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Truth be told, Cooper hates undercover work. He’s trained to be anything from a body guard to a field agent to an assassin, but undercover work has never sat as well with him. It’s Friday night, he could be at home, feet up with a beer and a shitty movie on. He was supposed to be home on his couch, doctors had even recommended it. But the powers that be had pulled him in last minute and after the Cynthia incident it was better to stay on their good sides.He’s tired though, bone weary in a way that seems all too common as of late. His side throbs, the freezing wearing off and leaving a slow, vicious throb because he hadn’t taken his second dose of painkillers, needing to stay alert, awake, for the op. It’s not just the physical that’s draining him though. The one year anniversary of his official divorce is quickly coming up and it’s leaving its mark. He doesn’t regret it, not any more than he can, not when it’s better for their children if he can stop the threats from following him home. And it hadn’t just been Moses to find his way there, there had been others, some stopped quickly, others just an ominous presence. He wasn’t willing to risk it.Franks never apologized for that day but he’s never needed to. Not with this friendship they’ve struck up in the aftermath of it all. And it helps, he thinks, having someone he feels he can trust, different from the way he thought he could trust Cynthia—blindly, a soldier following orders. Frank acts as his equal, and therein lays all the difference.His side gives a particularly vicious throb that he feels all the way down to his toes. He doesn’t let it show on his face but he suspects that the gauze will need to be changed by the time he gets home tonight.The Champaign in his hand seemed like a good idea at the time, watered down with ginger ale so it wouldn’t interfere with his pain meds too much. But they’re wearing off and the drink has warmed from the heat of his hand after such a long time. He’s off his game.Cooper scans the room. His target is ensconced with a large group of business men, drunk by the looks of it as he gesticulates wildly and his drink sloshes over the edge. Only the ridiculously wealthy can get away with getting so drunk at a charity ball. He doesn’t need much from the man, the DNA samples the higher ups wanted and to plant a tracking device on him. Easy work if he were in the mood to sidle on over and converse with the upper class.He’s going to wait until the man’s bladder finally protests and intercept him on the way to the restrooms. Easy, in and out, and then he’s home.He must have miscalculated how much the man could hold though; it’s been 4 glasses of whisky in the past half hour with no sign of slowing down. He considers sending another bottle over, speeding up the process.Pain sears through his side as someone bumps him, striding by without a second glance. He nearly drops his glass, bites his tongue until he can taste blood to keep his gasp in. Grey edges his vision. He forces himself to breathe through it.Distracted as he is, it takes him a moment to notice the large Russian man approaching his target, a glass and ridiculously large bottle of Vodka in hand.“Are you fucking kidding me?” he mutters, scanning the area again. He spots a familiar graceful figure on the dance floor in an exquisite pearl ball gown that must cost more than he makes in a year. He feels someone approaching a moment before they speak.“Took you longer than usual to spot us kid.”He tenses- a terrible thing to do as it makes his side throb fiercely- and tries to look stern as Frank joins him.The look, naturally, has no effect on him.Franks gaze darts across his face, concern lurking in the corners, down to his side where he’s moving stiffly. “You look like crap.”“Thanks.” He drawls. A passing waiter takes his Champaign glass without comment. His shirt feels tacky against his skin and he’s thankful he has his suit jacket to cover it up.“What happened?”“Finished a mission early today, it went…south.” He lowers his voice, mindful of who may be listening. Frank frowns, steps closer until it’s as though they’re sharing the same air. Cooper feels the back of his neck heat, flushes, heartbeat speeding up at the sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”Franks hands on his body are something he doesn’t allow himself to think of normally. Now is no different as his jacket is undone with deft, thick fingers, pulled aside to see where the crisp white shirt is spotted with red. Frank makes a noise, low, upset, and Cooper’s eyes flutter closed.“Shot?”“A graze.” He murmurs. A deep graze but nothing worse. He just needs some time to heal. And some time out of Frank Moses’ orbit before he does something very stupid.“Okay,” Frank says. Cooper pulls back, does up his own jacket quickly. Frank trying to strip him in the ballroom is just going to get them unwanted attention.“Okay,” Frank says again. “What do you need?”They glance over at the mark who is happily chatting away with Ivan.“DNA,” Cooper sighs, watching as his op is taken over before his eyes. He can’t be too upset over it. “Tracker.”“Got that Victoria?” Frank asks, listening to the piece in his ear for confirmation. “Okay, Victoria is on tracking, Ivan will get the rest.”“I can handle this myself.” His protests are weak though as Frank starts to steer him towards the doors with a hand on his shoulder.“Sure you can kid.”“I’m 46,” he points out with a frown. “I think that counts as a grown ass man.”Frank glances over at him, and there’s something in his gaze, hot and dark. “Oh I know.”::They don’t talk much on the ride to Franks. He’s not surprised when they pull into the driveway of the two story house; it seems that when it comes to Frank, they’re always in his territory.Cooper flicks on the hall light, the living room light, as they go. He settles into the leather couch with a groan, every bruised muscle suddenly making an appearance. Now that he’s not moving his side throbs, muted but angry at the forced activities.What he wouldn’t give for a beer. The house is silent except for the sound of Franks footsteps on the hardwood, barely a whisper of his socked feet as he reappears in the living room, two beers in one hand, first aid kit in the other. It’s a massive thing, a big box full of anything one could think of needing in a first aid kit and few that had surprised even him. There’s a second one upstairs in the master bedroom. Cooper’s used that one on Frank once before. This one he keeps under the sink, close at hand for emergencies: up to and including the time Marvin had tried to make an onion volcano using hot oil.He accepts the proffered beer gratefully. It’s cool in his hand, cool going down, and helps to relax him.“Alright,” Frank seats himself across from Cooper on the low coffee table. “Let’s see your side.”Refusing doesn’t even cross his mind. He sets his beer down after another long pull, then shrugs out of his jacket and sets to work on his shirt buttons. It’s only as he’s midway down does he realize that Franks gaze is sharp and heavy on him, watching his movements like a hawk.His fingers fumble as he swallows tries to cover it up but Frank has always been able to see right through him. His hands are gently brushed aside, the heat from Franks own as he slowly undoes the remaining buttons searing into his skin. His palms brush his sides, his shoulders, careful of the bruises and marks he’s covered in, pushing the material back and off and exposing him to the chill in the air. He feels utterly bare before him.Franks gaze bounces across his chest, from old scars to new bruises to the gauze on his side, stained red. Cooper feels it as acutely as his touch. Somewhere in the house an old clock is ticking away, a sound Cooper can just make out over the pounding of his heart.“I swear it’s like your doctors are trying to kill you guys.” Frank mutters to himself as he gently peels the gauze and tape away. Underneath his skin is an angry, violent red. His stitches haven’t torn, something he’s grateful for- he’s never liked getting them done, and getting them re stitched would have been even worse. Frank works quickly and silently, hands gentle, soothing as he patches Cooper back up.He idly thinks about Ivan and Victoria, about having left his op incomplete and in someone else’s hands. Two years ago it never would have happened. But a lot has happened between then and now.It feels like an eternity and no time at all before Frank is carefully taping fresh pristine gauze in place. He doesn’t pull away immediately, lets his hands rest on Cooper’s sides for a long moment. Long enough that Cooper can’t help but wonder if this is how Frank shows he cares- cares deeper than this friendship they have.It might be the hour, or it might be the way the overwhelming blasé feelings he’s been harboring for weeks have been chased away by his touches, but Cooper is feeling reckless. He covers Franks hand in his own, feels the heat there, the strength. He lifts Frank’s hand, catches Frank’s gaze then skitters away, unable to stand the raw, open look found there. He presses a kiss to the thin, pale skin of his wrist, a whisper of lips to the palm and the callouses he knows are mirror images to his own.Frank makes a noise, something like a groan, a moan, a prayer, and pulls his hand back. For a moment Cooper is utterly terrified he misread the situation, is ready to lurch to his feet, to laugh it off, but then Frank’s lips crash into his own, a force of nature that he can only surrender to or drown in.Hands cup his face; slide into the short hairs at the back of his neck and grip, angling him how they want him. He grapples at Frank’s shirt, fights the jacket and buttons in a desperate attempt to find skin. And he’s rewarded for his efforts as he tugs the dress shirt up from Frank’s pants, finding the smooth skin of his back, the ridges of his spine, the scars littered there.He pulls Frank closer, arousal singing in his veins. It feels like months of waiting have led up to this and he wants, wants in a way he can feel down to his toes, in an ache he feels in his teeth, his cock so hard he’s dizzy with it.His side is brushed and he hisses at the abrupt bolt of pain that shoots through him, branching out like lightning until he’s a panting mess, hard and frustrated and sore.Frank’s concern slides into amusement at the look that must be on his face.“We might have to take it easy this time.” His voice is a shot of lust through his veins, husky with arousal.Cooper wants to argue, he’s not delicate, isn’t fragile. But Franks touch turns lighter, more teasing, and the words get lost on his tongue. They kiss, the slick slide of tongues almost distracting him from the way Frank eases down onto the couch next to him. Frank settles back against the armrest, spreads his legs and tugs Cooper how he wants him carefully. His back is pressed to Franks front and he can feel the heat from his body, the muscles hidden under his skin, can feel how hard he is pressed against his lower back.Frank’s hands smooth across his chest, tease his nipples until he’s flushed, knees bent as he’s a second away from fucking up into the air, desperate for some relief. His mouth moves across his neck, sucking kisses into his skin.He deftly undoes Coopers dress pants, pushes his underwear down to his thighs and lets his cock spring free. It bobs against his stomach, leaving sticky smears of pre come in its wake. He can’t remember the last time he was this turned on, and from so little.One large hand wraps around his cock, no longer teasing. He strokes Cooper root to tip, rubs his thumb over the head, smearing the liquid found there. He seems to sense what Cooper needs, keeps his grip strong as Cooper’s hips roll, desperate.“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” Frank murmurs, Cooper can feel him grinding against him, can feel the shift of his hips and flushes even further. He wants to come, he wants to make Frank come, and then he wants to do it all over again and again and again. “Want you to come for me. Want to see what you look like when you come.” He hasn’t slept with a man in over a decade, isn’t sure he’d be any good at it now but he desperately wants to try, wants to flip over and suck Frank off, wants to feel his weight on his tongue, jack him off to watch his face, suck his come off his fingers.Frank keeps the pace steady, quick, and Cooper can feel it, the tightening in his balls, the heat rushing through his veins, he doesn’t try to hold on, to hold back, covers Frank’s grip with his own, squeezing as he comes hard all over their hands.He floats, blissed out and pain free for the moment, riding the high of a spectacular orgasm. He tilts his head, catches Franks lips in a messy, uncoordinated kiss, sucking on his tongue the way he wishes he could his cock. Maybe, he thinks, maybe.Frank groans, clutches at Coopers thighs, and pants against his lips. It takes him a moment to piece it together, his brain slow, uncooperative.“Shit,” he breathes, awed.Frank laughs, lets his head fall back with a pleased sigh. “I haven’t come in my pants like that since I was a teenager.”He glances down at his own pants, stained with his come. He’s not sure they’re worth saving. He can’t bring himself to care.“I’m too old for this.” Frank mutters and Cooper grunts.“Couch hurting your back old man?”Frank presses a quick kiss to his temple, helping him sit up.“Nah, it’s your heavy ass.”Cooper rolls his eyes. “Then you’d better take me somewhere more comfortable.”“Are you saying I’m not comfortable?” Frank demands even as he pulls Cooper to his feet. His side makes its presence known briefly. Frank catches the flinch, miniscule though it may be. “Come on, I’ve got something upstairs you can take for that.”“And a bed.” Cooper adds with a smirk. He briefly considers asking questions, asking what this is, then discards it. They can wait until morning.“Memory foam.” “Lead the way.”