For Old Times' Sake

Title: For Old Times' Sake
Author: mtranc3
Pairing: Levon Wallace/Frank Lazerov
Rating: R
Category: PWP, and kind of AU, since I'm making up all the implications that Wallace and Lazerov had a shared past.
Summary: 'Edison Force' film universe: Wallace meets Lazerov in a bar and pigtail pulling ensues.

Author's Notes: There is little to none interaction between these two characters in the film, but during one scene Lazerov gives Wallace a dirty look and slowly mouths 'Fuck you', as he walks by him, with such intensity that my slash radar went crazy. So naturally, I had to write this to take the 'what if' out of my system. Apologies to Kevin Spacey, who is one my favourite actors, and one whom I respect very much, and it felt really weird slashing him.

"Hey, Frank..."

Rafe nodded to the right and Frank looked over his shoulder. Levon Wallace was in the D.A.'s office. Again.

They seemed to be talking animatedly about something. Reigert kept shaking his head, as though he wasn't agreeing with whatever Wallace was saying, and Wallace was waving his arms around for emphasis. As Frank and Rafe passed by, Wallace turned his head and spotted them through the glass, dropping his hands immediately. Frank wanted to flip him the bird, but Wallace turned back to Reigert before he had the chance.

"Motherfucker! That fuckin' asshole! With his stupid tie, and his righteous attitude, always looking at me as if he's got something on me that I don't know about."

"What's the beef between you two anyways?" Rafe asked.

Frank gestured in a abstract manner. "We go way back, when I was still a cop in Madison... long story. Point is, he's a fucking jerk off!"

"Okay man, calm down..."

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down. Why was that kid asking us questions? It was all your fault, first," Frank lowered his voice "you couldn't kill the guy, and then you had to go all theatrical in court, with your 'he was crying', had to go all dramatic and stuff..."

They entered FRAT's headquarters, and Frank kicked the garbage bin next to the door.

"What's up Lazerov?" one of the guys asked, and Rafe gestured him to drop it. He rummaged in the fridge for a soda and Frank sat in his office, looking moody.

"Want a drink?" Frank ignored him, playing around with a pen. Rafe took a deep breath to calm his rising temper. "It's gonna be fine, why are you so wired up, man?"

Frank looked up at him, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing to slits. "Because Tilman won't be happy to hear journalists are snooping around now, and he is always on our case these days, ready to jump in whenever I screw up like... I don't know, but I got a bad feeling about this. Just, if you see that kid again --"

"Nah," Rafe said, taking a swig out of the can, "he'll drop it, he's writing for the Herrald for Christ's sake! Besides, he's got nothing..."

Frank rubbed his chin and nodded, but he looked unconvinced.

"Whatever man... Fuck, who's gonna file all the paper work?"

--

"Shit, not you... Can't I just get a fucking drink in peace?!"

Wallace ignored Frank's comment, and sat down on the stool next to him.

Frank looked haggard; his leather jacket was muddy and dirty, and his hair had definitely seen better days.

"How come you're not in one of those shitty hell-holes you usually domesticate?"

Frank gave a snort through the glass on his lips.

"And how would you know about the places I hang out? They don't let faggots like you inside."

"Yeah... thank God for that. Scotch, just water." Wallace said to the bartender, and took off his jacket.

"So, what are you doing here? Scaring off the regulars?"

Frank glared at him, but instead of snapping, he dismissed him with a shake of his head. "Fuck off, I'm not in the mood..."

"Well, you can't be any worse than I am... just got news a car burned down outside my goddamn country house. Know anything about that?" he asked, deliberately feigning nonchalance, though he knew Lazerov wouldn't be baited so easily.

Frank licked his lips, weighing his words.

"And why would I know anything about what's going on in your pathetic life?" He gave him a 'nice try, asshole' sideway glance, and gestured the bartender for a refill.

"Okay," Wallace amended, "know anything about Josh Pollock? He's a journalist, a kid that's got in a bit of trouble right after deciding to write about Charles Isiahac's trial. Know anything about that?"

"Don't push it Wallace, if you know what's best for you..."

Levon took a swig of his drink, and waved the glass around. "Is that a threat."

"No, it's I'll fucking tear your dick out and feed it you, if you don't shut up. Got anything to say about FRAT? Go to Tilman, he's the talking-guy, I'm the action-guy, get it?"

He then waved the bartender for the tab, and grabbed his leather jacket. Levon turned back to his drink, creasing the paper napkin underneath the glass.

"Oh I get it." he said frowning. "You're just a pawn, just doing the work, never questioning things. Or maybe you prefer it like that; having free reign to do whatever the fuck you please in the name duty, am I right?"

Frank then looked at him, and the hand that was holding the jacket was clenched around it tightly.

"I told you to drop it."

Wallace stared at the white skin around the rings in Frank's fingers for a moment, seeming to contemplate something.

"People are watching Francis. Wouldn't want to lose your temper. Or are you going to kill all of us?"

But instead of lashing out, Frank smiled and said pleasantly;

"I know what you need. But it's never going to happen, so back the hell off before I really get angry, hm?"

Wallace raised a questioning eyebrow, however, his hands on the bench went completely still.

"No, I'm genuinely intrigued. How would you know what I want? You never seemed the intuitive type..." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but Lazerov never missed a beat.

"You need to get laid, but you are barking at the wrong tree buddy" he deadpanned.

Wallace nearly choked on his drink. "Get off of your ego trip, this joke's getting old."

"Which? The one about your hairpiece?"

Wallace smiled "Lazerov, I'm really starting to think you're projecting on me..."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"You know, when you feel something you're ashamed of, you accuse another person of it, as if you are projecting it on them, like --"

"Are you calling me a fag?" Frank cut in.

Wallace feigned surprise. "It's you, who said it."

Frank looked around them quickly, and then leaned in so close that Wallace could smell the alcohol in his breath. "Listen asshole, and listen good: one of those days you'll find yourself with the short end of the stick, and no matter how many connections you have with the FBI, they won't be able to save you. So stop digging around and stop following me. And Levon, that was a threat."

He threw a couple of notes on the bench for the bartender, swung his jacket over one shoulder and swaggered out of the bar.

Wallace watched him for a moment before making up his mind. He quickly paid for his drink as well, and went for the door.

----

The streetlight outside the bar was broken, and Lazerov was nowhere to be found. Wallace turned left; there was a narrow alley next to the building, the trash can, uninviting, kind of alley. Lazerov had a cigarette in his mouth and was pissing on a wall.

Wallace walked towards him slowly; it wasn't a good idea to startle a homicidal maniac in this part of town. Though why he was going to him in the first place, he had no idea. Or maybe he had one, but it was really absurd to even take it seriously.

Frank was zipping up when he noticed him, and rolled his eyes.

"Took me for one of the cruisers, Wallace? Sorry to disappoint." He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and crashed it with his boot.

"Tell me Frank, don't you think with Isiahac now dead, and the journalist who was investigating his case beaten up to a a pulp, someone's going to put two and two together?"

Frank took out another cigarette, and tried to light it, but the lighter had emptied. "Fuck. What, someone like you, you mean?"

Wallace shrugged and took out his own lighter. "Here."

He flicked it open and lighted Lazerov's cigarette, lingering for a moment before pulling back only slightly. Frank gave him a measured look, and then slowly blew a puffy ring of smoke on his face. Wallace didn't flinch, and stood still taking in the tobacco aroma.

"So what's it gonna be Wallace? Do I get my blow job yet? Or are you here to talk FRAT business..." Frank said, flashing his white, pointy teeth.

Wallace decided that he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of looking insulted.

"I thought I was 'barking up the wrong tree', was it?"

Frank's piercing blue eyes, stood out in the paleness of his face, as he leaned back against the wall.

Levon had no idea what game the psychopath was playing with him this time, although he could clearly make out the tell-tale bulge on Frank's pants, and his throat went suddenly very dry.

Lazerov took a last drag, and then tossed the cigarette aside.

"Fine," he said "you're a pussy, Levon" and pushed himself off the wall.

Wallace had him back against the wall again in a heartbeat. He didn't allow himself to think of what was actually ha penning, or would happen, only that he had an erection that he hadn't been aware off, until it rubbed against Lazerov's.

Frank moaned and closed his eyes, flicking his head back.

"Oh yessss, fuck, that feels good."

The words went straight to Wallace's groin and he supported himself by putting one hand next to Frank's head. He grabbed Frank's shoulder with the other, and thrust hard against his body.

Frank moaned again, lifting his hips to meet Wallace's thrusts, but it was nowhere near enough. He wanted to take Wallace's hand and shove down his pants, but as if Wallace could read his mind, he cupped him through the fabric and rubbed harshly, at the same time humping Frank's thigh.

"Fuck yeah, that's it..." Wallace's mouth was against his throat, and Frank turned his head, so that they were cheek to cheek.

Wallace was moving his hand quicker now and the wave of pleasure begun to centre on Frank's belly, and he was so close he wanted to cry out of frustration. Levon huffed against his neck and then bit down hard and Frank came with a loud groan.

Wallace pushed him flash back on the wall, clamping around his leg, thrusting frantically, before his body tensed and he came as well, his fingers digging hard on Frank's shoulder.

They stood still for a moment, wrapped around each other, until their orgasms subsided, and then Frank pushed Wallace off, but there wasn't much force behind the movement.

He brought out another cigarette and looked at Wallace expectantly.

Levon was still a bit dazed, so it took him a few seconds to get it. He tossed him the lighter and then searched his pockets for a handkerchief to clean the sticky spot on his trousers. He offered the cloth to Lazerov, but Frank gave a tired half-smile, half-smirk, and said,

"This is not Madison, Levon." He re-adjusted himself and then took off down the alley.

Wallace dropped the handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"Fuck you too, Lazerov."

Frank raised his hand in a salute, but never looked back.

fin