Chapter 5 #6
Quinn ran his fingers through Sebastian's hair, behind his ear. He cradled his head and gentled the kiss, sliding his lips softly across Sebastian’s. Sebastian froze for a moment before he settled, leaning into Quinn.
Quinn coaxed Sebastian’s mouth open, and the taste of him felt like coming home.
It was the same as he remembered it: coffee and sweetness, a mixture of chocolate and sugar.
The thought that Sebastian still ate those chocolate-covered red-liquorice twirls made Quinn's knees weak.
Memories flooded him. Of them sharing them as they watched cheesy B-grade horror movies when Sebastian couldn't study anymore but hadn't been able to sleep because his caffeine addiction had been well entrenched even then.
Quinn deepened the kiss, reaching for the sweet taste.
He tightened his fingers against Sebastian’s cheeks and used his free hand to tug Sebastian even closer, aligning their hips together in a way that had Sebastian moaning into his mouth.
Quinn kissed him with slow, steady strokes, taking his time to re-learn the taste and feel of every inch of the inside of his mouth.
Sebastian's hands tugged at Quinn's shirt, and Quinn knew that he should stop him. That doing anything beyond kissing—hell, even just kissing—was extremely unprofessional. He was on the clock and supposed to be questioning Sebastian, not making out with him.
Instead, he reached down and unbuckled Sebastian's belt, skimming his fingers across the warm skin just above his waistband, the fine trail of hair tickling his fingertips.
The door flung open, and Quinn jumped, whirling around, his heart beating wildly.
There was no mistaking what they had been doing.
Spotting Caleb in the doorway made Quinn's heart drop. He almost wished it had been Grady instead.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Caleb spat. “Is this a new service the cops are offering?”
“Don't start,” Sebastian said.
“Did I just jump back in time eight years? You're looking a little old for twenty-three, Quinn.”
“Ditto,” Quinn said, hastily tucking his shirt back into his pants. “I should go.”
“Fucking A you should,” Caleb said, scowling.
Quinn looked back at Sebastian. His lips were red and swollen. Quinn's stomach clenched. He wanted to finish what they'd started. “I'll call you,” he said instead.
“How about you do us all a favour and don't?” Caleb said.
The corner of Sebastian's mouth quirked as he folded his arms. “You've got my number.”
Quinn could hear Caleb's voice rising even after he'd closed the office door behind himself.
If Grady kept shooting him looks from the passenger seat of his car, Quinn was going to pull the car over and shove him out. With his foot.
“Just say it,” Quinn said tersely.
Grady clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I’m supposed to be the surly partner.”
“You are.”
“We can’t play good cop/bad cop if we’re both the bad cop.”
Quinn blew out a breath and leaned his head back against the headrest as he slowed at a set of lights. “Neither of us are bad cops.”
“Is bad cop/bad cop a thing? I guess it would scare the shit out of people. This could work.”
“Grady?”
“What?”
“Shut up.” Quinn glanced in the rear-view mirror as someone beeped at him the second the light turned green. He flicked his red and blue lights on for a second—without the sirens because mass panic was not the aim here—and the guy in the white Commodore blanched.
“You are being an asshole,” Grady said with a laugh as he turned his upper body to catch a look at the car behind them.
“Some people need to learn patience,” Quinn muttered. He flicked his indicator on and merged to the left so that he could take the next corner. The Commodore moved past them at a sedate pace, even slower than the speed limit.
“And here I thought you had that in spades. Are you gonna tell me what happened up there with Devlin, or do I have to guess?”
“You mean you can’t read my mind?”
“Not one of my many, many talents.” Quinn could hear the leer in his voice, and he didn’t need to look to know what kind of expression Grady was wearing. “But you didn’t tuck your shirt back in properly, and please, for the love of God, tell me that you just had an itch or something.”
Or something.
Quinn checked the moving map on the screen to make sure he was going in the right direction. “What answer do you want from me, Grady?”
Grady’s disgusted noise was inspired, and Quinn was almost impressed. “For fuck’s sake, Quinn.”
Quinn didn’t bother responding; he knew Grady could guide the conversation just fine from here.
“Of all people! There are over five million people in Sydney, and you picked him?”
“I don’t think it’s fair to say five million,” Quinn said. “You have to take out anyone under the age of twenty-one or over the age of… let’s say fifty? Plus, you can only count males. So that would cut that down by over half.”
“The point,” Grady said loudly over Quinn, “is that there are a fuckton of eligible bachelors just thirsting for Quinn dick, and you picked him?”
“I didn’t pick anyone, and he didn’t touch my dick.” Sebastian had never been a choice; he was a necessity.
“Is it because he's 'the one that got away'?” Grady asked, using his fingers to make quotation marks.
“Have you been watching The Bachelor again?” Quinn asked.
“Fuck off, we're not talking about my bad habits.”
“I'd much prefer to talk about yours than mine.”
Grady pointed a finger at him. “Aha! So you admit he's a bad habit.”
“A habit insinuates that I do it often. Before three days ago, the only time I'd seen Sebastian in the last eight years was in a courthouse. There was no touching involved and definitely no kissing.”
“You kissed him.”
“You really aren't good with the mind reading, are you?” Quinn asked. He found a parking spot close to the apartment complex they were heading for and reverse parallel parked into it with ease.
“Right now, I'm thankful for that. I don't need that image.”
“Are you sure? Because—”
“All right, all right, shut the fuck up.”
Quinn got out of the car and gently closed the door. Grady wasn’t so gentle. He slammed his shut and pointed a finger at Quinn over the roof of the car.
“Seriously, though? Him? Again? Is this even allowed? Is it fraternising? I bet it's illegal, right? We could arrest him. I could arrest him, save your conscience.”
Quinn leaned against the car and raised an eyebrow. “Are you done?”
“Not yet,” Grady said, his voice rising again.
Quinn pushed off the car and locked it, heading towards their destination. They could at least do their walk-through while Grady had his fit.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment, one-time thing, and it will never happen again, right? Like a trip down memory lane, and now it will stay there. I bet it was gross. It was gross, right?”
Just the memory of it was stirring Quinn’s groin, so “gross” wasn’t the right word. He didn’t think Grady would appreciate the word he would use. “Are you asking me for details?”
“No. Fuck. Jesus, no.”
“Such language,” Quinn murmured. He buzzed the building manager’s apartment. A moment later, a tinny voice came through the speaker.
“Yes? What? Who is it?”
“Mr. Stanton, this is Detective Sergeant Hughes. I spoke to you earlier on the phone in regards to gaining access to Mr. Delgrade’s apartment.”
“Do you have your warrant?”
“Yes, sir,” Quinn replied. Grady rolled his eyes, and Quinn smirked in response.
“I’ll meet you at the door.”
The door buzzed and clicked open.
Grady pushed it fully open with his palm and made a flourishing motion with his free hand. “After you.”
“If you want to push me down the stairs, I think you have to go first,” Quinn said as he led the way.
The joke ended up being on him because the elevators were out of order, and they really were going to have to take the stairs. After staring balefully at them for a few seconds, he headed in that direction.
“What about Peyton?” Grady asked as they ascended the stairs.
Quinn glanced back at him. “What about Peyton?” What the hell was Grady talking about now?
“I thought you were in love with him.”
“I know that Gid and Ange share everything as partners, but we don’t have to,” Quinn said.
“Do you think those two are fucking?” Grady wondered.
“Doubt it.” Ange had more sense than to fuck up a good thing like that. They were a perfect team and worked like a well-oiled machine. Sex would only complicate things. She was too smart for that. Smarter than all of them, by far.
“Okay, but my question still stands.”
“I’m not discussing my sex life with you, Grady. I already know way too much about Mal’s abilities in bed—this doesn’t have to go both ways.”
“He’d be totally up to hearing the dirty details on—hey, wait. Did you sleep with Peyton?” Grady hissed. He grabbed Quinn’s arms and stopped him. “Holy shit.”
“You know, I’m making the words, but I don’t think you’re listening to them.” What part of “he didn’t want to talk about it,” did Grady not understand?
Rudy Stanton, the building manager of the dilapidated four-storey apartment building, met them on the third floor, in front of the apartment that Mason Delgrade had called home until two days ago.
Stanton made them show their badges and the warrant before he pulled out a full ring of keys from his pocket. “Something is making weird noises in there,” he said. “If it’s a ghost, I give you permission to shoot it.”
“Thank you. We appreciate that,” Quinn said. Weird noises? He shared a look with Grady, and Grady pulled out his Glock, holding it steady in his hands.
Stanton’s eyes lit up as he unlocked the door. “It’s like I’m in a cop movie,” he said.
Great. Just what they needed. “If you could, please stay outside of the apartment while we search. If we have questions, we know where to find you.”
“Of course. Here’s the key. Just come drop it by when you’re done.”
The first thing Quinn noticed when he opened the door was the smell. It was a horrific mixture of shit, piss, vomit, and a lingering smell of marijuana.