My sleep was fitful, wrought with fanciful visions of thousands of evil clones, all working for one giant, super-villain mafiosa. The city was on fire. There was panic everywhere. Indistinct screaming. Planes falling from the sky. Terror in every eye. I was on the ground with all the other first responders, shouting over the chaos for TAC teams, SWAT, riot cops, FEMA, the national guard - ASAP - when I was told with grim despondency: there's nobody left to send in. And that's when I woke up.

As my sleep-addled brain clears and my senses slowly reawaken, my heart flutters at the realization that I'm not alone in the bed.

Ciel's skinny legs are entwined with mine, the entire length of the boy's body pressed against my side and his face buried in my shoulder. We're nuzzled up against each other in a tangle of limbs. He looks cherubic, bathed in the glow of the morning sunlight, sweet and soft and ethereally pretty with his halo of curls.

My boy can't wake up on his own; I usually help him. But, first, I fumble to snap a picture of him for my wallpaper. Then I wrap my arms around him gently and murmur his name until his eyes flicker open.

He groans and mewls in protest, but when he's awake, he rolls over and simply looks at me. Utterly catatonic, he just wants to stare at my mussed hair and sleepy face.

"You're beautiful." I turn on my side, propping myself up on my forearms with a besotted smile.

"Really?" Ciel flushes, averting his gaze. "I don't even look cute right now..."

Sitting up, he awkwardly pats down his perfectly gravity-defying hair.

It's starting to get long like a girl's again. We'll need to cut it soon.

My phone rings, cap's ringtone, so I pick up. He wants to know if I'm good to come in to work today.

I thought my days of being cannon fodder ended when I got promoted from beat cop, but they didn't. Once we detectives have seen and been through too much, we're considered damaged goods. We've served our purpose, but now we're a liability. So we quietly go away while fresh, naive recruits take our place.

And yet, when I wake up next to Ciel like this, I feel like I can take on the world. So I tell cap: hell yeah, I'm good. Half this city is just waiting to see me fail. But I'm not quitting, not until the criminals do.

I'm cleared to go back to work, and if the pain rears it's ugly head, then tough shit. Besides, Ken needs someone to reenact Bad Boys with in the interrogation room. He threatened to kill my ass if I left him hanging.

Ciel's hand softly strokes my pecs, gently flicking a nipple.

"Are you sure you wanna go back to work," he murmurs groggily.

"Of course. The Nutella's not gonna restock itself." I grin wryly.

His fingers move up to graze my face in a feather-like caress.

"You got beat up..."

"Only 'cause I gave up." All that training to hone our survival skills - drilling, priming, preparing and coaching us until we nearly drop dead - doesn't help when we've completely lost the will to live.

Ciel's face twists with sympathy.

"If you ever give up like that again, I'll bite my tongue and bleed to death."

Smiling fondly at him for a long beat, I let my gaze rake over his face. I soak him up, drink him in, catalogue his image in a mental photograph so I can file it away in my brain and conjure it up later in the day when I'm being serenaded by drunkards and shot at by crazy people.

"Whatcha lookin' at," Ciel chirps sweetly, noticing me staring.

"Nothing, just...you."

He giggles.

"You're so weird."

With a sigh, I throw the blanket back and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

Ciel gasps when I stand up. One hand flies to his mouth and the other points to my boxers, which are all bent out of shape.

"Oh, babe, I'm sorry... It happens sometimes..." In a flash, I pick my pants up off the floor and draw them up my legs. I always wore pants to bed with him, but I've grown disused to it since he left. "I'm so, so sorry."

Ciel stares ahead, unmoving, like he's seen a ghost. Meanwhile, I want the floor to open and swallow me up.

"Uh..." I clear my throat. "Okay, we're sleeping in different beds from now on."

"What, no!" He yelps. "Why?"

"You know why..."

I grit my teeth, hanging my head with burning cheeks.

Because I can't trust myself around you anymore.

I honestly abhor myself. Lusting after some kid I found in the streets... I should shoot myself with my favorite gun. He's so vulnerable to being taken advantage of in his sleep and he doesn't even know it. What if it was a man with less self-control? How would I feel if it was Julian?

I can't even tell him, you need to find someone your own age; older guys are just gonna take advantage of you, because then I'd be a hypocrite. I once told him I was never gonna stop trying to protect him, and I won't, not even from myself. He's been through enough shit and he deserves better. "Ciel..."

"No!"

"Ciel, think. You're street-smart. You always avoid bigger, stronger men - why?"

"No!"

I take a deep breath.

Courtesy. Professionalism. Respect.

"Ciel, please. I'm requesting politely that you-"

"Request denied!" Ciel yells.

I inhale sharply through my nose.

"Boy, get your ass to your room right now. You're moving in there and that is final."

Ciel shrinks back and grudgingly slumps out of bed. Head down, he drags his pillow on the ground behind him and out the door.

"I'm going to shower, but make yourself a smoothie," I call over my shoulder. "And don't think I won't notice if you don't take your pills. I'll give you a ride to school."

After my shower, I call my parents and let them know the boy is back, so they don't worry.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Ciel's not sulking, just...still in shock. Like a good boy for once, he eats, drinks, and does everything I tell him to.

I've always felt that Ciel is amazingly easy to talk to. I could tell him anything. So I clear my throat, wringing my hands together, and decide to just communicate.

"Ciel, you did nothing wrong. I was ashamed. I just...don't want you sharing a bed with a horn-dog, even if it's me. You deserve better than that. I think I can control myself, but this is safer. Please understand?"

Ciel lowers his gaze, nodding sullenly.

He makes a point of not quite finishing his smoothie. Not wanting to pick another fight, I don't comment. Instead, I lower my lips to the rim right where his mouth was and drain the glass myself.

I pull up as close to his lecture hall as I can, drawing no small number of looks from the throng of students. I put Pitbull on - loud - to dispel the awkward tension in the car, and, yeah, the Ferrari's gorgeous. I decide fuck it, why not embarrass Ciel by leaning over and kissing his cheek. And, just so people don't think he's caught up with the mafia, I make the siren whoop once and the dash and visor light-bars flash a single blue strobe. The sound startles him in the middle of climbing out of the car, and he turns briefly to glare at me before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and trudging to class amid awed looks.

"Yeah," I murmur to myself, idly stroking my chin as I back the car up. "Fuck with him, I dare you..."

•••

"NYPD; make a hole, people!"

Half-drunk teenagers are milling around a house where - judging by the number of cars - they were having a party the other night. There are dozens gathered, spilling out into the street, in various stages of getting ready to leave.

One of the guys is smoothing his hand over the Ferrari, smearing the immaculate surface with his oily prints.

"Hi there, I'm Dario," I smile mirthlessly as I walk up to him. "And I really like my car."

"Sorry, just looking..." He scrambles to leave.

The Department typically issues a five-year-old, low-end import to avoid conspicuity. But I successfully made the case that, in addition to not being a standard patrol car model, my Ferrari is not easily pegged as a cop car. If anything, I'm more likely to be mistaken for the con in this bad boy.

"No body, Beast," a CSI tech flags me down. "Bloody prints on the phone, 9 and 1 buttons, though. Victim obviously tried to call 911 before being forcibly taken out of the house."

"Walk me through what happened," I implore her.

"Guy comes in through the window," she narrates, pointing out the evidence as she goes, "jimmies it open with a chisel. We've got shoe prints and residue here indicating this was the point of entry..."

"I've checked the 911 phone records. Police were called out here at least once a month," Estée adds as we walk into the house. "She dropped the charges every time, recanted the few occasions she made a substantial accusation."

"Why the stupid did she stay?"

"She kicked him out. He didn't have keys. I'm thinking he broke in."

I find a probable source for at least some of the blood in a vase that might've been broken over the vic's head.

We head next door to collect witness statements from the intoxicated juveniles.

"How do you know that no one drugged that?!" I swat a bottle from a young girl's hand.

Then I pass a group of boys ogling some naked, passed out girls. "What are they, fifteen? Y'all are going to jail."

I walk over to the iPhone hooked up to the speakers and press pause, silencing the music.

"Detective Romano, NYPD Major Case Squad," I boom. "Here because the neighbour's probably dead, not that any of you care. I wanna know what you heard, saw and think you hallucinated."

Unfocused eyes stare at the floor, several bodies struggling to stay upright.

I have a pretty good idea how this all happened under thirty noses and not one of them called the cops. Someone probably felt a moral inkling through the haze, said they oughta call 911. Then everyone scoffed, asked what, bro, you high?! And then they laughed and laughed while smoking their joints - because, oh yeah, they were high - the cries for help growing fainter and fainter in the background.

I know their teenaged brains are still smooth and the substance abuse isn't helping, but I'm sure I can help them understand.

While Estée addresses everyone, a gaggle of boys start disrespecting her, gesturing crudely to each other and laughing. She doesn't need me to defend her; she calls them out.

"Hey, we're just having fun," is their retort.

"Really? Are we having fun, Beast?"

I step forward in what the Secret Service calls 'Hands Ready' position, and all humor dissipates in an instant.

"Son, come talk to me." Estée implores one of the younger boys.

"I already have a mom, bitch," he scoffs under his breath.

I lunge at him with linebacker precision.

"What the f-" He gasps, finding himself pinned against the wall.

"What about a three-hundred pound daddy, could you use one of those?" I snarl in his ear.

"Ooooooh," the kids cry, devolving into raucous hooting and hollering. Face against the wall with his collar bunched in my fist, the boy is suddenly profusely apologetic.

"W-We heard screaming and banging," he speaks up.

"Sounded like they were moving a bunch of furniture around..." a girl affirms.

"Any of you curious kittens think to call 911? Oh wait, then you'd be in a shitload of trouble yourselves. Well, guess what? That's still happening. I want your E pills, your baggies of H, your alcohol, everything including the numbers of your parents. Yes, I'm confiscating all your drugs; I want all of them over there on that table. Yeah, that cost you shitloads, I know. These officers here are gonna come search you, and God save you if they find you concealed something from me on your person."

Thankfully, we got a note from an informant down at One P. P. - a photograph of a battered woman, this address, and the words: please put this sick bastard away. If not for that, we'd never have known what was going down here.

"You." Some girl holding a half-empty beer bottle is taking a selfie against the crime scene tape, probably to caption with party turned wild or something. "Let me see some ID." Grumbling ensues, accompanied by the quintessential eye-rolling. "Same goes for the rest of you. You're all suspects. And, yes, I'm calling all your parents so make a list."

I rip a pad of paper off my notepad and give it a fellow officer. The partygoers line up in front of him to be processed. Some of them are seconds from vomiting, others look mega out of it.

Fucking disgusting. If I ever catch Ciel at one of these things, I'm pulling the plug on his tuition money.

"You, let me talk with you." I pull the girl from earlier aside. "This your house?"

"Yeah, it's my parents'. They're out for the weekend." She shrugs.

"You knew the woman next door?"

"Beth? Yeah."

A few feet away, some jock is spitting in an officer's face, spewing slurred profanities and flipping him off.

"We have reason to believe she's in an abusive relationship. The reason I'm here is because we got a photo from a concerned citizen. She wasn't answering the phone. We show up and she's gone, but we find blood."

The girl's hand flies to her mouth and she looks askance at the door.

"Fuck... You see these things, you hear about them... You never think you'll be involved."

My head snaps over to where a crashing sound reveals the angry kid's attack on the interviewing officer.

Moments later the officer is leading him towards us, the kid's collar in one hand and a baton in the other.

"You've been a bad boy," I smirk as they pass us on their way to the cruisers. "We're gonna spank you now."

"Wait, sir, uh... Detective, right?" A girl steps up to me.

"That's right."

"I, uh, I saw something... Some guy ran out of the house carrying a little girl. Got in a car and drove off..."

I shake my head grimly.

"Control, this is Romano," I mutter into my wire. "I'm down with the potential four-nineteen near West 40th Street and 8th Ave. We now have a stolen vehicle with an abducted female toddler, four-eighteen, four-twenty-seven. Amber alert will be forthcoming."

•••

Kidnappings are my squad's domain, and it doesn't take us long to open the door of our vic's husband's unfinished basement and find her tied to the water heater. Officers tend to the baby girl upstairs.

Ken unties her while I hold the flailing woman steady.

"No," she screams, shielding her face. "Please!"

"It's alright," I soothe. "It's alright, we're the police." I nudge the flap of my coat aside to brandish the badge on my belt.

She looks bad. Superficial knife wounds, chaffing from wrist restraints, bloody nose, huge knot under her eye, bruises and scratches all over her body, some long ago healed.

"We need to call a bus..." Ken grimaces.

"Can we get a female officer over here?" I yell over my shoulder, struggling to calm Beth down without overpowering and scaring her.

She's got her eyes squeezed shut, flailing ceaselessly. After a few more minutes of futile struggle, I huff a frustrated breath.

"Excuse me for a moment." Stepping away, I unleash on the officers. "Where the fuck is my woman?!"

"Sir, the nearest female officer is twenty minutes out..."

Well, this isn't going to be pretty, but we've gotta get this scene wrapped up, and our vic to a hospital.

Not minding her cries, I grasp Beth firmly by the forearm and pull her to her feet, briskly patting her down and cleaning her up a little before leading her towards the approaching ambulance.

"No, please, don't leave me," she blubbers when the gurney is wheeled out. She clings to my hand so hard it nearly cuts off the circulation in my fingers. "Please!"

"Sorry, ma'am..."

We turn her over to EMS, notify SVU to meet her at the hospital, and head out for lunch. That's a wrap, for now.

I know Ciel's classes are over for the day and he's on the lunch shift at the café. So I'm going down to check on him, make sure he's safe, which is really an excuse to see him. I'm not sure if he'll be in the mood to talk to me after this morning, but at the very least, I can grab a bite to eat. Hopefully he doesn't spit in my food.

My beautiful barista looks up when I walk in, before lowering his gaze with a bashful blush.

"Hey there, pretty boy."

"Hello, sir...how can I help you?" He smirks softly. God, is he trying to be seductive on purpose?

"I'll have the usual... and a number four, with a green tea."

"Right away, sir."

"And something sweet. Surprise me."

Ciel lowers his head with a subtle smile and glowing pink cheeks.

"Dario!" Vicky comes out from the back, a rag slung over her shoulder.

"Vic-"

"Now, wait just a minute. You made me hire a smelly, hungry homeless boy and then he up and quit coming to work for a week, making me hire a backup, and then you made me hire him back," she snaps. "And, weirdly, anything that comes out of your mouth sounds like a good idea, so..." She sighs, throwing her hands up despairingly. "I did it."

"Look, Vic..."

"You don't have to apologize," she hisses. "Just... You owe me."

"I do. Majorly. Anything you want, let me know."

"Your coffee," Ciel interrupts.

"Thanks, angel. Take a sip, add some milk if it's too hot, please," I call over. Ciel nods, lifting the cup to his lips.

She steals a glance behind her.

"I hope you're not getting any ideas."

"What?"

"He's completely naive and innocent."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know you do; I'm just saying, don't get any ideas."

"He's my responsibility. Give me some credit-"

Aaaand work interrupts, as always. Looks like I'm being called out to the hospital. Saved by the job.

"You're a good girl." I loop an arm around her shoulders in a brief hug. "Thank you for doing this."

"I mean, he's good at his job. Quiet and disciplined and hardworking."

"Yeah, but you know what I mean. Thanks for giving him a chance."

"No problem."

"And, Vic, don't worry. I've policed Hollywood. Believe me, I would never. Anyways, gotta go, clingy victim waiting for me."

Ciel hands me my order and I hand half of it right back. "For you. Make sure you eat. Bye, babe." I leave him with a wink, wishing I could lean across the counter and linger for a bit. But other customers take my place and I find myself at the door waving to a busy Ciel before backing out of the café.

"We did a rape kit," a nurse informs me when I reach the hospital room. "Beyond the obvious injuries, she's got vaginal bruising and tearing consistent with sexual assault."

I nod.

"Awesome, thanks."

I turn to see a suited man and woman standing nearby. "You SVU?"

"Yep, Walton and Batestelli."

"Romano." I shake their hands before cutting to the chase. "Why am I here?"

"She had to be sedated. Basically told us to fuck off and not touch her when we got close. You saved her so she thinks you're her hero, keeps asking for you. Standard rape case bonding."

"I'll do my best, but I've got my hands full and I don't like rape cases. Can't hold her hand through the trial, either."

"Understood. We'll work on connecting with her."

In her hospital room, I take pictures documenting Beth's injuries. Everything will get bagged, tagged and sent to forensics. I interview her and give her a domestic violence booklet and she still won't rat her husband out to us. But she's got old bruises where clothes can cover them. It's obvious. Her husband has a decent reputation, so my guess is bipolar disorder or some kind of personality disorder with manic episodes where he flips and unleashes on her.

"I only wanna talk to you," she maintains.

"This isn't my jurisdiction. It's their job to go after rapists, Beth, not mine."

But they leave us alone, and I get Beth on her feet and peering into the en-suite bathroom mirror.

I lay my hands on her shoulders as gentle as I can force myself to be. "Hey. Beth...look what he did to you. Beth. He's not going to stop. Listen to me. Listen to me. I need you to tell me what really happened, okay?"

I can't keep the frustrated edge out of my voice. I have no patience for people who aid and abet criminals, even if they're victims.

So the story comes out; she wanted a divorce and he beat and raped her. I must press too hard because she starts rocking and crying and I have to ring for the nurse.

"I'll take care of her," the nurse tells me. "Go arrest the bastard."

I recount my findings to the SVU detectives on my way out.

"Ever thought about working with special victims," Walton queries as we make our way to the elevators.

"Mm. Hard pass."

"You don't have to apprehend the rapists yourself. But you can talk to the victims, put your brain to work to solve some of the most despicable cases this state sees."

No, thanks. Those detectives stare into the haunted eyes of battered people. They're all too familiar with the special caskets - the ones with all the pillows and colours - for the children. They have kind faces, lots of experience and training dealing with these types of crimes.

I'm built like a brick shithouse with a resting bitch face. I look like police brutality incarnate. I don't know why anyone would bond with me.

•••

"Police!" Deshawn shouts. "NYPD, open up!"

The door is opened and a wrinkled face greets us.

"Mr. Basker?"

"Yes?" A tired old man with a hunched back peers blearily up at me.

"Is your son home?"

"Yeah, he's in the bathroom," the man sighs. Poor guy looks so defeated as he points up the stairs.

"Is he gonna be locked in there? Because-"

"Do what you gotta do," he sighs.

Ken and I look at each other with muted glee. We like dose words!

"Sorry if we scared you, sir, we just come in like that because of his charges." My big fear when we came to the door was that Rick was gonna tell us to piss off and play bully. But if this guy's cool with us, we're cool with him.

The jaded old man waves his hand dismissively and ambles slowly off to his couch.

We don't end up needing to kick the door down; it's unlocked.

Rick Basker is humming contently as he showers, which just goes to show that not all criminals are hiding away in dark underground lairs - some are hiding in plain sight and completely unbothered by what they've done.

"Mr. Basker, you're under arrest for domestic violence," Deshawn calls out.

"Huh?!" Rick draws the shower curtains back in a snap and stares at us incredulously, buck-naked.

"Police," I deadpan. My gaze slides down for a moment. "Let's go, Little Ricky."

I pinch what looks like a clean pair of underwear between my fingers and toss it to him. He catches it.

I tap my foot impatiently while he slides the underwear up his legs.

"You couldn't have waited until I finished my shower?"

"Nope."

"Can I at least put some pants and a shirt on?"

"Nope."

"C'mon, man," he cries as Deshawn moves in to cuff him.

"No, Rick, the police are not going to wait while you dress up, do your hair and paint your nails. That's not how we do things. You're coming to jail in whatever you're wearing when we arrest you."

Only an idiot rookie cop would accommodate a perp who asks to go upstairs and get changed before they leave with the police. Who knows what's in that perp's room? A gun, worse? An open window to jump out of?

"They'll have a jumpsuit ready for you," Ken offers.

"This is so fucking unreasonable," he complains.

"Well, then, don't beat your wife, I guess," I mutter, shoving him along.

"Oh, come on-"

"Listen to me." I yank him back by his hair. "I can parade you outside with your dicklet out in front of your neighbours. Or you can fucking walk forward like I asked you to and shut the fuck up."

"These charges are bullshit, man! I didn't beat my wife. And my dick is six and a half inches, what are you even talking about?"

"If it looks like domestic violence and quacks like domestic violence, it is domestic violence, Rick."

"I've never hurt her-"

"What's that?" I cup my hand around my ear.

"I...overreacted with her."

"Oh, you beat her." I nod sagely.

"I didn't-"

"Yeah." I nod emphatically. "Yeah, you did."

I shove him out of the bathroom with a palm on the back of his head.

I bid Mr. Basker a good day on our way out.

"Where's my wife?" Rick demands. "I'd like to see her-"

"And I'd like to see you castrated with a rusty steak knife. Neither of those are going to happen, but we can both dream!"

"Be nice to him," Ken hisses sidelong. "Or else..." He dangles his phone before me, Ciel's contact open. He would file a police brutality complaint with Ciel; I wouldn't put it past him.

"Watch your head," I mutter, helping Rick into the cruiser with newfound courtesy. "I'll go get you a pair of pants."

•••

The best part of a long, tiring day is an eyeful of Ciel at the end of it, dancing in the kitchen in one of my shirts to country music while washing dishes.

"He knows just where he's goin', and he's proud of where he's from," Ciel sings along. "One of the good oooooones... He's one of the good ooooooones..."

He turns around to find me watching him from the doorway, and turns the tap off.

"You've got a tear in your suit," he observes, coming over for a kiss hello. When I was lunging for that little brat earlier, I guess it stretched too far across my shoulders.

Normally, I'd be pissed. But Ciel assuages the anger.

"Yeah..." I sigh, running my fingers through his curls and kissing his head. "It's okay."

Nougat and Ciel play-wrestle while I make mac n' cheese.

"Please," Ciel whines, sprawled on the floor. "We're so hungry..." He and Nougat roll around on the carpet, kitten and puppy style.

"Ooh, it's roly-poly time," I smile fondly. I wonder if he ever had the opportunity to play as a child. He was alone a lot. But I think Nougat has been good for him.

In a separate saucepan, I get Ciel to melt some margarine and stir in enough milk and flour to make a roux. He then grates and adds the cheeses I had lying around the fridge.

"Attaboy," I praise, turning the heat down.

The cheese melts and the sauce starts thickening, slowly simmering.

"It smells so goooood," Ciel whines.

"I know," I beam; stirring the pasta. "Real men aren't afraid of carbs." I wink.

"No, they're not," Ciel echoes dreamily, staring at me all rapt and attentive and starry-eyed. He looks at me like I'm perfect, like he would follow me to the end of the earth, worship anything I said.

When it's time, I transfer the pasta to a large casserole dish and pour the sauce over it before stirring thoroughly.

Ciel sits up on the counter, shovelling the mac n' cheese into his mouth. I stand in front of him, his swinging feet gently nudging my legs. He loves the food; of course he does. My mom thought I was going to be single forever so she taught me how to cook.

"I don't like your job," Ciel comments on impulse.

"What, babe, why not?"

"Because you don't wear a uniform anymore," he shrugs, literally not caring about anything else. He's so petty; I love it. I love the sense of normalcy and chill he gives me. He keeps me grounded, keeps me sane and out of my own head. He knows just what I need, without even knowing it.

"But, babe, a uniform is conspicuous." If I'm seen poking around in it, there goes the evidence. Every time I would ride an elevator in uniform with a group of civilians or something, their faces transparently belied their thoughts: wow, real cops, real guns; I wonder what's going on here. There is nothing subtle about approaching a scene like that; the uniform just screams: something bad happened. Plus, this way citizens don't stop and ask me stuff while I'm investigating. "The uniform is designed to intimidate, to convey power - and my new job is just to get information-"

"But I like when you intimidate."

"Aww, babe," I smile lopsidedly, stroking the side of his face. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll wear one again if I ever make sergeant. How 'bout that?"

"I just want you to look like a normal officer again. I liked that."

I plant my hands on either side of his hips and lean in, smirking languidly.

"Tell me more about what you liked."

"Well... I liked... I liked when you had your handcuffs..." Ciel's palms slide around my waist, settling on my hips. "Right here."

Grinning, I nuzzle into his neck. He's turned into quite the flirt whether he realizes it or not.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes, but you never used them on me which was weird because I was always bad."

"Mm, maybe I just have a weakness for a pretty face."

"Yes, but maybe you should've." His hands slide around my backside to my thighs. "Anyway, your gun was here..."

I lean into his touch. "And your...thingie here..." His fingers skirt around my ear, emulating a clear, corded radio earpiece. 

Letting my eyes fall shut, I gently smooch his slim, pale neck.

"I love it when you flirt," I chuckle.

His legs wrap around my waist, encasing me.

"Am I still banned from your room?" Ciel pouts, just as a stirring in my loins reminds me why that precise rule is now necessary.

Purely by the grace of God, I back away before I get hard again.

"Yes, but it's for your own good." It's not easy for me denying this boy. My baby feels comfortable next to me. I love to touch him so he can sleep well.

But something called testosterone ruined it for both of us. 

"I don't mind if you...you know."

My eyebrows quirk.

"You would let a man you know without putting a ring on it? Babe, have I taught you nothing?"

"Not any man," he blushes, lowering his gaze shyly.

"Trust me," I sigh. "You don't want to fall in bed with a cop. Cops have...issues."

"I can take it," Ciel whispers.

I just have to hug him. My sweet baby kitten that only sleeps when touched... Bless his heart.

Backing away with a sigh, I suggest that we clear up. "You wash, I dry?" he offers.

"No, you did it last time. Let me."

Ciel nods, picking Nougat up and rubbing their noses together. "Hey, babe, wanna watch Godzilla after this?"

"Yeah!"

I know he's gonna get scared and I want him to, because I secretly like when he's clingy. I would spend every hour of every day keeping him safe.

When Godzilla comes to life, all the humans running around looking like ants, I shift closer to him on the couch.

"Wow, that monster sure is scary. Look how huge it is." I rub his palm, ensconcing it in mine.

"Yeah, it's so cool!" The boy isn't afraid at all.

"Why aren't you scared, doll?"

Ciel cocks his head, slowly chewing on his chocolate bar.

"I dunno..." He snuggles against me, squeezing my hand.