And the Band Played On (One Chicago/L&O)

Chapter One

Jack recruits Nolan to play "errand boy" (no, not buttmonkey, Frank), Sylvie is fluent in Prosecuting Attorney, and Voight does his best to intimidate their visitor. It goes about as well as expected.

***

"Remind me again why you are playing the role of buttmonkey for Jack McCoy?"

"The role of what?"

Stretched out, naked, on the bed he shared with the Executive ADA of Manhattan, Frank Cosgrove twitched the covers over his waist in an -after the horse has bolted- display of modesty, as he sprawled comfortably against the pillows.

"That's what Lily said you were, for running this errand out to Chicago."

"Tell Lily that I think she means errand boy." Nolan paused, and Frank listened to the clatter of packing that came from the bathroom for a moment, before his husband asked. "Unless she's trying to imply that I am irksome?"

"Given the age she's at? I'd put my money on the irksome. Anyone over the age of twenty-one is currently irksome to her."

"This is one of the many reasons I never had children," Nolan Price remarked as he opened the bathroom door, releasing a plume of warm, damp steam that would settle like a wet blanket in the already oppressive apartment.

Freshly showered, wearing a pair of worn jeans and one of his husband's dress shirts, the younger man carried a designer toiletry bag over to where his packed garment bag and a carry-on duffle sat, waiting for last minute items.

"Your inability to score with women probably contributed to that reality as well," Frank remarked with a smirk.

"I scored just fine with women!" Nolan exclaimed as he packed the toiletry kit into the carry-on and zipped it up. Straightening, setting his hands on his lean hips, he turned towards Frank and then gave a shrug of acknowledgement. "It was the morning after, where things usually went off the rails."

"Your follow-thru does leave something to be desired," Frank admitted, waiting a beat until he got a hard eyed glare from his husband and then grinning. "Luckily, I'm easy to woo."

"You could have stopped at 'easy'," Nolan snorted as he gave the room one last scan, performing a mental checklist to assure himself he'd packed everything he needed for the week.

Unperturbed by the banter, Frank Cosgrove remained propped up against the headboard, enjoying the view. It was a singular treat, and one that he was very possessive about enjoying; getting to see the second most powerful prosecutor in Manhattan out of a suit. A pleasure that accompanied the primal thrill that came from the picture Nolan presented, wearing one of Frank's shirts.

"Come here," Frank purred, holding out his hand, his smirk growing as dark, blue-green hazel eyes swung his way and warily narrowed.

"Uh huh. You already got your victory lap. We go for round three and I'm going to miss my flight."

Frank put on an exaggerated pout as his husband refused to cooperate, but the twinkle in his pale eyes promised that he, at least, would have no regrets were Nolan to miss his flight. It was the mischief in those eyes that caused Nolan to roll his own and turn away, gathering his luggage and heading out into the hallway.

Thwarted, Frank threw back the covers and reached for a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. Common decency observed, he stepped into the hall, moving Nolan's luggage closer to the front door while the younger man rattled about in his home office, packing his briefcase.

Luggage staged, Cosgrove came back to the doorway to the office. He leaned against the frame and crossed his arms, watching as Nolan sorted through sensitive papers.