Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

bed,” Ty finally grumbled.
    "Priss,” Zane murmured sleepily.
    "Hmph,” Ty responded without moving.
    "I'm cold,” Zane strung together, voice thick.
    "Like I care,” Ty grunted softly as he finally forced himself to move. He rolled off the edge of the bed and thumped loudly to the floor, then stood and slid liquidly under the covers all in one graceful motion.
    Zane grumbled and turned to his hands and knees, backing off the side of the bed and standing up. He disposed of the used condom and cleaned up with one of the dirty towels in the corner. He ran both hands over his face and through his hair, and then looked down at Ty.
    "What?” Ty questioned as he burrowed under the covers.
    "I want to sleep here with you,” Zane admitted petulantly.
    "What's stopping you?” Ty challenged with a small smirk, curious as to what Zane would do.
    Well, he'd been afraid Ty would stop him. Zane pulled the sheets down on the side to Ty's left and slid into the warm cotton, his legs stretching out easily. He pulled the pillow under his head and rolled to his side, facing Ty. He opened his mouth to say “thank you” or “good night” or “please touch me again,” but instead there was nothing.
    Ty lay there looking at him expressionlessly. Finally, his hand slid under the covers and onto Zane's hip, pulling him closer as he gently caressed the skin of his hip and waist. He scooted closer, until finally he had his arm draped around Zane and his other arm under Zane's neck to support his head. He wedged his face between Zane's and the pillow. “This in no way means I don't still hate you,” he muttered as he nuzzled his nose and mouth against Zane's temple and closed his eyes.
    Zane smiled, his lower arm shifted so he could place his palm over Ty's beating heart, and his top arm curled over his waist. He drifted to sleep, feeling amazingly comfortable, listening to Ty's steady breathing.
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Chapter Six
    A slim woman in uniform with her dark hair pulled back into a severe bun stopped next to Detective Steve Pierce's desk. “Got some messages for you, Detective,” she said, holding out a few pink pieces of paper.
    Pierce glanced up. “Thanks, Branson. I'm putting in another work order on that voice mail,” he promised her.
    "Sure thing, sir. It's no problem, unless we're booking,” she answered before taking herself back to the front counter across the large squad room.
    Detective Steve Holleman glanced up at his partner from across their connected desks and raised an eyebrow at him. Pierce leaned back in the creaky chair and flipped through the pink slips. He scowled at one in particular and stared at it hatefully.
    "Care to share?” Holleman finally prodded.
    "Goddamn Feebs again,” Pierce muttered, tossing the pink slips on his desk. “About the serial."
    "What else is new?” Holleman muttered as he went back to the report he was filling out.
    "It's from that Henninger guy. There's a new team here,” Pierce said, picking up his coffee with one hand and spinning his computer mouse with the other to wake up the monitor.
    "Well, yeah,” Holleman huffed as if that should be obvious. “The last ones got themselves killed."
    Pierce slanted a displeased look at his partner, but didn't tell him off. “I still think they need to check their own house."
    "Tell them that. Shit, one of those guys almost went nuclear when one of the uniforms mentioned that at the last crime scene."
    "Yeah, I know. We'd probably react the same way, though. I just hate that they can march in and do whatever the hell they want. That's why this thing hasn't been solved yet. Too many fingers in the pot, screwing with the soup."
    Holleman plunked his pen down and looked up at his partner with a frown. “You're not starting with the food analogies again, are you?” he asked flatly.
    Pierce rolled his eyes. “They got too many people dealing with the details, fucking up the evidence, and then they wonder why the case is so screwed. Then, of course, they call us and expect us to snap to. I'm thinking this time, they can wait."
    "Yeah, that won't piss them off,” Holleman muttered as he picked up his pen again. “Whatever. I've got too much shit to do as it is."
    "I'll call them tomorrow morning. You got that paperwork from Trenton?"
    "Somewhere,” Holleman answered distractedly. “You got that statement from the chick who didn't like buttoning her shirt?” he asked as he looked back up.
    "Yeah, in that