Lieutenant Horatio Caine knew that voice very well. He turned around just as he was entering the Miami-Dade County Police Department and saw, to his great delight, the figure of a teenaged girl pushing through the people milling about the entrance. She had sandy hair with white stripes and eyes as blue as Horatio's. It was a face he hadn't seen for four years. She was Kathrynne Dent, though she preferred Kitty, the daughter of Gotham City's D.A. Horatio let the door swing shut behind him as he turned fully around and opened his arms for the adolescent form in a pale green sundress and sandals. She was plastered to him in an instant, hugging tightly.
"Hello, Kitty," Horatio said with a chuckle bubbling up through his throat. "What brings you down to Miami? And where is Harvey?" His old friend would not have let his fourteen-year-old travel from Gotham to Miami all alone. Since they'd been abandoned by Kitty's mother a week after her birth, Harvey had taken full-reign of Kitty, and that coupled with the position of District Attorney made for a dangerous environment for her. Freaks and criminals looking for vengeance knew where to hit.
The girl's blue eyes widened with worry. "Actually, I have to talk to you about him," she said earnestly. "Can we go to your office?"
Harvey wasn't sure where Kitty had run off to, but if he had to guess, it would be the police department to see Horatio Caine. As a close friend, it was only logical. If he needed her, he'd call, but for now Harvey was left to his own thoughts. His own grief.
Rachel was dead, and the bastard who'd killed her was dead. If he carried the grudge Kitty had begged him to drop, Harvey would have gone after the goddamned Batman and taken him apart inch by inch of armor. He didn't have anything left to lose. At least, nothing that couldn't take care of itself. In the event of his death or incarceration, Horatio would be given custody of Kitty, and if he was unable to care for her, she'd go to Bruce Wayne. Fair enough, he'd thought at the time. Now he was beginning to wonder why he either hadn't given her over willingly or committed suicide already.
"I can see why Kitty wanted me to come see you," said Horatio's voice from the entrance to the hotel room. He tossed the card key Kitty had given him onto the desk and walked over to his friend. "Harvey, you look terrible. What's happened?" Horatio's long fingers lifted Harvey's chin to look better at the tear-streaked face.
Harvey's limp body tilted slightly as his friend's weight settled on the end of the bed beside him, and the D.A. let himself tip until his head rested on Horatio's shoulder. A long arm rose to wrap around the broad shoulders. "Rachel's dead, H," Harvey said quietly. "She's dead."
Horatio's heart twisted into an uncomfortable knot in his chest, and he smoothed his hand in little circles over Harvey's back. "Kitty told me about that. She also said you refused medication for the pain at the hospital." He was tempted to comment on the tears the fourteen-year-old had shed as she related how she had begged her father to have the reconstructive surgery that covered the exposed, raw nerves. He was tempted to tell his friend it was all right, that Rachel's death had been the prick needed to throw Gotham's police into overdrive. But instead he did something a little less rational.
Horatio upturned Harvey's face and kissed him.
For a moment, Harvey Dent's brain sputtered and went blank. Horatio Caine being anything but straight hadn't even entered his mind during their friendship. Well, he'd been wrong before. With the redhead's lips so tenderly on his, there was really only one instinct to follow. Harvey gripped the front of Horatio's work shirt and kissed back. Memories of Rachel Dawes dimmed, an event that had been half a year in coming. A need to be loved guided him as he ran a hand up into H's red hair and gripped, turning for better access.
The older man dexterously opened Harvey's casual white button-down and pushed it off until the other man wore only his old jeans and white wifebeater. By that time, Harvey's mind had rebooted enough to pull back. His cheeks flushed, he looked down at the shirt on the bed behind him and withdrew a little from his friend.
Horatio shook his head. "It wasn't your fault, Harvey. Rachel's death or that kiss. Kitty and I are worried about you."
A concern that should have occurred to the D.A. when Horatio entered alone made him start up, looking critically at his friend. "Where is Kitty?"
"She's visiting my team. Eric will bring her back when he leaves." His hand found the younger man's and entwined their fingers. "Talk to me, Harvey," H pleaded. "Nothing will leave this room or be said to Kitty. I promise."
Harvey's defenses crumbled a little, and he put his head in his hands, H's hand still on his back. "It doesn't seem fair, H," he started softly. "First Selina left, then Rachel died. It's like I'll be a single father for life. And it scares me for Kitty's sake. She was kidnapped during my campaign, and I don't have a clue how she made it out without help. She's an easy target for anyone who wants to get to me."
Horatio put his arms back around his friend and suggested, "Transfer her down here for a while." But the shaking of the sandy head so much like Kitty's put an end to that thought.
"I can't – I don't want to be without her. She's all I've got."
He sighed heavily. "Harvey," he said, and the younger man looked up at him. "I'm going to kiss you now. If you still think Kitty's all you have, I'll try to help you figure out what to do with her."
Harvey didn't wait. As Horatio tangled his finger in his hair, he jerked forward into the kiss. The desperation with which their lips met sent a pang through Horatio's heart, and he gathered his friend into his arms.
They parted when tears wet Harvey's cheeks, and H was obliged to hold him close. "If nothing else," he whispered, "Kitty and I love you." He coaxed Harvey onto his side and laid Kitty's security blanket across his shoulders.
"M'not gay," Harvey mumbled.
"Neither am I," Horatio said. Being attracted to one person of the same sex did not make one gay, or for that matter bisexual.
Ten minutes' silence was broken by a slightly-pain hiss from Harvey. Daydreams of Horatio and himself together (mostly unprovoked) had startled him awake with an unbearable tightness in the crotch of his jeans. When his gray eyes opened, it was to find Horatio still seated at the foot of the bed, attention drawn by the ill-concealed erection in Harvey's jeans. A blush dusted the D.A.'s cheeks as he moved to rise.
Horatio stopped him. "Allow me." Those long, sure fingers eased into the flap concealing the brass-colored zipper, slide it gracefully down, and then released the button above it. The younger man visibly relaxed as the pants and boxers were drawn away from the unwanted erection, only to stiffen again as the talented fingers wrapped around the firm shaft.
"Horatio!" Harvey's hips lifted off the bed and teeth sank into his lower lip. His libido had been neglected since Rachel's death a year ago, and that resulted in it taking little to have him moaning.
Horatio's lips twitched into a smile as he lowered his hand. He curled the rest of his body up onto the mattress and flicked out his tongue, giving a little lick. The wet touch made the younger man moan and fight the urge to lift his hips more into it.
He'd hate himself in the morning, but—"Horatio," Harvey panted softly, "I think you're overdressed."
With the ease of a snake shedding his skin, the CSI slithered out of his pale blue work-shirt and trousers. Lean muscle rippled under tanned skin as he finally tossed aside his underwear and stood beside the bed completely and gloriously nude.
Harvey swallowed as the bed sank under Horatio's weight. Yes, in college he had experimented with other men, but ultimately his preference went to women. After sixteen years, he was going to be rusty. He stripped off his wifebeater and pulled the redhead down into a heart-stopping kiss.
Horatio straddled the younger man's thighs as he slipped his tongue between his teeth. In, out, up, down. Mapping Harvey's mouth as their tongues imitated what his fingers would soon be doing. The older man wasn't surprised when the young's hands skimmed down to his hips and gripped tightly. He flattened his lower half against his friend and swallowed the desperate moan that followed. The sound went straight to his hardening cock.
The lawyer's body was hypersensitive after so long without stimulus, and every shift or kiss from the CSI boiled in his blood and heated his nether regions. His hands rose again into Horatio's hair and locked in into a duel of tongues that put him right on the edge. There he teetered, gasping for oxygen as H's forehead rested on his chest.
H fisted Harvey's erection as well as his own. Sweat rivulets traced the planes of his back in a heat no air conditioning could abate. "Listen to me," he said, slightly strained, as he jacked them both simultaneously. "What happened to Rachel wasn't your fault. You loved her, but Kitty and I are still here. We love you, and we.... need.... you!" Locking a cry behind gritted teeth, Horatio groaned as he and Harvey orgasmed together.
Harvey's breath slowly returned to normal as he pulled Horatio down into a sweet, loving kiss. The elder tumbled ungracefully onto his side and drew the younger close to him as they were lulled into a much-need post-coital nap.
Summary: Harvey Dent visits an old friend in Miami after the death of his girlfriend. Enter Horatio Caine and Harvey's own daughter, Kitty, to put his heart on the mend.