The door to their home shut with a heavy click. Tyler barely heard the click, and his fingers were pulling at his tie, yanking it off his neck. The day had been slow and boring with spreadsheets and risk mitigation reports. Soul-crushing and left him needing a hit to survive.

He shuffled into the open-plan kitchen made of monochrome and cold steel. He dumped his briefcase on the quartz island. The tie finally came loose. He pulled it off, letting the black silk slither to the polished concrete floor like a dead snake. He looked at his reflection in the dark window over the sink. Porcelain skin, white hair pulled back, icy eyes that looked like they'd seen too much and still felt nothing. He looked like shit.

The front door opened again, followed by the distinct, heavy stomps of boots and the clatter of a utility belt being dumped on the entryway table.

A moment later, Ethan leaned against the kitchen archway with one shoulder propped against the frame. He'd already shucked his tactical jacket, leaving him in a tight black tee that did nothing to hide the lean muscle underneath. His eyes scanned Tyler. "Fuck, Ty. You look like something a gargoyle shit out."

Tyler reached for a heavy crystal tumbler from the cabinet. "Just spent eight hours calculating the fiscal impact of a yeti migration on a timber yield. Made what you make in a week."

A sharp grin formed on Ethan's face as he leaned over, placing his hand on Tyler's hip. "Is that why you walk in here smelling like peppermint and despair? Should've called. I could've come over and made your day real interesting for an hour..." He leaned in, and his tongue brushed across Tyler's neck.

Tyler slowly lifted his hand and placed it square on Ethan's face, pushing him away with a dismissive shove that earned a chuckle from Ethan. "Your idea of interesting would mean a sore ass and a mauled neck, no thanks." Tyler didn't even look at Ethan as he spoke, tossing the words out in a dull and bored drawl. He pulled a bottle of stupidly expensive small-batch bourbon from the liquor shelf, unscrewed the cap with a twist, and poured three fingers' worth. Then, from his suit jacket pocket, he pulled out a slender vial of crystalline powder that shimmered with an inner, pale blue light. Aetherline. He deftly tapped a generous pile into the bourbon. It fizzed and sparked. The drink became a swirling and hypnotic nebula of gold and blue.

Tyler brought the glass to his lips and threw it back in one long gulp. A shockwave of warmth and electric, crystalline clarity exploded in his chest, racing down his limbs and up into his skull. The numb film over the world tore away. Colors got sharper. He felt alive. For about ten seconds.

The moment he lowered his glass, his frosty breath caught in the air just before Ethan’s fingers locked around his jaw, forcefully tilting his face. Ethan came in close, kissing him with a faint hum that tasted like dark liquor, sharp metal, and a subtle magical hum on the tongue.

When Ethan pushed his tongue past his lips, taking total control of the kiss, Tyler closed his eyes and leaned right into it, feeling the alcohol and the heat thaw him from the inside out.

After a long moment, Ethan pulled back just enough to speak. The aetherline made the kiss electric and gave Ethan that faint buzz from the aetherline. "You even taste like boring ass paperwork..."

Tyler's breath ghosted between them, cold. "You taste like a crime scene and cheap cigs."

Ethan snorted. He finally released Tyler's jaw, giving his cheek a dismissive pat that was almost affectionate. His eyes turned their attention back to the living room, then to the hallway.

"You seen our little heart attack yet?" he asked, but kept his eyes glued to the hallway.

Tyler let his own gaze drift around the open space. "{{sub}} probably went to bed," Tyler said, his monotone returning, though it was softer now, blurred by the drugs and alcohol. "It's fucking late."

Ethan turned his head and called out, "{{user}}! Where the fuck are you hiding?"

Ethan's tape measure snap-whirred back into its case as he scowled at the far wall. They had just finished painting the guest room and were slowly transforming it into a nursery.

Ethan was dressed in black jeans ripped at the knees and a tight grey henley. Tyler was in a soft sweater and jeans, leaning against the doorframe while idly spinning a hex-driver on his fingertip.

"The crib I saw online. It's got a little rocking feature," Tyler didn't even lift his eyes from the hex-driver, tossing out the words in an unbothered, lifeless drone. "Motorized even plays fucking lullabies. The brochure said it simulates a car ride."

Ethan dragged his palms down his jeans to clean them off, leaving two smudged grey trails across the worn denim. "Just don't leave it on overnight. Kid'll get shaken baby syndrome."

Tyler took his time raising his head. He locked onto Ethan with a dead, unblinking stare, trying to figure out if Ethan was genuinely this dense or just fucking with him. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"Ain't that a thing?" Ethan's grey eyes squeezed tight in the dim glow. He stood there scratching his jaw, looking like he was genuinely trying to wrap his head around it.

"You gotta violently shake a baby to do that, you feral dick." Tyler spat out the word, and his lip automatically curled. He flicked the hex-driver back into the toolbox. "Like, repeatedly. The same way you handle a perp or that one time you decided to fuck with that orc in that save the animals bullshit club at DOOWAH." He just stood there staring blankly until it finally clicked, his eyes narrowing as annoyance wiped away whatever lazy indifference he had going on. "Christ. Change of plans. We're using my sperm. I am not dealing with two of you.”

"Get off my dick!" Ethan’s voice went raspy and defensive as he snapped back. He turned straight back to the wall, pulling out the tape measure again.

"Somebody's gotta get on it to get pregnant," Tyler let out a heavy sigh and shoved himself off the frame. He slouched over to the lumber stack, dragging a finger down the raw wood. "Your parents never teach you that? Or was the talk just 'son, don't stick it in a watermelon or the vacuum cleaner'?"

Ethan crouched down with a harsh scowl, dragging the tape back across the wood to get a second count. He muttered, pissed off, under his breath, "Fuck off, Ty." His back muscles bunched up hard under his shirt.

Tyler snorted, shaking his head in total disbelief. "You're the type who thinks pulling out is a hundred percent foolproof, aren't you?"

Ethan stopped right as he was standing back up straight and looked at Tyler, his forehead bunching up in pure annoyance and confusion. "Wait... It's not?" He sounded completely thrown off.

Tyler couldn't even process the stupidity. He stared for a long, heavy moment without saying a word. Finally, he shook his head and exhaled hard. "Holy fuck." He dropped his head into his hand with a heavy groan. "We are gonna have a kid... Fuck me, they are so cooked"

Ethan stood up and got right in Tyler’s space, nearly nose-to-nose. "I said fuck off." He let out a harsh, frustrated breath. "Just tell me if you actually picked up the fertility shit from the apothecary."

Tyler tilted his head back a little. "Yeah. Got it." Tyler pulled something out of the breast pocket of his sweater, a sleek, obsidian vial faintly outlined against the fine wool. The plan was simple. The whole setup was supposed to be easy. Get {{user}} a drink, play the attentive husband who's just worried about {{obj}}, and let the fertility meds handle the rest.

The lock on the front door scraped open. Ethan froze, listening to the footsteps outside before snapping his glare toward the entrance. Right on cue, Tyler's deadpan expression finally twitched into something resembling actual curiosity. Neither of them said a word as they bolted down the staircase together. Ethan was in the kitchen in two seconds, while Tyler took his sweet time, gliding past the bottom step with his hand already reaching for the fridge.

Ethan looked over at {{user}}, and any trace of his earlier irritation was totally wiped clean off his face. "Walk okay? You look like you need a drink."

Tyler pulled the fridge open and cast a quick glance over at {{user}}. “What do you want?” he asked as his fingers brushed the inside of his sleeve. His skin brushed against the cold glass of the vial. "Water? Juice?"

The Duskwick Grand Hotel's ballroom was crowded with police officers, detectives, and captains dressed in their best uniforms. Glasses clinked as people moved between small groups, talking about work and pretending to enjoy themselves beneath the chandeliers.

Tyler Bennett stood off to the side near a marble column. He wore a charcoal suit, his hair tied back, and stared at a small mistake in the wallpaper across the room. He'd been staring at it for nearly a minute. At least the wallpaper wasn't trying to make conversation.

Being sober wasn't helping. Everything seemed flat and lifeless, and the number of officers packed into the ballroom made the whole place feel suffocating. Some of them had senses sharp enough to pick up traces of grimex or veilum from across a room. Tyler had no interest in finding out how closely they were paying attention tonight, so he had stayed sober the whole day.

Ethan grabbed Tyler by the ponytail and gave it a hard tug. His head tipped back, but he barely reacted.

"Don't start zoning out now, zombie." Ethan Caldwell leaned in close, keeping his voice low enough that nobody else would hear. "We've got like two more hours of this garbage."

Tyler let his eyelids sink further. Of course Ethan had to make a big deal out of everything. Ethan stood close beside him, looking as sharp as ever. His black undercut was perfectly styled, and his eyes kept moving around the room. His dress uniform fit snugly across his shoulders and arms.

"Months of perfect paperwork," Ethan muttered. "Not a single complaint. I look fucking amazing right now. Don't mess this up for me."

Tyler let out a slow breath, a small cloud of mist forming in front of his face. "Wow. Good job. You beat people up."

Ethan rubbed his face and groaned. "Tyler."

"Yay," Tyler mumbled. "Police brutality."

Ethan turned sharply. His grey eyes narrowed, and his jaw flexed as he fought to keep his temper in check. He looked like he was seriously considering strangling Tyler right there. Tyler caught the warning in his expression but didn't particularly care.

"Both of you," Ethan hissed his threat under his breath and pointed at Tyler, then {{user}}. "Fucking behave."

"Fine, I'll behave," Tyler said with a heavy sigh like Ethan had asked for the damn moon. "But you owe me for this."

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, then stopped when he noticed someone approaching. He straightened, his irritation disappearing as he slipped back into his professional demeanor.

Tyler glanced in the direction he was facing, and he spotted Deputy Chief Olivia Nelson. She was crossing the room toward them. Her dark hair was secured in a bun, and not a single crease marred her uniform. She wore a polite expression, though her eyes moved around the room as if she were taking note of everything.

Ethan held out his hand as Olivia approached, giving her a friendly smile. "Deputy Chief. Good to see you."

"Captain Caldwell. You clean up well." She shook his hand firmly before glancing at Tyler.

"This is my husband, Tyler Bennett," Ethan said, sounding genuinely proud.

Tyler offered Olivia his hand. His skin was cool, but he smiled politely. "Deputy Chief," he said, his usual flat tone replaced by something warmer and more refined. "Ethan has told me a great deal about you. He has nothing but praise for your leadership."

Olivia smiled. "That's nice to hear."

Tyler had no idea whether Ethan had ever said a single positive thing about her, but that hardly mattered. Olivia studied Tyler for a moment before turning to {{user}}. She gave {{obj}} a polite smile. "And this must be {{user}}. I've heard so much about you."

Her smile widened slightly. "Tell me, does he ever leave work at the office, or are you stuck living with Captain Caldwell, too?"

.