saraid (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} saraid) wrote,@ 2006-10-30 17:51:00 |
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| Current mood: |  contemplative |
| Entry tags: | huang/goren |
Title: The Adventures of Bobby & George
Fandom: Law & Order: CI/Law & Order: SVU
Pairing: Bobby Goren/George Huang
Rating: NC17
Warnings: sappy, possibly slightly ooc
WC: 14,155
Notes: many, many thanks to slashgirl, who performed magical-beta-duties on this, and pointed out to me that Bobby’s eyes are not blue. This is a much better story because of her thoughtful input. In fact, she’s the reason it’s being posted! I started it over a year ago and didn’t know what it was or where it was going, or if it was finished – but now I do. So thank you, slashgirl :) I took a couple of small liberties, things that aren’t contrary to canon, I hope no one objects too strongly.
The Adventures of Bobby & George
Bobby picked up the phone and dialed. He couldn’t explain his need to use an old-fashioned phone to do this. Somehow, cordless phones and cell phones just seemed too insubstantial to bear the weight of these conversations. He was the only person he knew with one of these in his home.
He dialed with the handpiece next to his ear. Inside he was already preparing himself. How would she be today? Would she know him? Would she be afraid of him? Or would she curse him, as she sometimes did, thinking he was his abusive bastard of a father; or worse, someone else.
“Don’t.” A hand covered his. The voice was gentle. He felt himself lean toward it as the phone was taken from his hand and returned to the cradle. “Please.”
The soft voice and caring touch did what nothing else could. Bobby turned blindly to the small man behind him. Eyes closed, he reached where he knew this man would be. Wrapped his arms around him and held him close.
A dark head rested on his breast. He felt his heart pound. Took a deep breath, tilted his head forward until his cheek bushed soft dark hair.
“You’re going to break your back.” Gentle amusement, the words warm on his shirt.
“Then can we sit down? Since I’m not making a phone call.”
He was led to the large brown sofa. It matched the other furniture in the room. At first glance neutral, a visitor would soon realize the effect was calculated to provide a feeling of openness and space, unbroken by loud color or noisy clutter.
Bobby sat in a corner, stiffly.
“Oh, that’s going to help. Lie down.”
“I don’t want to.”
“But you will.” The words whispered close to his face, hands patting his shoulders. “For me.”
“Yes.” Bobby looked back and managed a small, tight smile. “For you.” He allowed himself to be laid down, moving as directed until he was stretched, feet at the end and hands on his chest. His head was pillowed in a familiar lap. Those same warm, gentle hands stroked his head. Fingers trailed his features, knowing him.
He closed his eyes and felt his heart slow. A hand stole over his; he turned it and grasped. Taking a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh. Tension left him, eased by the soothing touch and the knowledge of safety. He let himself be petted for a few minutes, but soon began to get anxious. He squirmed, his hands going to the sofa cushions, pushing himself up.
“Lie *down*,” George scolded. “You know you need this.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Children raised by schizophrenics suffer from touch deprivation as well as various insecurities and bonding difficulties due to the erratic nature of the parenting they receive.”
Settling back, he opened his eyes and looked up.
Dark brown eyes smiled down at him even while the mouth he loved didn’t.
“The best treatment for the first deficiency is frequent, regular non-sexual contact from the same trusted source,” Bobby recited obediently.
Now a smile; George rested his hands, one on top of Bobby’s head, the other over his heart. Stretching, at last easy with the closeness, Bobby reached up and pulled that face down, kissed that smiling mouth.
He meant it to be gentle; a thank you for the touching, the closeness and the care. It threatened to become something else. His body tensed again, strained upward. Suddenly he was hungry for more than this affection.
“Not yet,” George broke the kiss, pushing him back down. “Boundaries, love.”
“Boundaries.” Bobby made a disgusted noise. “It’s been two years. Why do we still have to talk about it?”
“Because words are what you understand.” Fingers stroked his face again. “Use my name, love. Don’t distance yourself from me.”
“How ‘bout I get closer?” Bobby flipped himself over, one foot on the floor, propping his chin on an elbow.
George grinned with quiet amusement. It ran through his next words, lacing them with warmth. “Still doing it.”
“George...” Bobby hitched himself up until his shoulders were in his partner’s lap, turning over again. He laced his fingers underneath his chin. What would have been unpleasantly coy on a smaller man was somehow right from this one. “George, George, George. If I say your name, will you fuck me?”
He didn’t miss the tiny wince. With a sigh he sat up, moving away to his own corner of the couch. He dropped his head into his hands, elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
“Tell me what’s upset you.” George turned to face him, an arm on the back of the sofa, a knee bent up. He reached a hand out and Bobby blindly reached to catch it.
“Words, I know.” His voice was thick.
“What are you feeling?”
Fingers tightened.
“Shame.”
“Bobby...”
“I’m ashamed.” The words came, halting. “I’m ashamed that this woman – this twisted version of me – she makes me want to hide. Behind words and actions.” He turned his head just enough to look at George. His face was tired and drawn. “I’m sorry, George. I don’t want to cheapen what we have.”
“You haven’t.”
“I feel like it.”
This time it was George that moved, across the sofa until he was beside Bobby. He lifted the hand he held, putting that arm over his own shoulders. He snuggled back and smiled when Bobby dropped his chin to rest it on George’s head.
“You haven’t,” he repeated, holding the larger hand between his smaller ones.
“I love you.” His arousal and desire had faded.
“I love you.” George was content to sit for now. He knew Bobby would pull himself out of this funk. Comfortable, always happy to be so close to the big man, he let himself drift on memories.
This was certainly not the way he’d imagined knowing this man, the first time he’d seen him.
***
The quiet outside the interrogation room was grim. George entered after a deep breath. This flutter of nerves was typical of him; he knew it well.
He nodded at Alex Cabot , the blond ADA he knew. There were two other people in the room: a middle-aged white man with a tired face and an attractive red-haired woman in her thirties. She looked like a detective.
No one spoke, but Cabot and the man stepped away from the window to make room for him. So he stepped forward and looked.
There was a young man at the table. The suspect, he assumed. Leaning against the wall behind him was a large man. Tall and broadly built, carrying the weight that came with that size. His arms were crossed over his chest and his head tilted at a strange angle, but it wasn’t until he moved that George’s interest was peaked.
The big man flowed around the suspect. He moved gracefully, then there would be a sudden clumsiness, quickly covered. Odd positioning, stilted body language; head, shoulders, back never quite aligning properly. Fascinated, George barely noticed when Alex hit the intercom button so they could listen.
The voice matched the body language. Strange pauses, odd stops.
“You didn’t know...” commiserate empathy, convincingly delivered. “You grew up, in that house, not knowing. She got married, she moved away...you knew there was something wrong, but you didn’t *know*!” A big hand slammed down on the table.
“No! No! I knew! I always knew!” The suspect burst into tears, his calm facade chased away. He gripped his hair with both hands, pulling forcefully. “I knew. She told me, when I was -“
Alex hit the switch again. She looked at George. They all did. Expectantly.
“Which one is the patient?” he was only half joking.
“Excuse me?” The female detective bristled. The partner, she was protective of him. That was a relationship he would understand, with clearly defined duties and boundaries. He was probably the best partner she’d ever had.
“That’s Detective Goren,” Alex said. “His partner, Detective Eames and their Captain, Deakins.”
“What am I here to see?” He watched Detective Goren while he listened. The usual story: a young man found out his sister was actually his mother and his father was also his grandfather. In typical fashion, he’d confronted not the sister-mother or the double father, but the woman that had raised him. The woman he knew as his mother. His grandmother.
The person that had betrayed him the worst, in his eyes.
“I’ll have to talk with him, to judge the depth of his emotional disturbance,” he warned the attorney. “Why did you want me here when Detective Goren is clearly gifted in this area?”
“Bobby has little experience with the results of incest trauma,” Deakins said.
“Most of our cases deal with angry, sane people killing each other for basic reasons: sex, greed, anger, shame, *cash*,” Eames added.
So Goren’s eccentricities probably didn’t stem from childhood sexual abuse. George briefly entertained the notion of a high-functioning autistic, but this was beyond even the highest-achieving with that affliction. Not the intelligence – the ongoing interaction with others. He apparently did it well enough to make this detective and his unit protective of him.
They were watching Goren offer comfort to the murderer, who seemed to be dissolving. Alex tapped on the windows and he looked up from his crouched position. His hand was light on the young man’s shoulders.
He didn’t nod or smile, but understanding and intelligence were visible in vibrant brown eyes.
Alex nodded at George and he went in, focusing his mind on the job before him. Goren passed him going out, making no effort to avoid contact. Their arms brushed together. George resisted the urge to look up at him.
He would give himself time to pursue that puzzle later, after the job was done.
***
Bobby shifted behind him on the sofa, bringing a leg up and pulling George into his lap, wrapping both arms securely around the smaller man. He bent his head, pressing his face to George’s shoulder. The smaller man heard a familiar snuffling sound as Bobby smelled him, then a great sigh he both heard and felt in the broad chest behind him. He smiled, trailing his fingers over the two big hands that clasped on his stomach.
***
It had taken longer than he liked. He was also aware of his tendency to rush personal relationships, a result of his own insecurities. The kind of thing any gay man from a conservative Chinese background had to deal with.
First was resisting the urge to get into Goren’s records. He wanted to date the man, not study him. Well, okay, study him a little bit, but not like he wanted to write a paper on him. Then there was the gay thing. He had no idea if Goren was interested in men. His gut instinct told him the man was probably borderline asexual. He would describe himself as too busy to date, tell himself he had a low sex drive. Yes, he was very intelligent, but George would bet, just from that one brief exposure to him, that the big detective was so successful at distancing himself from that part of his life he wasn’t even aware there was a part of him missing.
He was attractive, intelligent, in police work, and flat-out fascinating. Frankly, George just wanted to know him. Date him. Perhaps love him.
George was also very much aware of his own savior complex. It had been years since he let himself try to rescue a really hard case.
***
Working mostly in a different building and not wanting to draw attention to his interest, George waited several weeks before orchestrating a ‘chance’ encounter. A phone call to the Major Crimes front desk, and some sweet-talking about Goren’s partner, got him the name of a diner the two sometimes ate lunch at. He began dropping in once or twice a week. It wasn’t a cop hangout, which didn’t surprise him. Goren probably kept every part of his life separate from the others. All sorted into easy-to-grasp categories.
SVU had a run of particularly bad cases and he forgot his singular pursuit for a time. Until one day, the first in weeks that he could remember having time to breath, he headed out to eat and was mildly amused to find himself at that diner. It seemed his subconscious hadn’t forgotten the plan.
Stepping through the glass door, he spotted Goren and his partner right away. The big detective’s back was to him; he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the view, and even imagine himself touching that expanse of flesh and muscle.
He’d always preferred large men. A good thing, considering his own stature.
Eames looked up and recognized him. She waved him over.
“Dr. Huang. Fancy meeting you here,” she greeted as he walked over. She scooted in her side of the booth so he could slide in. He hadn’t expected Goren to move.
“I heard this was a good place,” he said, grinning to show he knew how lame that was.
“I’m not sure we should be talking to him,” Bobby spoke, looking past George to Eames. “He sold us out on the Roberson case.”
Quashing the immediate need to respond, George toyed with his coffee cup. He watched Goren’s hands as the man first dissected and then reassembled his sandwich, the end result much neater. He glanced up, saw the man was watching him, and offered a small smile. It wasn’t returned. Goren looked uncomfortable with his presence. George hoped that didn’t mean he’d been too obvious. Or that the man was one-hundred-percent heterosexual. The majority of the population was. George knew he was no fairy queen, but most people pegged his orientation within a couple of meetings. Someone as intelligent as Goren probably got it fast.
“I’m just going to run to the lady’s room,” the Eames said, searching for her purse. George got out of her way. When she stood, he saw the definite bulge of pregnancy under her well-cut jacket. Perhaps she really did need to go.
He sat again, lacing his hands on the table and looking at the man he wanted to know better.
“Whoever told you this place is good owes you an apology,” Bobby said.
“You caught me.” George gave a hesitant chuckle. “I’m not here for the food.”
“The food’s not bad, if you can stomach the ambience.” To prove it, Goren ate several large bites out of his tidy sandwich, quickly and neatly. George found himself watching that expressive mouth and pulled his gaze back to wary brown eyes.
“Why are you here?” the direct question was unexpected, yet strangely thrilling. George felt a small shiver.
“I’d like you to have dinner with me.”
“No, thank you. I’ve done my time as a guinea pig.” Setting the plate aside, he wiped his hands on a paper napkin.
“I’m not looking for a pet. Just dinner with a man I find fascinating.” Deciding to lay his cards on the table, George added a personal touch. “Dinner and the chance to look into a pair of brown eyes that have been haunting me since I first saw them.”
He saw, more than heard, the indrawn breath that provoked. Their eyes met and Bobby was the first to look away.
“I’m not dating at the moment.”
Okay, so he was open to the idea of dating a man. He hadn’t outright refused on that basis. George allowed himself to be hopeful.
“You’ve been not dating for a while, I bet.”
The waitress finally showed up and filled his coffee cup, giving George something to hide his expression behind. He waited until Bobby looked back before hitting him with the big one. “Which one was it?”
“Which what?” the man was intrigued, probably in spite of himself. George had to fight to keep the smile off his face.
“Which parent was schizophrenic? I’m guessing your mother, the affect is always more profound.”
“You’ve been checking up on me,” the big man suddenly relaxed, apparently comfortable with the conversation now. He sat back.
“Not at all. I wasn’t even sure you were gay.”
“I’m not.”
“You probably identify yourself as bisexual,” George agreed. The warmth was growing in his chest as he realized the conversation had gone farther than he’d thought it would. He really hadn’t expected to get past the dinner invitation, not the first time he asked.
“You’re pretty sharp. Figure that out just from watching me once?”
“Among other things.” Setting down his coffee cup, George extended a hand. “Let me introduce myself properly. I’m George Huang.”
The hesitation was visible. He was offering personal contact, not what passed for it in Goren’s day-to-day life. George almost felt like holding his breath. Then a large hand grasped his and shook it firmly. George held on a second longer when he felt it start to withdraw.
“Bobby Goren,” he said for the detective. “Pleased to meet you.”
They clearly weren’t shaking hands anymore. Eames emerged from the bathroom, on her phone. She stopped at the counter, trying to look like she wasn’t watching them.
The hand George held trembled slightly. He looked up and saw such a mix of emotions in those eyes; fear, loneliness, hope, embarrassment, shame...
“Have dinner with me,” he said again, giving the hand a last squeeze before letting it go.
Bobby stared at him for a long minute; his partner was coming back to the table.
“Okay.”
“I’ll call you with the details?”
A subdued nod. Eames came up to them.
“I took care of the check. Bobby, Captain wants us back. The records came in on Salvatore’s finances.”
He rose. George followed him with his eyes.
The big man looked back as he held the door open for his partner. George gave him a small smile. He hoped it conveyed everything he was feeling right that moment. Excited, eager, abashed... it was like being a teenager again.
The door closed and Bobby Goren smiled at him just before he turned to walk away.
George let out an explosive breath and picked up his coffee cup with fingers that were shaking slightly.
He’d done it.
***
