carl shakes his head, ignoring the thoughts in his brain that say he doesn’t deserve anyone’s concern. Not even Hardy’s. 

 

“I will,” Carl promises. 

 

Carl makes it home shortly after, entering his home only to find two teenagers occupying his couch. 

“Hey,” Carl greets on his way to the kitchen. He discreetly looks the two over, finding Jasper seated on one end while Gemma is stretched out with her feet in his lap. Their school clothes are gone, replaced with all garments from Jasper’s closet. Pajama bottoms, stretched out tops, and socks. 

 

“Alright,” Jasper greets. 

 

Gemma looks over her shoulder at Carl, giving him a smile as a greeting before returning to whatever it is they’re watching.

 

Carl makes himself a snack and heads to his bedroom to eat his snack and read up on the Lion’s Mane. Rose had a point about the Lion’s Mane. It’s hardly a bar, but more like a club. The underground bar that Akram and Carl were at a week ago looks like it could have been one room inside this club, and that’s with the secret basement included. 

 

Carl was never part of the clubbing scene. If he’d go out for a drink, it was at the closest pub he could find to his house, and he’d be back in bed the moment he started to feel too drunk. Carl usually had enough self-control to stop before it got to that point. 

 

But he’s starting to feel like he’s in over his head with this place. 

 

Carl makes his way out into the front room, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He lingers in the living room long enough that Jasper looks up curiously. 

 

“Need something?” Jasper asks, reaching for the remote to pause their movie. 

 

Carl rubs at the back of his neck bashfully, but steps forward to ask what’s on his mind. “I’m meeting… an informant at this local club. The Lion’s Mane. Have either of you ever heard of it?” 

 

Gemma sits upright immediately. “Oh my God. You can’t go there wearing that. You’ll never make it past the front door.” 

 

Carl's brows dance up. “You’ve been there?” 

 

“No,” Gemma scoffs like that should be obvious. “I’m not old enough, and security there actually has morals. My older sister has though. She said only the hottest of the hot get in.” 

 

Carl looks down at his zip-up vest and the gray sweater underneath. A sigh passes his lips, weighed down with utter exhaustion. “So I don’t stand a chance.”

 

“You absolutely stand a chance, but you just need… a little sprucing up.” 

 

Carl’s brows dance up this hairline. “Sprucing up…” 

 

Gemma’s smile is wide, a little wicked with excitement, but mostly innocent. Her eyes trail over him, but it’s a trained eye, noting his worn gray jeans, the hole in the left wrist of his sweater, the clunky sneakers. Carl’s seeing himself through her eyes and he doesn’t like what he sees. 

 

“Mr. Morck, may I give you a makeover? I really think it’ll help.” 

 

Carl chews on the inside of his cheek, a pang of irritation shooting through him like a static shock. He doesn’t want to put in the effort, truth be told, but it’s important he speak with the informant tonight. He only got the text an hour ago, and he might not get another chance. Speaking with this woman could really aid their investigation into Elspeth Murray – thirty-five years old, mother of three, loved by literally everyone Carl has spoken to. This informant could provide a new perspective. 

 

Carl checks his watch. “I only have an hour.” 

Gemma squeals behind pursed lips, sending her curls bouncing when she shimmies with joy. Jasper rolls his eyes beside her, but he’s grinning as well. 

 

Gemma scurries off to Jasper’s room and comes back with a black button-down shirt. She throws the garment on the back of the nearest chair, then points a pointed finger at Carl. “How opposed to shaving are you?” 

 

Carl scratches at his scruffy jaw. This is the longest his beard has gotten. After he was shot, he struggled finding the will power to shave or trim it. It helps that it hides his wound as well. At least from his eyes. If he were to be honest with himself, that’s the only reason he’s let his beard grow this much. He hates seeing that red, round scar where the bullet exited his neck. 

 

But it’s about time he start taking steps forward, even if they’re small steps like shaving a beard. He won’t let a little scar hold that much power over him. And if it bugs him too much, he can always grow his beard back. 

 

“I’ll shave it.” Carl declares before slinking off to the bathroom. 

 

When he returns, Gemma has an entire outfit laid out for him on the chair. It’s a lot of black; black top, charcoal slacks, a black leather belt, black dress shoes that she and Jasper must have found in the back of his closet. Carl’s thankful she did this for him, otherwise he’d have gotten ornery. Probably would have given up and put his vest back on. At least the damn thing is warm. 

 

“Get dressed. I’ll pick out a few accessories-” 

 

“Accessories?” Carl is, by nature, a sassy gentleman, so the single word comes out bitchier than he meant it to. 

 

“Yes, Carl. I’m not thrilled about you looking attractive either, but let Gemma work her magic. You won’t get in without her.” Jasper crosses his arms and lifts his chin in defense of his girlfriend. 

 

Carl is terribly proud of him, but he still narrows his eyes and glares as he picks up his outfit. He shuts himself in his bedroom and gets dressed, purposefully ignoring his reflection in the mirror mounted above his dresser. His fingers start to shake as he works on the buttons of his top, nerves coming together like one supernova in his chest. 

 

Is he really going to do this? 

 

Why not? 

 

Carl opens his mouth and takes a big deep breath in. He fills his cheeks, shuts his lips, and holds it for as long as he can. After the supernova in his chest fades, he exhales through his nose. His shoulders fall, and his nerves have lessened. 

 

Carl returns to the main room, once again ignoring the large mirror as he passes by to the exit. Gemma and Jasper are facing one another, and Gemma keeps raising two necklaces up to Jasper to see which will look better. Her eyes light up when she sees Carl standing at the edge of the room. 

 

She makes him wear a delicate gold bracelet on his left hand and slips a thread bracelet off her own wrist to slide onto his right one. They’re able to roll it down his slim fingers with ease. It threads are dark purple and black, stark against his pale skin. Carl is admiring the bracelet when she hands off her choice of necklace to Jasper.

 

Jasper stands behind Carl and locks it for him. The chain is shorter than Carl thought it’d be. It’s also gold, with a small medallion in the middle. It sits right at the base of his throat, between his collarbones. He glides his first two finger tips over the smooth metal, realizing his heart is beating heavy underneath… but with excitement. Not nervousness. 

 

Carl does his best to keep his cool by swallowing and giving the two a nod. “Well? Will I make it in?” 

 

Gemma steps back, tugging Jasper back with her hand fisted in his shirt. The two look him up and down. Gemma’s eyes glint devilishly while Jasper’s lip curls and he groans. 

 

“Definitely.” 

 

Carl rubs at his freshly shaved cheek, expecting to bury his fingers in his rough beard. He hadn’t realized he built a nervous habit until now, when he’s met with smooth skin. He purses his lips and does his best to give them a genuine smile. 

 

“Thank you, Gemma.” 

 

“You’re welcome, Mr. Morck. Be safe.” 

 

Carl strolls away to the front door, where he grabs his keys, pockets his phone, and flips open his wallet. Jasper’s one step behind him, so Carl pulls out thirty dollars and sneakily presses it into his chest. 

 

“Carl–” Jasper tries, but Carl pushes it harder into him. He sighs, but takes the money, knowing that Carl will only argue. 

 

“Have a night in, will you? Order pizza and watch some movies like regular teenagers.” 

 

“Sure, Carl. You don’t have to worry about us. Just be safe, okay?” 

 

“I will. I won’t be gone more than three hours, so keep that in mind in case you and Gemma decide to get fresh-” 

Jasper flushes and groans. 

 

“Mr. Morck, wait!” Gemma bounces forward, a small jar of gel in her hand and a spray bottle in the other. He recognizes the jar – he got it for Jasper months ago after the kid wanted to try and tame his curls. Carl went to a special shop and paid a ridiculous price, but Jasper loves it. Gemma wiggles the bottle and smiles in a way that says she knows she’s getting away with a lot. “Can I style your hair just a wee bit? It won’t take me more than two minutes.” 

 

Carl’s eyes slide over to Jasper, but Jasper only shrugs and smirks. Carl nods, so she rises up on her tiptoes and starts to dampen his hair. She run her fingers through it a handful of times, making Carl’s head move around like a doll, but Carl can tell she’s taking this seriously by the furrow in her brow. She shoves the bottle in Jasper’s chest, so he takes it moments before it clatters to the ground since she doesn’t have the patience to wait much longer. She tips her fingers into the gel, spreads it around her palms, and then passionately dives into Carl’s mop. 

 

Carl’s eyes narrow at Jasper as she continues to work. Carl’s hair has also gotten longer, not just his beard. The hair at the base of his neck flips up, and curls around his ears and temples. It’s shaggy, and he really needs it cut, but that can wait another night. He doesn’t have the time to fiddle with a pair of scissors. 

 

After expertly carding her fingers through Carl’s hair, Gemma suddenly tousles it but rubbing her hand in a messy circle over Carl’s scalp. He’s not sure what technique that is, but she falls back to her heels and smiles at her work. 

 

“Perfect.” Gemma collects the bottle and gel, then leaves the men to it with a wink sent in their direction. 

 

Jasper watches her go, eyes falling to her arse shamelessly. 

 

Carl cocks his head to the side and sets that stern, fatherly look on him. Jasper has the decency to look a little guilty for his obvious oogling. 

 

“I’ll order takeout for all of us. Yours will be in the fridge, in case you get back late.” 

 

Carl gives Jasper a small smile before he gathers his coat and heads for the door. 

 

“Carl, you'll have someone with you, right?” 

 

Carl stops. Does he tell the truth or does he tell a lie? He decides on the truth. It’s not what Jasper will want to hear, but it’s better than Jasper finding out the truth later and shutting Carl out because of it. They’re on the up-and-up. Carl would like to keep it that way. 

 

“It’s just me tonight, Jasper. But I’m only meeting someone who has information. Then I’ll be right back here to darken the room with my generally oppressive presence.” 

 

Jasper’s eyes narrow and his mouth puckers in annoyance. 

 

“Hardy knows exactly where I’ll be. You’re doing a good job at interrogating. Have you considered a future as a detective–” 

 

Jasper’s lips twitch as a smile threatens to take over his features. He rolls his eyes and his entire body away from Carl. “Fuck off. I’ll see you later. Be safe.” 

 

Carl shakes his head fondly as he walks out the door, jacket tucked against his side and keys in hand. He gets behind the wheel and drives off towards the club.

 

Carl has to stand in line for twenty minutes, which is fucking outrageous, but it’s not like he’ll ever have to come back here again after speaking with the informant. He makes it past security, who looks him up and down before nodding his head to the entrance. He’s not quite sure what to make of that but enters the club without comment. 

 

It’s a fucking awful place, that’s for sure. It’s clean, decorative, with golds and crimson reds, but it’s loud and crowded. Carl fucking hates it. 

 

He checks his watch. He has ten minutes for ten. And even then, he still doesn’t have a clue who he’s supposed to be meeting. 

 

I’ll find you, the note had said. So Carl’s just… a sitting duck. 

 

He looks around for somewhere to sit or a dark corner to stand in. Anywhere that he can hide. A corner to the far right looks promising, so Carl starts to make his way over. He’s halfway there, but it’s a fucking chore to weasel his way in between all of these people. Just when he breaks through the crowd and is finally granted with some personal fucking space, a hand grabs his arm. 

 

Carl yanks his arm free, twirling in the direction of the person who dared to grab him. 

 

“Akram,” Carl gasps and grits all at the same time. He looks from left to right, wondering if anyone else is going to show up. His furious blue eyes land on the kind man, who offers a gentle, patient smile. One that’s barely there, but beams at Carl like a pair of headlights nonetheless. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

 

“I did not–” Akram frowns when his voice gets lost over the booming music. He takes a step closer and fucking leans in so his mouth is brushing against Carl’s ear. “I did not want you to go to this alone.” 

 

Carl’s glare sharpens to a point when Akram pulls back. His brown eyes roam over Carl’s face, absorbing his reaction. Meanwhile, Akram does not give one of his own. 

 

“I’ve been a detective for over twenty fucking years, Akram. I think I can handle meeting with an informant by myself.” 

 

“Be that as it may, I am here.” Akram’s eyes do that funny thing where they harden, like a polished, perfect diamond. He’s not going to leave, and Carl’s not going to be any less pissed about it. Immovable object meets unstoppable force. 

 

Fucking Akram. 

 

Carl scoffs and rolls his eyes to the other side of the room. Carl’s hands find home on his hips, gnawing on the inside of his lips as he tries to think of a good way to get Akram to leave. 

 

“Unless you are here for a… date.” Akram’s gaze falls down Carl’s form, which Carl catches when he whirls back to the man in outrage. 

 

“A date?” Carl laughs. 

 

Akram’s eyes lock on his, the corner of his mouth twitching just enough to reveal a sweet smile. Carl hates how it makes his heart thump heavily in his chest. 

 

“You look very handsome,” Akram comments before dipping his eyes low, suddenly bashful. “I thought it could be possible that you were meeting someone.” 

 

Carl crosses his arms over his chest. “I was actually told this establishment was very selective with who they let past the doors, and that I would need to change a few things if I wanted to get in.” 

 

“Ah.” Akram looks him over again, revealing nothing in those big brown eyes. 

 

Carl’s not sure why, but his mouth moves before his brain. “I haven’t dated since I got divorced. And even if I were going on a date, I sure as hell wouldn’t go somewhere like this place.” 

 

Akram doesn’t look like he knows what to say. His mouth pulls tight, his throat bobs with his swallow, and he nods. “That’s very good to know.” 

 

Carl can’t believe Akram’s unending politeness, even in the face of utter awkwardness. Carl lifts a hand, rubbing his two fingers at the space between his brows. “Fine. If you’re here to watch my ass, then watch it.” With that, Carl turns on his heel and heads for a table at the back of the club. 

 

“Yes, sir,” Akram answers plainly, already following behind. 

 

Carl stops immediately. He turns, slowly, and takes one step closer to Akram, irritation coming off of him in waves. Akram doesn’t budge. He stays where he stands, eyes locked onto Carl’s. Of course Carl can’t intimidate the secret soldier, but Carl can still be his usual bitchy self. It’s his right. 

 

Carl lifts his brows to his hairline and looks at Akram from under his lashes. “You’re pushing it.” 

 

Akram holds one hand out, palm facing Carl, while the other remains in the pocket of his slacks. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

 

Carl stares at him long and hard. But all Akrim does is lower his hand, slips it into his pocket, and stares calmly right back. If it is true about this club being selective of who they let in, of course they’d let in Akram. He looks good in a white button-down shirt and dark brown slacks. His usual blazer and tie are gone, perhaps left at home since it’s late. 

 

Carl refuses to feel bad about Akram being here with him instead of at home with his girls. This was Akram’s choice. And it won’t take long anyway. At most, an hour. Then they’ll go back to their respective homes with hopefully new, helpful information, to add to their investigation. 

 

Carl finds them a quiet place at a small table, not too far in the back of the club so that whoever their contact is can find him. Admittedly, it does bother him that all he can do is wait, but if it helps their informant feel that they’re in control then so be it. So long as they get closer to solving what happened to Trent McMann. 

 

“So..” Carl crosses his arms on the tabletop and looks around the club. 

 

Akram sits beside him instead of across from him. Carl decides not to overthink on why.

 

“Is there anyone here that you think could be our informant?” Carl’s eyes flit over to Akram, but when their eyes connect Akram tears his gaze away to look around the club.

 

Carl allows him the time to look around the club. When his gaze lands back on Carl, Akram’s brows lift gently. “I am not sure what I should be looking for.” 

 

Carl’s eyes crawl shut. Give him the patience… “I don’t know,” Carl grumbles. “Is there anyone looking at us?”

 

Akram’s eyes never move from Carl’s. “There are many people looking. But they are looking at you, not us.” 

 

Carl’s lips part in surprise. A crack in his facade, that’s for sure. Fucking Akram and his ability to say shit like that. The memory of Akram’s thumb pressed to his bottom lip, the taste of Akram’s blood on his tongue, his words, flood through Carl, along with the wild arousal it has caused ever since it happened. 

 

Carl’s not necessarily a proud man, he doesn’t give a shit enough to be proud. But he is the kind of man that knows when to take something to his grave. Like the fact that he’s fucked himself with his fingers every night since Akram did that. 

 

“If you were to go on a date, where would you go?” 

 

Carl’s cheeks flush at the questioning. He’s not sure what Akram’s playing at. He wishes he could get a glimpse inside the man’s head. No one has ever confused Carl more than Akram. One would think Akram would be straight forward because he’s kind. Carl knows better. 

 

“Somewhere quiet,” Carl answers plainly but truthfully. 

 

Akram’s gentle smile overwhelms him so he has to look away, but it also encourages Carl to continue. 

 

“Quiet so that you don’t have to shout over music to hear each other.” Carl can feel his ears growing hot too. 

 

“Somewhere more intimate,” Akram concludes. 

 

Carl refuses to agree. Or use that word. 

 

Akram’s eyes flit over Carl’s shoulder a moment later. Carl follows his gaze. A young woman, possibly in her late twenties, stands with her hand in the air, a finger pointed as if she was going to tap Carl’s shoulder. Her hand quickly drops when their eyes meet. 

 

“Hi… Are you DCI Morck?” 

 

“I am. Hi.” Carl stands and offers his hand. She can’t be more than five foot. She’s small, and she’s clearly nervous. Her eyes flit to Akram multiple times. “This is my partner, Akram. Your note didn’t say I had to come alone, so I hope it’s okay that he’s here.” 

 

She swallows but nods. “I’m Rhea. I wanted to talk to you about Trent.” 

 

Rhea takes a seat and they get right into business. In the forty-five minutes that they sit together, Carl learns that Rhea was Trent’s secret girlfriend. Secret because Rhea’s brother hated Trent’s guts after he kicked his ass. Despite there being tension between her brother and Trent, she insists her brother is innocent. Though, the only reason she thinks he’s innocent is because he spent the night Trent went missing in the local jail for being too inebriated. 

 

They also learn that Trent was receiving threats via texts for a full month before he went missing. She said Trent was fairly certain the texts were coming from Rory Barclay – another man he had beaten in a fight. Apparently the text messages started coming the day after Barclay’s loss, but the number was generated by a texting app, which meant they were unable to trace it, and Trent refused to report it to the police since he felt confident in his ability to protect himself if the threats were ever put into action. 

 

From the way Rhea talks, it’s clear she is still very much in love with Trent. Her eyes begin to water as their time nears an end. She gives them everything she can, which Carl promises to look into. 

 

Rhea wipes at her charcoal-dusted eyes with the back of her sleeve and gives them a water laugh. “I think it’s sweet that you came,” she tells Akram. “Trent used to do the same thing, even though he hated it here. He wanted to keep me safe.” 

 

Akram gives her one of his gentle smiles. 

 

The moment Rhea walks away, Carl tilts his head towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

 

He’s running his mouth the entire way out of the club, theories flying off his tongue. Akram listens, hums at certain points, gives his own opinion at times. They’re halfway to his car, the noise from the club fading behind them, and Carl’s mouth still running. 

 

“I just think that we should go after this Barclay first–hey.” Carl’s voice comes out high-pitched and airy when Akram suddenly shoves him into the side of his vehicle, crowding him against the back door. 

 

Akram’s hands grip onto Carl’s hips just on the right side of painful. It’s because Carl’s already retaliating, trying to move out from underneath Akram, but he keeps him pinned with his hands alone. Despite not needing any extra strength, Akram steps forward into Carl’s space, giving him nowhere to go. 

 

“Despite what I am about to say, you must keep your eyes on me,” Akram orders calmly, nose somewhere near Carl’s left ear. His breath ghosts across Carl’s neck, which is extra sensitive after shaving. “We are being watched.”

 

Carl ignores the urge to look around for who Akram believes is watching them. Instead, he stares stubbornly at Akram. At first he stares at the man’s black curls, then his forehead when he pulls back, then his lips there’s enough distance between them. Carl hates how fucking hot Akram’s mustache is with every ounce of his being. 

 

“There were two men that followed you into the club. They watched us the entire time we spoke with Rhea, and they followed us out of the club as well.” Two of Akram’s fingers slip through Carl’s belt loop as he speaks. He takes a step back and brings Carl with him, lifting him off the vehicle with ease. “I want you to get into the vehicle and stay there until I come back-” 

 

“Akram,” Carl hisses. He grabs the man by the sides of his shirt, where the first few buttons are undone. The small window into Akram’s chest, where dark hairs peek out from under the neckline of his undershirt, has been driving Carl mad all night. “Need I remind you – again – that I’m more than capable–” 

 

Akram takes one hand off of Carl so he can open the passenger door, guiding Carl towards the seat. “When I speak, it’s like you hear something else entirely.” Akram turns to look into Carl’s eyes, unwavering and full of honesty that it’s a little scary. “It can be very frustrating.”

 

Without further explanation, Akram manages to manhandle Carl into the car, who is too confused and stunned to argue much further. He’s fucking furious, but he doesn’t know how to express that, so he just kind of lets Akram do what he wants. The door shuts, and then Akram is gone. 

 

“What the fuck.” Carl hisses to the empty hair. He has the urge to punch the dash but just barely contains it. He flops back into the seat with a huff as he tries to dissect Akram’s words. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

 

Akram had said he didn’t want Carl to go alone. In turn, Carl felt like he was being treated like he was fucking incapable. Wouldn’t anyone with his years of experience feel the same way? 

 

I did not want you to go to this alone. 

 

The words repeat in Carl’s brain over and over again, realization dawning on him with each repetition. 

 

He never insinuated that Carl wasn’t capable of going alone. He simply didn’t want him to handle it by himself. He was worried. Not doubtful. 

 

Carl’s stomach churns. He doesn’t deserve Akram’s concern. No one’s concern, for that matter. 

 

The passenger door opens and Akram falls into the seat. 

 

“They were her friends, only watching us to ensure her safety.” Akram explains as he pulls his seat belt on and buckles it. When Carl’s silence persists, Akram faces him. “You are upset.” 

 

“Keen fucking observation, Detective Salim.” Carl snaps. He holds onto the wheel with both hands, but has made no move to start the engine. “Your concern is not needed, nor is it wanted–”

 

“You do not get to choose who worries about you.” Akram’s voice is even, louder than his usual level of speaking, but firm. 

 

Hardy had said as much earlier that Akram was worried about Carl, but now he’s practically admitting to it. 

 

Carl drops Akram off at his home, hardly a word spoken between them. Akram does hesitate getting out of the vehicle, hand on the door but his eyes on Carl, but he doesn’t say whatever it is he is thinking. 

 

Carl goes home, relieved to see that Gemma and Jasper are no longer occupying the front room. He’s not sure whether she went home or not – if she is staying the night in Jasper’s room, they’re definitely going to have a talk about how that’s not okay – but, for now, Carl just needs to lie down. 

 

He sheds off his clothes, grabs an old t-shirt, and climbs into bed. He’s out not long after his head hits the pillow, Akram’s words still replaying in his mind. 

 

3.

“You shaved,” Hardy states plainly, but his surprise shows in the flatness of his tone. 

 

“Glad to know your eyes still work,” Carl snarks as he tosses his keys down on his desk. 

 

Hardy glazes over the minor insult and continues his inquiry. He stretches his legs out in front of them, using his arms to help lift one ankle over the other. Once that’s done, he leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why?”

 

Of course Hardy would choose today to interrogate him over something as simple as shaving his fucking beard. Carl rolls his eyes, but checks his right to see that Rose is there, and is happily watching the interaction between them. He checks left to see that Akram is also there, head tilted down to the file he was reading but his eyes on Carl. 

 

Carl avoids his gaze as he flops down in his chair and starts to flip through the nearest file just for something to do. “Lost a bet with Jasper,” he lies. 

 

Akram saw him last night at the Lion’s Mane, he knows that Carl changed his appearance based off the suggestion of a teenage girl. Luckily, Carl knows that Akram isn’t the type of person to out someone’s secret.

 

“I forgot what you look like underneath that carpet. I’m not sure if you look more like a twat with or without the beard.” 

 

Rose snorts. 

 

Carl plasters on a sweet smile and lies his finger in the file to keep his place. He’s reread the same paragraph five times and still hasn’t absorbed it, thanks to Hardy’s incessant chattering. “You know, I could shave my head too, then you and I could look like a couple of gay neo-nazis together. How does that sound?” 

 

“Lovely, actually.” Hardy breezes over Carl’s retort with ease. 

 

Hardy has always had a talent for dealing with Carl’s attitude, which was a blessing in disguise. Hardy is perhaps the only friend he made since transferring from London to Edinburgh. In London, Carl’s not the only one walking around with this harsh attitude. It’s earned over time in London, an attitude like this. 

 

Before they can continue to rib at each other, Rose butts in. 

 

“Did you go to the Lion’s Mane?” 

 

Carl releases the file in favor of grabbing his laptop and booting it up. “Yes. I met with a young woman named Rhea. She and Trent were romantically involved at the time of his disappearance.”

 

Carl spends the next five minutes giving them a brief but pointed run down of what he discussed with Rhea, and taps the corner of his laptop with the promise of sending them everything he was able to write down after their meeting. As expected, Rose has questions, and Hardy’s right behind her in line with questions. 

 

Akram jumps in to answer them, like the helpful asshole he is. “She told us–” 

 

“Oi.” Hardy’s head tips forward, chin to his chest, and his brows to his hairline. “Us?”

 

Rose’s eyes glide over to Carl, smooth and accusing. There’s a curl to one corner of her mouth, and a smug fucking look in her eye as she rests her chin in her hand. Carl's in extra-trouble when Hardy turns to him, blinking in a pointed manner. 

 

“I thought it would be best if we went together,” Akram answers, voice even and calm. “We work as a team, therefore I did not see any reason why Carl should go alone.” 

 

Carl rolls his eyes, but the feeling of Akram’s hands on his waist, his body pressing Carl’s to the car, is still stuck in his memory. 

 

Luckily, wherever that conversation was going is stopped when Carl’s cell phone vibrates against his desk. Moira’s name fills the screen. If she’s going to complain about him not answering her emails again, he’s going to tell her to try and be fucking patient for once since he just got here.

 

He answers the phone but is only given brief instructions to bring the team up to her office before she hangs up. 

 

Which brings them to this ridiculous fucking moment. 

 

“I’m needing two volunteers to go undercover for a few hours this afternoon to aid Detective Bruce in his investigation.” 

 

Carl hates that he was the one to ask the question, but he’s good at that. “Undercover for what, exactly? Or should I say ‘as’?” 

 

That’s how they find out whoever volunteers will need to pretend to be a couple. A fucking couple. Not just a couple, but one that’s struggling enough that they go to a fancy resort just to repair their hopeless relationship. Carl doesn’t bother asking why – not yet, at least. Not unless he’s the one that’s going to be dragged to this stupid resort. And he’s going to do everything in his power not to be involved. 

 

“I can’t go with any of them,” Rose scoffs. “They’re all old enough to be my father, and that’s a disgusting story I’m not willing to spin for the sake of an investigation. Count me out.” 

 

“I also would not feel comfortable going with Rose,” Akram adds respectfully. He has his hands in his pockets as he often does when he’s waiting to either be of help or be dismissed. “And I don’t believe I know Detective Hardy enough to convince anyone we’re in a relationship.” 

 

“But Carl knows Hardy enough!” Rose throws Carl under the bus with so much ease that he’d be impressed if it weren’t him under the bus. “They argue like they’re on the verge of divorce every day!” 

 

Moira stares at the two with a calculative eye, but the curl to her lips says she’s not buying it. “The way those two won’t stop fucking nagging at each other could trick a few, but others will see right through it.”

 

“What about Rose and DC Wilson?” Carl decides it’s worth it to pull Rose right under the bus with him. 

 

Rose’s head snaps towards him so fast that he flinches. 

 

“No, no, no,” she denies with a wicked flush. “Nope. I’ll definitely fuck it up–” 

 

“Okay,” Carl holds up his hands, palms facing her. “Relax. Your little crush could compromise the investigation. I understand–” 

 

Rose is so infuriated she punches Carl in the arm, but it only makes him smile. Unfortunately, Rose has no problem with getting revenge (for the second time). 

 

“It should be Carl and Akram.” Rose declares pointedly. “They’re the most believable option–” 

 

“Believable?” Carl scoffs. He subverts her suggestion as fast as he can. “Give me Hardy. We’ll be done by the end of the day. In fact, we’ll solve Detective Bruce’s investigation for him–” 

 

“Take Akram.” Moira’s decision is final. She might as well have smacked a gavel against her desk. She’s already sitting down, which is a clear dismissal. “Keep in mind that you’re supposed to be low-profile. So try to get in and out without letting anyone know who you are. Got it?” 

 

The team ends up back in the office, Hardy and Rose lounging back as Hardy takes the piss out of them. Meanwhile, Carl keeps his replies clipped but nasty as he gathers everything he’ll need for the next few hours. What really rubs dirt in the wound is that they’re doing this to help Bruce. The prick. 

 

“Akram, a few tips,” Hardy begins smugly. “He likes to have a wee cuddle in the morning hours. If he doesn’t, he turns into a raging fucking bitch for the rest of the day–” 

 

Carl hits the back of Hardy’s head with his bag as he passes by, dropping his folder on their investigation on Hardy’s desk. 

 

“See?” Hardy replies sweetly. “Oh, he also loves terms of endearment. For example, he likes being called lover–”

 

Carl’s glare is cold enough to stop Hardy from going any further, but Hardy’s wide grin proves that he’s won this one. 

 

“Lover,” Akram nods seriously. 

 

Carl points a finger at Akram, looking at him from under his fringe. “Don’t listen to him. That’s not true.” 

 

Aram’s head tips slightly to the side, brows knitted together in concentration. “What would you like me to call you?” 

 

“Carl, preferably,” Carl snips. 

 

Hardy snickers. “You two kids have fun. Akram, be gentle with him. He’s rather inept at these things, probably because he doesn’t know the first thing about romance.” 

 

Akram nods. “I will be gentle.” 

 

Rose’s gaze swivels to Carl, so fucking smug as her red lips quirk to one side and she crosses her arms over herself. 

 

Carl glowers, but she’s winning this staring contest, so he glides his eyes over to Akram. “I refuse to make the same promise.” 

 

Akram, always level-headed, glosses over Carl’s attitude and resorts to logic. “Perhaps Hardy has the right idea. It might be beneficial if we use this time to learn more about each other. That way we can be more convincing.” 

 

“Sure,” Carl turns around and crosses his arms over his chest. “What did you do in Syria?”

 

Arkam’s eyes crawl shut, which is the closest Carl has gotten to receiving an eye-roll from him. He opens them a second later, already having control on the little burst of frustration Carl must have caused. He stares at Carl pointedly, and keeps his lips tightly shut. 

 

“Let’s stick with the terms of endearment, shall we?” Carl smirks like an asshole as he scoops up his coat. He leaves the rest of his team watching his back as he strolls to the elevator, one hand on his bag and the other waving at them over his shoulder. “Meet me in the car, lover.” 

 

The drive to the ‘resort’ (it’s really nothing more than a glorified spa) is only about twenty minutes, but that’s twenty minutes that Carl has to spend in the car with Akram, worrying about how the hell he’s going to convince anyone that they’re in a relationship. Knowing Akram, he’s probably fucking perfect at doing undercover work like this. 

 

Not Carl. He really only wears one mask, and that mask is asshole. 

 

“We will need a story as to why we are here,” Akram states when they’re halfway there. 

 

“Simple,” Carl says sweetly, “the same reason any couple goes to these things. Poor sex life.” 

 

Akram turns to look at him, a frown on his face. “You want to tell everyone I do not satisfy you?” 

 

Carl avoids looking at that frown in fear of saying something stupid. He looks pointedly out of the window instead. “You could tell them I don’t satisfy you if that makes you feel better.” 

 

Akram’s frown does not dissipate. He shakes his head. “It is a lie that requires too much work.” 

 

“Then you come up with something,” Carl snips as he takes a left. The long drive leading up to the resort is in sight. He slows down, then takes a left onto the gravel path. It’ll take them five minutes to make it to the front building. It’s far removed from the road, the rest of town, on purpose. They’re really trying to sell this ‘resort’ aesthetic. 

 

Carl pulls into the first parking space he can find and shuts off the engine. He hops out, eying the way the car lies crookedly in the lines. At least it’s in the lines. 

They still haven’t decided on their story, but Carl thinks that’s probably for the best. That will only make them seem more dysfunctional, won’t it?

 

Carl’s always operating on a level of annoyance, but it must be enough that the secretary takes one look at him and then Akram before promising to get them in with the doctor right away. Her eyes linger on Akram, as if she’s worried about his safety. He soothes her with a smile, which earns him a glare from Carl. 

 

The secretary shrinks further in her seat, deciding it’s safest to avoid eye contact with either of them. 

 

Not even five minutes later, a woman who can’t be more than five feet comes through a pair of white double doors that have stained glass windows. Carl can make out a lot of hearts and swans in the design. 

 

“Hi! Welcome, welcome. I’m Serena. I’ll be handling your session today.” Her mop of curls bounces with each step. Her eyes are bright behind her large square frames. “Please follow me to my office. It's my understanding that this is an emergency.” 

 

Carl and Akram follow behind her. Carl’s brain is starting to grasp at straws. They really need a story…

 

She leads them through an arched doorway, then waves them over to a crimson red couch. Carl takes a seat at the far end, resting his arm on the arm rest. There’s plenty of room, yet Akram sits right beside him. So close that their thighs touch. 

 

“I can tell that you’re both upset. Why don’t you start with telling me what’s going on?” 

 

“He refuses to accept gentle love because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.” 

 

Carl’s eyes bug out of his skull. He turns to Akram, but Akram continues. 

 

“It is impeding our relationship, and his relationship with others. He pushes everyone at arm’s length because he struggles to accept their kindness.”

The therapist hums and nods. “Your names are Carl and Akram, yes?” 

 

Akram nods. 

 

“Akram, I can see why this would be frustrating for you. Carl, can you see why this is frustrating for Akram?” 

 

Carl’s jaw flexes when he grits his teeth. “Sure.” 

 

“Thank you for admitting that, Carl. Admitting to the difficult things shows just how much you want to fix your relationship with Akram. It shows that you care, and that you’re willing to make the effort to keep him.” 

 

Carl smiles, but it’s more of a sneer than anything. The therapist doesn’t notice. 

 

“May I ask if this is affecting your sex life?” 

 

Akram’s lips part a fraction of a centimeter. This time, Carl’s smile twists smugly. His gaze swivels over to Akram, as if to say I told you so. 

 

“Yes, actually. It is,” Carl unhelpfully answers. 

 

The therapist jumps immediately into generic tips to improve their sex life – leading Carl to believe that she’s not all that she’s cracked up to be. In fact, Carl could believe she’s new to the position, judging by the way her eyes keep flitting down to a piece of paper she must have taped to her desk. Perhaps with reminders of what to say. 

 

After twenty minutes of her talking, a knock comes at the door. A small woman with tanned skin and a ponytail that goes all the way down to her waist enters. 

 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Serena. Mrs. Hodges is on the phone. Mr. Hodges, um–” her eyes flit to Akram and Carl. She mouths the words cheated again at Serena. 

 

Serena deflates at the news, seeming truly bothered. She stands, giving both Akram and Carl an apologetic smile. 

 

“Please give me a moment. I’ll return shortly. Perhaps you can take this time to put some of what we talked about into action.” 

 

With that, she nods determinedly and leaves them in her office. 

 

All alone. 

 

Carl bounds off the crimson couch and over to her desk. He has already flipped through three files by the time Akram reaches him. Carl expects Akram to scold him, as he so often does when Carl doesn’t do things the ‘lawful’ way, but he instead starts to help him search. He starts with the filing cabinet behind the desk. 

 

After five minutes of searching, and frantically checking the door to make sure Serena isn’t about to enter, Akram finds the folder of the couple Bruce is investigating. A man and woman currently missing. Their house was ransacked, but nothing appears to be missing. A neighbor noticed the front door was wide open early yesterday morning, and all units – local or not – are keeping an eye out for the couple, both in their sixties. 

 

Carl splays the contents across her desk, eyes eagerly skating over each paper. There are notes from their last four visits, which he reads as carefully as he can in the time they don’t have. Akram’s reading everything too from his spot over Carl’s shoulder. Other than those last four visits, the only other items inside are their introductory paperwork, a love quiz Serena apparently made them fill out on their second visit, and personal notes from Serena that are otherwise harmless, if not a little harsh. 

 

Carl sighs and scoops everything back into the folder. Akram takes it and puts it back where it belongs while Carl tidies up Serena’s desk. 

 

They made out pretty well considering Carl can hear Serena’s voice floating down the hall from the crack she left in the door. 

 

The problem is that they definitely won’t have time to make it back to the couch without looking suspicious as fuck before she gets here. 

 

Carl freezes, trying to think of an explanation for what they were doing. But, as par for the course today, Akram does all the thinking for him. 

 

Akram’s an unstoppable force as he grabs Carl by the wrists and pushes him back. Carl doesn’t have a chance to say a word before his shoulders hit the wall, followed by the rest of him. Akram crowds him in, cupping Car’s hands around his face, as if Carl had been cradling him seconds before. There’s the scalding sensation on the tip of his tongue to lash out at Akram for whatever the fuck it is he’s doing, but then his hands land on Carl’s hips, jerking him forward so he’s practically sitting on Akram’s thigh. And Akram is far from shy as he presses his leg firmly to Carl’s groin. 

 

There’s a brief moment where Akram lingers – his eyes roaming over Carl’s face – before he kisses him. One would think that a kiss in a moment like this would be wild and bruising, but it’s the exact fucking opposite, and Carl doesn’t know what to do other than completely melt into it. 

 

Akram’s lips are soft and warm against Carl’s, and he uses his mouth so gently against Carl’s. He gifts Carl a succession of slow, passionate, deep kisses, and Carl doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do other than glide his hands back into Akram’s hair and accept each kiss as eagerly as he can. 

 

God, Akram hasn’t used teeth or tongue, nothing but his lips, and Carl feels hot all over. The graze of his mustache against Carl’s skin lights his nerves on fire in all the best ways, and the press of his fingers into Carl’s hips stops all thoughts from forming in his brain. 

 

Carl’s hands glide down Arkam’s shoulders, arousal singeing him from the inside out at the taut muscle underneath his fingers, underneath Akram’s sweater. He continues down the swell of his biceps, down his firm forearms, until he reaches Akram’s wrists. Akram decides then is the perfect time to bring Carl down against his thigh, rolling Carl’s hips easily with his bruising grasp. 

 

“Akram,” Carl gasps, but Akram’s devouring the sound of his own name with a greedy kiss. His tongue slips into Carl’s mouth, finally giving him something more than gentle. 

 

“Oh.” 

 

Akram breaks the kiss, his chest rising and subsequently pinning Carl even more into the wall with his inhale. He has his head turned over his shoulder, eyes on the doctor standing in the doorway of her own office. Whether he realizes he’s doing it or not, he’s also using his body to shield Carl from her eyes, like some of fucking possessive alpha wolf. 

 

Carl would laugh if he didn’t find it ridiculously hot. And if he didn’t have Akram’s muscled leg still shoved between his own. 

 

“Serena,” Akram utters, an apology already in his tone. “I am so sorry. The moment got away from me–” 

 

“No!” The rosy-cheeked cherub of a doctor squeaks. She’s grinning from ear to ear, but doing her best to keep it subdued. “This is love in its rawest form, and that is what I am here to champion. I am so happy that today has helped you. Though I think it would be beneficial if we end our session now, that way you two can continue to… work things out.” 

 

Akram thanks the doctor, helpfully doing all of the talking for the both of them as he takes Carl’s hand in his. He even laces their fingers together like they’re fucking school children. Carl can’t believe him. So what if he squeezes Akram’s hand as he’s pulling Carl out of the office and down the hall, to where their stupid little Ford sits in the parking lot.

 

Carl loosens his grip, prepared to get behind the wheel, but Akram’s grip is strong enough to twist Carl around. He’s once again pinned against the shitty vehicle, but it’s also starting to feel like a good luck charm. 

 

“She is still watching us,” Akram explains as he hooks a finger under Carl’s chin. He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against Carl’s. Nuzzling. He’s fucking nuzzling him. 

 

“I’m going to fucking kill you for this,” Carl murmurs, but nudges the tip of his nose into Akram’s cheek. 

 

Akram’s smiling that gentle smirk of his, the one that comes from a place of pure gentleness. Carl loves that smile more than he’d ever admit.

 

Akram’s eyes are on Carl’s mouth, dark and attentive. There’s a gentle click next to Carl’s hip, so Carl glances down to see that Akram has opened up the door for him. “You may get in now.” 

 

“Oh, thanks for your permission,” Carl snarks, eyes rolling as he finds a moment of reprieve in the quiet car. His heart is thundering inside his chest, viciously against his rib cage. 

 

Akram joins him, shutting the door behind him with a final sigh. Then, he turns those dark eyes on Carl, but they’re not dark in the same way they were a second ago, when he was nuzzling against him. 

 

“She had nothing to do with the disappearance of the couple Detective Bruce is investigating.” 

 

Right. This is work. Carl managed to forget, like a fucking amateur. His fingers wring around the wheel for a moment before he nods. 

 

“No. Neither did anyone at this resort.” Carl starts the engine, lips pursed. When it finally rumbles to life and he has the car in drive, Carl shrugs. “It’s possible whoever harmed them followed them here, but that’s it.” 

 

Akram carries the conversation the entire way back to the precinct, and Carl does his best to act normal as he throws back his own ideas. At least it’s easy. Carl can turn off his brain, pretend that whatever just happened didn’t in fact happen. Because there’s not a fucking chance of Carl being mature enough to carry on, shrug and say it was all for Detective Bruce’s fucking investigation. 

 

Unlike Akram, apparently. 

 

Carl hasn’t heard the last three points Akram has made. Headquarters is in sight, and all Carl can think about is grabbing his file and heading home for the night. It’s time he fucking work on his investigation and not someone else’s. And it’s a perfect chance to bury his head in papers so he doesn’t have to think about Akram’s gentle kisses. 

 

Carl swings the car over, shifts into park, and hops out of the vehicle while Akram’s still speaking. Akram’s unbothered, still speaking as he gets out and follows after Carl. Carl pushes through the doors, all noise shifting into a general buzz the closer he gets to the elevator. He slams his open palm on the call button and waits. 

 

Akram saddles up beside him, eyes never leaving Carl’s face. He has finally stopped speaking, deciding to slip his hands into the pockets of his slacks as they wait for the elevator. 

 

The lift dings and the doors slide open, revealing the wood panelled walls leading to their dungeon of an office. Carl steps in and plasters his back to the wall. Akram steps in after him, eyes still on Carl as he expertly hits their button without even looking. 

 

The doors slide shut.

 

“Did you not like the way I kissed you?” 

 

Carl’s eyes widen. His head tips slightly to the side, hoping it conveys the perfect amount of shut the fuck up he can muster with one look. 

 

“Kissing me was quite a drastic choice, don’t you think?” 

 

“I saw an opportunity.” Akram states plainly. 

 

“To kiss me?” 

“Yes.” 

 

Carl’s stunned into silence. There are a million and one things he could say, but none of them come to mind. 

 

The lift jerks to a stop and the doors slide open, revealing the trailing stairs down to their office. Carl brushes past him, shaking his head as he goes. Akram curls around, staying so close that Carl’s shoulder stays pressed to Akram’s chest as they walk. 

 

“I thought you enjoyed it, but I must be mistaken. I apologize.” Akram speaks as they pass the open doors into their office. 

 

Hardy and Rose are leaning against Hardy’s desk, side by side, and look up as they enter. They’re not alone. In front of them stands the redheaded troll. Carl’s fairly certain his name was Kevin. Which is a stupid fucking name if you ask Carl. 

 

“Enjoyed what?” Hardy’s the first one to ask. 

 

Carl's glare holds the same intensity as a scalding hot laser. Carl swivels that gaze over to the troll. 

 

“And what do we owe the pleasure?” Carl crosses his arms over himself and lifts his brows haughtily. 

 

Kevin’s gaze glides down him with obvious intent. He smirks and tips his chin forward flirtatiously. “Mouth.” 

 

Rose does nothing to hide her surprise that Carl is being flirted with. Not because he isn’t worth being flirted with, but because he has the same manner as a rattle snake. Then again, the man that stands before them is practically a giant, so it’s not as if he has much to fear with Carl other than a verbal lashing. 

 

Kevin’s also at least fifteen years younger than Carl, if not more. He has a lot of confidence to go after someone like Carl. 

 

Especially with Akram standing right beside him. 

 

Kevin looks over Carl’s shoulder to Akram, where Akram’s chest is still pressed to Carl’s side. “Akram,” he greets kindly. 

 

Akram steps forward and fucking puts himself in front of Carl. Barely. But he still does it. Rose and Hardy notice it too. Their gazes are flitting back and forth between Kevin and their  two idiots.

 

Kevin notices too. His tongue grazes against the inside of his cheek like the smug bastard he is. “Okay, okay. You can kick my arse, I know. I’ll stop flirting with your boyfriend.” 

 

“Boyfriend?” Hardy happily picks out, his brows up to his hairline and amusement in his gaze. 

 

“Kevin stopped by to give us this.” Rose steps forward to hand Carl a piece of yellow note paper. 

 

He unfolds it to find a colorfully worded threat on the inside. Carl’s eyes flit up to Kevin’s from under his fringe. 

 

“This was sent to you?” 

 

Kevin nods, but Hardy’s the one to answer. 

 

“He received it this morning. He said he would have reported it the second he found it, but he was running late to work, which is why he’s standing here now.” Hardy crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “Looks like we’re getting close.” 

 

Carl hands the note off to Akram. 

 

“We could place some of our men outside your home–” Carl offers.

 

Kevin scoffs. “I live in a flat with three other fighters. I think I’m safe.” 

 

Akram looks up, right into Carl’s eyes. Carl knows what he’s thinking. It’s just as Hardy said. They’re getting close. 

 

Kevin hums. “Christ, can you two keep the eye-fucking to a minimum? Someone’s threatening to kill me here.” 

 

Rose snorts, but does her best to disguise it as a cough. 

 

Carl plasters on a smile, but it’s flat and annoyed, which is exactly what Kevin deserves. “Thanks for coming ‘round. You’ll let us know if anything else happens?” 

 

“Will do.” Kevin says his goodbyes to Rose and Hardy with a polite nod, but brushes past Akram and Carl with that stupid smirk of his. “Come back around the bar sometime. I need a good fight,” Kevin says to Akram, then drops his gaze to Carl, “and something pretty to look at.” 

 

Akram moves in a way that makes Carl actually thinks he’s going to do something, so he grabs Akram by the forearm and keeps him right where he’s standing. 

 

Kevin swaggers away, leaving Carl and his three subordinates standing in silence. 

 

“Okay, holy fuck that was weird. It was like I was watching someone flirt with my parent?” Rose stands and shakes her shoulders in disgust, like she’s trying to will away what just transpired. 

 

“How’d it go?” Hardy asks as Carl flops down in his chair. 

 

Akram lingers, eyes following Carl, until he finally turns and takes his own seat. 

 

“Oh, just lovely.” Carl opens his laptop and starts to filter through his emails. He opens a blank document to send to Detective Bruce. “I love doing another detective’s work.” 

 

“Don’t be so bitter,” Hardy snickers, but he would be uttering the same sentiments had he been in Carl’s position. 

 

“Did you two do anything fucking useful today or have we all wasted our time?” 

 

Rose and Hardy go over the bulletin board that they were able to add a few things to, narrowed down more of where Trent McMann was the day he disappeared, but not enough to give them an answer as to where the fuck he went. 

 

Carl sends off their findings – or lack thereof – to Bruce and his team, then stands from his desk with a sigh. “I’m going the fuck home,” he states, then gathers his things and leaves without waiting for anyone else. 

 

Fuck today.

+1 

Martin’s gone for the night, off with some friend to do a wine tour an hour away. Jasper’s staying the night with a friend – though Carl’s pretty convinced he’s actually staying at Gemma’s – but Carl can’t do anything other than trust what Jasper’s telling him, because Jasper hasn’t given him any reason not to trust him. 

 

So that means Carl gets to wear his softest gray sweats, his most stretched out navy crew-neck, and bumble around the house with a hot cup of milky tea and a plate full of biscuits Martin made before he left. 

 

Carl had a lovely shower, a wank that left him feeling boneless and sleepy, and now gets to sit down on the couch to watch mind numbing TV until he’s ready to look at the file again. Everyone needs a break, him included, especially with what’s been going on lately. 

 

He’s never been left feeling so confused as he has with Akram. It feels so real sometimes; the way that Akram talks to him makes Carl think for a moment that yes, Akram does want him. And then the crash back to reality leaves Carl angry and tired. 

 

Carl deposits his biscuits and tea on the coffee table, then flops onto the sofa with a huff. He retrieves the remote and flips on the first thing he can find.

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Borland have been located after being reported missing thirty-six hours ago. The couple, who are in their late sixties, decided to flee their home in what they describe as ‘an episode of passion’--”

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Carl grumbles. 

 

Looks like Detective Bruce’s case is solved.  

 

Carl grabs a biscuit, having it halfway to his mouth when a knock comes at the door. Of fucking course someone would come right when Carl is about to settle in – but it could be Jasper. Maybe he forgot something. 

 

Carl tosses the biscuit down with a growl. He gets up, shuffles his way to the door, and contemplates grabbing socks after he answers the door. The floorboards are frigid. 

 

Carl swings open the door without looking through the peep hole, head lolling to the side with a pissed-off look since he fully expects Jasper. 

 

Except that it’s Akram standing on the other side, wearing the same clothes he was at the office. When Carl last saw him two hours ago. 

 

“Akram,” Carl says, but it seems like Akram’s name always comes out as a whine when he’s annoyed. 

 

Akram offers an awkward smile before he ducks his head and clears his throat. Carl fucking hates how adorable he finds Akram. Adorable. Sexy. Strong. Protective. Gentle. 

 

“May I come in?” Akram’s eyes rise, dark under his long lashes. 

 

Carl steps aside without a single thought. Akram steps up into the home and walks past, the smell of his cologne just as subtle as the rest of him. Carl’s eyes roll to the back of his head, mentally cursing himself to get his shit together as he shuts the front door. 

 

“Listen-” Carl starts, turning on his heel to face Akram. His hands are already on his hips, an excuse on the tip of his tongue for why he moaned Akram’s name like he did.

 

But Akram’s hands are on him, bumping Carl’s hands out of the way so he can grab Carl’s waist like he did earlier. Carl’s voice dies off somewhere in his throat, no noise coming out past his parted lips as Akram backs him up against the front door. He’s grazing his nose tenderly against Carl’s, and Carl responds by lifting his chin and presenting his mouth for Arkam to take. 

 

Instead of kissing him, Akram speaks. His lips brush against Carl’s as he does, but Carl doesn’t close the distance regardless of how badly he wants to. Because what Akram’s saying is far more interesting. 

 

“I have decided to stop waiting for opportunities.” 

 

Carl’s brows lift. The corner of his mouth pulls back in a smirk. “That so?” 

 

“I have not corrected Kevin about you being my boyfriend, because I want that to be so. I imagine we share that truth.” 

 

Carl swallows, but nuzzles his nose back against Akram’s. “We’re nearly fifty. Do fifty-year-olds still have boyfriends?” 

 

Akram’s fingers flex on his hips. Akram takes a step closer, closing the distance between their bodies. He pulls Carl’s hips into his. On instinct, Carl’s hands land on Akram’s shoulders for something to hold onto. And, fuck, are Akram’s shoulders something hard and sturdy to hold. 

 

“I believe they do,” Akram answers, voice so low that it rumbles through Carl. 

 

“Then… we share that truth,” Carl confirms. 

 

Akram kisses him, smushing their mouths together in something desperate and stupidly romantic. Carl thinks their kiss would look like one from those old American films, where everything’s black and white and they speak in those ridiculous accents. 

 

Carl’s hands glide down from Akram’s shoulders to tug at his tie. Akram pulls back so Carl can undo the knot and toss the garment down the hall. “Are you able to stay for a few hours?” 

 

Akram pecks him on the lips, following Carl’s lead as they work down the hall and into the front room. “Two, to be exact.” 

 

Carl shoves at Akram’s shoulders, sending him back against the couch. Akram stares up into Carl’s face as he straddles his lap, curls his arms around his neck, and starts kissing him again. Akram caresses everywhere he can touch; Carl’s back, his sides, his thighs, his ass. His hands travel reverently over Carl’s form. He inhales between each kiss, a low sound that makes Carl’s skin flush hot. 

 

Carl touches Akram in return, fingertips grazing over his cheekbones, through his hair, down his nape, pausing at his pulse point to feel his quickened heartrate. He glides his hands down the buttons of Akram’s top teasingly, up and down, up and down, before he finally flicks the first button loose. 

 

“Oi!” 

 

Carl holds tight to Akram’s shoulders as he flinches back, heart caught in his throat at the sudden noise. 

Jasper stands in the space between the front hall and the living room, a look of pure horror on his face as he looks from Carl to Akram. That horror molds into anger real fast. 

 

“Who the hell are you and why are you kissing my da!” Jasper steps forward like an angry deer stamping its feet.

 

“Jasper,” Carl grits out in surprise. He slides off of Akram’s lap ungracefully, coming to stand before Jasper so he can use himself as a barrier. He can hear Akram stand from the couch. “You’re supposed to be at your friend’s.” 

 

“He drove me back to grab a few things. Who is he?” Jasper’s nose curls as he looks over Carl’s shoulder at Akram.

 

Akram’s hand appears in his peripheral. 

 

“I am Akram.” 

 

Carl’s eyes crawl shut. Fucking Akram and his kindness. Carl adores it. 

 

Jasper stares at the hand, lips parted and brows knitted. He doesn’t have a clue what to do. 

 

“Akram, this is Jasper, my son.” Carl realizes his slip and thinks Jasper’s going to correct him with a harsh stepson but it never comes. It’s then that Carl realizes Jasper called him da. It’s suddenly hard to fight off a smile. “My son who is grabbing whatever the hell it is he came back for and is leaving.” 

 

Jasper scoffs, but decides it’s best he leave rather than have the image of his dad sitting on another man’s lap seared into his brain for a second longer. He disappears into his room, only the sound of him upturning just about everything to no doubt make a ridiculous mess proving that he’s still here. 

 

Carl and Akram stand side by side, glancing at each other briefly before Carl has to look away. Akram’s smirking, the bastard. 

 

Jasper returns, a bag slung over his shoulder and a smaller one held in his hand. He’s still confused, looking between the two men with apprehension. 

 

“Be… safe…” Jasper says, since it seems he has no idea what else to say in this moment. 

 

“You be safe,” Carl challenges. “Call me if you need anything.” 

 

Jasper shakes his head as he flees. The door shuts softly behind him, leaving Carl and Akram in the quiet of his living room. 

 

“That… definitely killed the mood, didn’t it?” 

 

Akram pulls Carl into his arms. “No,” he answers before he drops to the couch, placing Carl expertly into his lap. “Nothing could stop me from wanting you.” 

 

Carl’s blushing far too much for a grown man. He rolls his eyes. “Smooth-talker, are we?” 

 

“One of us has to be.” 

 

Carl punches Akram’s mouth with his own. 

 

“Shut up,” Carl whispers against his lips. 

Notes:

I'm always feeling so discontent after I write Akram and Carl because they are such specific, detailed characters, I'm not sure if I ever nail them. I do my best :) I hope you liked this story. Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the kind comments on my other story with them called True Nature. Sorry for any errors, I don't have much time to edit, and I'd rather get this out into the world than sit on it any longer. It takes me forever to finish a story for this couple for whatever reason! Anyway, thanks again!!