Chapter 15

The autopsy should have waited until the next morning. That was standard procedure, apart from bodies that came in before about noon.

In the case of Detective McKay, it had been after eight in the evening when he was finally transferred into the morgue. Literally no one would have faulted Bashir for putting the body into the cooler and coming back in the morning, after a solid night's sleep, to autopsy him along with the other two bodies that had come in this evening. In fact, anyone who knew how the morgue did things would be shocked to see anyone still here at all for anything other than dropping off a body.

But here he was, standing beside the table at almost nine o'clock, steeling himself before getting started.

He was hardly squeamish about autopsies, and he could usually compartmentalize enough to begin working without flinching on even the most disturbing of cases. That was a job requirement—a pathologist had to be able to put aside their emotional responses enough to get the job done, but still hold on to those emotions enough to remain human. Some people thought doing this job meant being completely numb and detached, but that wasn't true. When someone could autopsy a child without feeling anything, it was time to find another line of work.

Doing the job meant feeling those emotions, acknowledging them, but proceeding with the task robotically. Empathize, be horrified by what happened to the person, have sympathy for their loved ones… but still confidently cut into skin and unflinchingly saw through bone.

Standing beside Detective McKay's body… Bashir wasn't so sure he could pick up the scalpel or the bone saw.

The man lying on the table was not a man Bashir had particularly liked in life, and he didn't apologize for that. McKay had always been one of those cops who made Bashir rethink his career choices; the blowflies at death scenes were less annoying than cops like Detective McKay.

But that didn't mean he'd deserved this, whether "this" turned out to be suicide or murder. His family—his dying wife—didn't deserve this.

His partner didn't deserve this.

Bashir closed his eyes and sighed behind his surgical mask. That was the issue, wasn't it? Bashir faced down the results of cruelty and tragedy every day in this cold place. He was as accustomed to it as anyone could ever be without emotionally flatlining.

But he wasn't used to being so close to someone who loved the decedent.

Under normal circumstances, it was understood that everyone in the morgue could bow out of participating in an autopsy on someone they knew. Boyce had stepped in when a friend of Bashir's had passed away last year. Bashir had performed the post-mortem on Boyce's cousin. Tami had taken the day off when a friend from high school had arrived at the morgue following a car accident.

There were times when it couldn't be avoided, of course. Two years ago, a friend of Bashir's had died under questionable circumstances. Being the medical examiner and the only forensic pathologist within a hundred miles, Bashir couldn't completely escape that one. Since he'd have to sign off on it either way, he'd gone ahead and performed the autopsy himself. His friend's family and girlfriend were still angry that he'd ultimately ruled the death as natural causes when they'd been convinced he'd been murdered.

Was that why he was hesitating now? Because he was afraid he'd have to tell Sawyer and the grieving, dying widow that McKay had killed himself? Or that someone had murdered him? Neither outcome was going to bring a lot of peace to anyone in McKay's orbit. Would Sawyer blame him? Resent him?

And since when was any of that reason to hesitate on doing his damn job? Bashir's duty was to the person on his table and to the truth. Be respectful of the family and of any traditions surrounding death and funerals, but first and foremost—respect the deceased by finding and telling the truth about their death.

Not everyone took that well. Grief was a bitch of an emotion, and shooting the messenger (metaphorically, in most cases) was not uncommon.

Bashir closed his eyes and exhaled behind the mask. Maybe he should wait until morning after all. He needed sleep. He needed distance. He needed—

Sawyer.

"For fuck's sake," he muttered into the stillness of the morgue. He was a mess, and that meant the last thing he should be doing was an autopsy. And no one would fault him if he followed standard operating goddamned procedure by waiting until tomorrow morning.

But am I going to be able to sleep? Am I really going to be any more together in the morning?

No. No, he was not.

So it was time to get to fucking work and—

Someone started entering a code at the front entrance.

Bashir's head snapped up. Who the hell? During the day, people could come and go through the front, but after hours, a code was required.

The door opened. "Bashir?"

Sawyer. Oh shit .

Bashir bit back some curses, then called out, "Just a minute!" as he grabbed a sheet to pull over McKay. The last thing Sawyer needed was to see his partner, deathly white and naked, laid out on a table. Maybe it was just as well Bashir hadn't started cutting.

With McKay covered, Bashir took off his gloves, mask, and the protective gear he'd been wearing over his scrubs, and went to meet Sawyer.

He was waiting by the front desk, and he was almost as pale as the man on Bashir's table. His eyes were red, which wasn't a surprise.

When he met Bashir's gaze, he said, "I tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail. And then I saw your car out front when I came to the precinct, and…" He deflated, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I just… needed to see you."

Bashir stepped closer. "It's okay. Come here."

Sawyer didn't even flinch at stepping into Bashir's embrace. In fact, he almost collapsed into it, leaning hard on him as he buried his face against Bashir's neck.

Bashir held on to him, trying to be careful of the places he knew Sawyer had been bruised in that bar incident. God, had that really been this same week? No wonder he was flagging.

"I'm sorry," Sawyer murmured. "You're probably busy, and—" He suddenly jerked out of Bashir's arms and stared at him. "Oh, fuck. If you're here this late—were you… is he…" His eyes flicked toward the doorway Bashir had come through, and he seemed to get even paler.

"Relax." Bashir put a hand on Sawyer's chest. "I just came in to get some paperwork done. I wasn't—autopsies are first thing in the morning." He flinched internally over lying to Sawyer, but he decided the lie was kinder than the truth. Sawyer was threadbare enough without knowing his partner—his friend—was just around the corner on a table beside a bunch of surgical instruments.

Fortunately, the white lie seemed to calm Sawyer down a little. He sighed and leaned against the reception desk. "I'm interrupting your paperwork, too. I'm sorry. I'm… God, I am such a fucking wreck right now."

"Of course you are." Bashir ran a hand through Sawyer's hair. "Anyone would be. But… why are you at the precinct? You should be with his widow. Or at home."

"I know." Sawyer's voice sounded hollow. "I came to… I don't know. I thought I could get some work done, but…" He shook his head.

"What about your partner's wife?"

Sawyer rubbed the back of his neck. "I stayed with her for a while, but she needed to rest. She's…" His shoulders dropped farther. "I think me being there was upsetting her even more, and she doesn't need that right now."

"What do you need?"

Sawyer looked up at him, confusion written all over his face. "What? "

Bashir touched Sawyer's cheek. "You just lost someone close to you. What do you need?"

For a few seconds, Sawyer still seemed confused, as if he couldn't comprehend that he even had needs, let alone that anyone might care enough to meet them. Slowly, though, his focus sharpened. He wiped a hand over his face and blew out a breath. "What I need? Honestly?"

Bashir nodded. "Yeah."

Sawyer swallowed. "I just want to shut everything off for a while."

Concern rose in Bashir's chest. "You're not going to go get shit-faced, are you?"

The ghost of a laugh escaped Sawyer's lips. "No, no. Nothing like that. Because then I'll just be sick tomorrow. What I want…" He avoided Bashir's gaze as some color rose in his otherwise pale cheeks.

"What you want…?" Bashir prompted gently.

Sawyer lifted his head, and Bashir wasn't ready for the sudden heat in those beautiful eyes.

But he also wasn't surprised by it. In fact, he recognized it as the same heat that had driven him and a friend into bed an hour after they'd left another friend's funeral. And that same need that'd had him on Grindr almost every night in the week leading up to finals.

Was it the most appropriate thing for the situation? Probably not. Was it healthy? Eh, it was better than some of the alternatives. Sometimes there was nothing to be done except get close to someone, shut out the rest of the world, and don't come up for air until they'd wrung out every last drop of grief, stress, and everything in between.

Either way, Bashir knew exactly what Sawyer meant when he shakily whispered, "I want to turn off my phone. Lock the fucking door. And not think anymore tonight. "

Nodding, Bashir reached for him, and Sawyer didn't resist being pulled in. He sure as hell didn't resist being kissed. In fact, he seemed to melt, whimpering softly as he slid his hands over Bashir's waist.

No, this wasn't the time or place, but Bashir understood. And at least this was something he could actually give Sawyer when he was powerless to give him the things he truly needed.

He couldn't provide any answers right now. He couldn't bring him any peace about his partner or the recent string of murders. He couldn't do a damn thing to fix everything that had driven Sawyer to this.

But give him a few hours of downtime and distraction?

That he could do.

If any of Sawyer's bumps or bruises were giving him grief, he didn't let on about it. Not while they were making out in Bashir's living room. Not while they were pulling clothes off all the way down the hall. Definitely not when he dragged Bashir down onto the bed.

There was a small part of Bashir's brain that warned him they might regret this later—cathartic sex was fine and good, but perhaps not the best thing for the first time with a new partner in a fledgling relationship?

That, like everything they'd locked outside, was tomorrow's problem. Tonight, even while Bashir's body tried to remind him he was exhausted, he was determined to make sure Sawyer couldn't think about anything but him. Sawyer's phone was turned off and his captain had ordered him to take the night off, forbidding him from showing his face at any crime scene or at the precinct for the next twenty-four hours minimum .

Bashir? Well, there was only so unavailable the medical examiner could be on a moment's notice. Boyce was on call (which Bashir would absolutely hear about later), and he was qualified to handle most situations that could arise. If Bashir's phone rang, it rang, but he just prayed like hell it waited until he'd well and truly had his way with Sawyer.

For the moment, the phone was blessedly silent, and Bashir took full advantage, kissing Sawyer hungrily as they rutted their naked bodies together. God, this man felt amazing against him. Bashir was pretty sure he hadn't even liked him all that much until recently; tangling up with him now, he had to admit he was glad Sawyer had been persistent. Not pushy, not annoying or creepy—Bashir had no doubt that a firm no would've made him back down immediately—but just bold enough to pique Bashir's interest.

So glad I stopped being stubborn.

He broke the kiss and started down Sawyer's neck. "Tell me what you want."

"Exactly what I'm getting," Sawyer slurred, dragging his fingers up Bashir's back. "Jesus…"

Bashir kissed under his jaw. "Let me rephrase—how do you want me to get you off?"

The moan thrumming against his lips was the sexiest thing he'd ever felt. "Can't… Oh God, I can't decide if I want your dick or your mouth."

"Oh, so you bottom?"

"I do anything. And right now…" Sawyer's fingers dug into Bashir's shoulders. "Ungh. Yeah, I feel like bottoming tonight."

Bashir was the one to moan this time, shivering at the anticipation of riding this beautiful man into oblivion. Like Sawyer, he was happy to go either way, and he hadn't really thought much about whether he was in the mood to top or bottom. The second those words tumbled off Sawyer's lips, though, Bashir was all top.

But he wasn't about to rush this. While some part of his brain was aware they could be interrupted at any moment—and knowing his luck, they would be—he just couldn't resist. Maybe their first time was cathartic distraction sex, but that didn't mean he couldn't indulge in exploring and savoring this sexy, naked man in his bed.

He came up to kiss Sawyer's mouth. "I'm gonna ride you into the mattress," he purred.

Sawyer whimpered, arching under him. "Please?"

"I will." He brushed his lips across Sawyer's. "But not yet."

The next whimper was a mix of protest and anticipation, and Sawyer swore as Bashir started back down again. This time, the kisses didn't stop on his throat. He kept going down to Sawyer's chest, teasing each nipple in turn with teeth and tongue.

He'd heard the rumors floating around the precinct about Sawyer's Hollywood family, and how he'd apparently tried his hand at acting before fleeing California to become a cop in this godforsaken place. Bashir had no idea how much truth there was to any of that, and he'd also heard that asking about it would piss off Sawyer.

What he could say with certainty, though, was that Sawyer absolutely had the body for Hollywood. Not chiseled like a porn star or an underwear model, but still with perfect contours and angles in all the right places. Powerful arms and legs spoke of more than a passing familiarity with the inside of a gym. Smooth abs begged for fingertips and lips to trail over them. And what could Bashir say? The fading bruises from the other night's altercation added some sexy ruggedness, like a battered action star.

Or maybe he was just losing his mind. Both because the whole world was off its axis, and because he was overwhelmed with how much he wanted Sawyer right then.

Especially when he got to his dick. Sawyer did say he switched, didn't he? Because Bashir definitely wanted to be on the receiving end of what Sawyer was packing. He wasn't huge—Bashir took him easily into his mouth—but he was exactly the right size to rock his world. Big enough to drive Bashir wild, not so long or thick that Bashir would get sore if they fucked for any length of time. Absolutely perfect.

For ages, he licked and stroked Sawyer's cock, reveling in all the moans and curses and the way Sawyer's fingers carded through his hair. When he pushed spit-slick fingers into Sawyer's ass, he almost came unglued at the helpless whisper of, "Oh, fuck, yes." Sawyer rocked his hips, fucking into Bashir's mouth and also riding his hand, mumbling curses in between absolute nonsense.

Bashir was ready to lose his damned mind. He was close to unraveling, and no one was even touching his dick.

Maybe it was time to do something about that.

Good thing he still had condoms. He hadn't needed them in a while, but hope sprang eternal, and he'd kept them around in case one of his rare dates made it this far.

He slipped his fingers free and came back up to Sawyer. Before he could say anything, Sawyer grabbed him, dragged him down, and kissed him hard, gripping his hair painfully tight as his tongue explored Bashir's mouth. When he let him go, he was panting hard, and he pleaded, "Fuck me."

Bashir grinned. "Exactly what I had in mind." He kissed Sawyer again, then reached for the nightstand. "Turn over."

Sawyer did exactly as he was told, presenting that perfect ass while Bashir put on a condom as quickly as he could.

Finally, Bashir was behind him, easing his well-lubricated dick into Sawyer's hole.

Sawyer moaned, pressing his head against his forearms as he rocked back against Bashir. "Oh my God…"

"That good?" Bashir ran a hand up Sawyer's side, carefully avoiding the bruises. "Not too fast?"

"Mmph. No. Not too… Fuck, I want more ." He rocked faster to egg Bashir on. "C'mon, fuck me. I want— ooh , yeah…" His voice trailed off into a choked moan as Bashir thrust in harder. "Jesus Christ. "

Biting his lip, Bashir gripped Sawyer's hips and picked up even more speed. Sawyer pleaded for more, harder, faster, and Bashir fucked him like his life depended on it. Savoring each other and doing things slowly could wait for another time—he needed to be as deep as Sawyer could take him, and he needed Sawyer falling apart, and he needed it all now .

When Sawyer shifted onto his left arm, Bashir swore. He knew what was coming.

Sawyer reached under himself, and Bashir felt the instant his fingers wrapped around his own dick. Sawyer clenched around him, making Bashir's vision sparkle, and they fell into a rhythm together, Sawyer's elbow and shoulder moving in time with Bashir's hips.

"Bashir… fuck. " Sawyer's back arched. "Just like… Just like…"

A shiver ran through Bashir so hard it almost knocked him off his rhythm. "I'm gonna come. I' m almost… I'm—"

Sawyer came with a throaty cry, bucking in Bashir's hands and hauling him over the edge with him. They both shouted, both trembled, and Bashir thought for a heartbeat or two he might even pass out from the sheer intensity. The sheer relief .

Sawyer gave another shudder before he relaxed and slumped over his arms. Bashir kept an iron grip on Sawyer's hips for a moment, staying as deep inside Sawyer as he could until he, too, started to relax.

Together, they sank down onto the bed, Sawyer on his stomach. Bashir came down carefully, without aggravating any of Sawyer's bruises. He managed to pull out, but he was shaking too much to get up.

"Oh my God," Sawyer murmured. "I needed that."

"Me too." Bashir kissed his shoulder.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was afraid this had been a mistake. That they should've fucked when they wanted to, not when they both needed release and distraction.

But this didn't feel like a mistake. He'd wanted Sawyer, and he was pretty sure that had been mutual. The fact that they'd finally tumbled into bed after the day from hell didn't change any of that.

Don't overthink it. He closed his eyes and pressed another kiss to Sawyer's shoulder. Just fucking enjoy it .

He would definitely fucking enjoy it.

But he hoped this hadn't been a mistake.