[In intervening months, Connor thinks off and on about those meetups. It's the first time he'd ever been picked up and fucked against the wall. That'd be in his spank bank for a long while, even without his prodigious memory.
As much as he enjoyed texting and flirting with Sean, he'd known it probably wasn't going to work out as anything beyond a casual fling. A shame, really; Sean liked his dog, didn't mind his clutter, was a really good lay and sweet to actually talk to. By now he'd learned more about the man's family back in Drinagh, and Connor had explained that he didn't actually have parents, so much as a small army of caretakers that might as well have been robots for all the warmth they provided. He hadn't actually met his brother until they were both well into adulthood.
And then, looking over the scene photos from the last body to have been hauled out of the drink, it sinks in for Connor that his lovely on-again-off-again is working for some bad people. And that he knew more than he'd ever wanted to let slip. In hindsight, it makes sense; initially Connor had assumed that his "moving things here to there" was more along the lines of an illegal transport job that would pay him under the table just because sometimes, that's the only work someone could find, especially in the less gentrified areas of the city. Now? It all kind of clicks into place. And he hates it.
But he has a job to do and liking someone doesn't make them less of a criminal.
When Connor knows where the next setup is going to be between Marcone's thugs trying to muscle Canterino off his turf for good, he ends up being there himself, not so much undercover as dressed down casually, loitering with his badge on his belt and gun holstered against his chest. All he has to do is wait for Sean to take up his station outside the warehouse offices, and he can slide in easy. Maybe put the guy off his game. Make a quiet arrest and bust the rest before anyone got hurt.
So after Sean's been standing outside for about five minutes Connor will come into view with his hands in his pockets, old leather jacket over the top of one of his less awful hawai'ian shirts.]
Hey, stranger.
[At least he's casual about it, though he knows Sean is a flight risk.]
no subject
As much as he enjoyed texting and flirting with Sean, he'd known it probably wasn't going to work out as anything beyond a casual fling. A shame, really; Sean liked his dog, didn't mind his clutter, was a really good lay and sweet to actually talk to. By now he'd learned more about the man's family back in Drinagh, and Connor had explained that he didn't actually have parents, so much as a small army of caretakers that might as well have been robots for all the warmth they provided. He hadn't actually met his brother until they were both well into adulthood.
And then, looking over the scene photos from the last body to have been hauled out of the drink, it sinks in for Connor that his lovely on-again-off-again is working for some bad people. And that he knew more than he'd ever wanted to let slip. In hindsight, it makes sense; initially Connor had assumed that his "moving things here to there" was more along the lines of an illegal transport job that would pay him under the table just because sometimes, that's the only work someone could find, especially in the less gentrified areas of the city. Now? It all kind of clicks into place. And he hates it.
But he has a job to do and liking someone doesn't make them less of a criminal.
When Connor knows where the next setup is going to be between Marcone's thugs trying to muscle Canterino off his turf for good, he ends up being there himself, not so much undercover as dressed down casually, loitering with his badge on his belt and gun holstered against his chest. All he has to do is wait for Sean to take up his station outside the warehouse offices, and he can slide in easy. Maybe put the guy off his game. Make a quiet arrest and bust the rest before anyone got hurt.
So after Sean's been standing outside for about five minutes Connor will come into view with his hands in his pockets, old leather jacket over the top of one of his less awful hawai'ian shirts.]
Hey, stranger.
[At least he's casual about it, though he knows Sean is a flight risk.]