Title: Redefine The Line

Author: Seta_Kaita

Fandom: The Shield

Pairing: LemXRonnie

Warnings: Shônen-ai/Yaoi/Slash/Boyslove (meaning homosexuality)

Author's Notes: This fic is a collection of one-shots I'm gonna write while re-re-re-re-watching the series ;)

Dedication: To Pilotofmymind for writing the only other Lem/Ronnie-fics in the whole WWW; to Sarah, my dear friend, for putting up with me whenever I started drooling all over my pillow when Lem or Ronnie entered the scene

Disclaimer: The Shield and all the mentioned characters don't belong to me (for the copyright look it up yourself), I do not use them for commercial means, but to every fan's entertainment.

Season 1, Episode 1

"Forget it", Ronnie said, shaking his head with a sigh. "She's not gonna stay with me unless I change my name to Karl Lagerfeld and give her my whole new collection of designer handbags as a birthday present." He shut the folder he had been working on with a loud thud. Vic grinned to this, Shane laughed with Terry and Lem just sighed and shook his head.

"It seemed to work really well with you two this morning. What is it with women and handbags?" Lem leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in an exasperated gesture like he always did whenever he would stop chewing on his lip. Or scratch his arm. Or cheek. Or fold and unfold his arms. The man had so many quirks, Ronnie thought he'd die one day because he was too busy with his hair to notice a guy aiming his gun at him.

The problem was, Ronnie secretly hoped Lem would never stop doing it. He liked Lem's hair a lot, he'd always had a thing for blondes. And the way Lem wore it, looking just a little like a teenager who'd bought his first hair gel and tried to look a little rebellious, Ronnie had to admit it got to him. And it wasn't just the hair, although he would have given his whole paycheck to run his fingers through it like Lem always did. Just once.

It was also Lem's lips. While Vic, Shane and Terry started a new card game and chatted about some naughty thing or the other - Ronnie didn't really pay attention - Lem stared at the opposite wall, this bright blue eyes unfocussed, and started chewing on his lower lip again.

Ronnie fell silent - not that anyone noticed, Ronnie wasn't exactly a chatterbox - and just watched his blonde team mate. He let his eyes travel from Lem's face to his ears when the man scratched them, down his neck to the black tank top that outlined Lem's muscular torso quite nicely and finally stopped at Lem's arms. Ronnie wished he had arms like Lem did. Not only was he the only one on the Strike Team who looked like he spent more time sitting on his ass than chasing bad guys all around Farmington, but he also didn't develop muscles too easily. Lem had once told him, that we worked out two times a week and the bastard just didn't seem to have any problems keeping in shape.

Ronnie sighed quietly, lifting his eyes back to Lem's face and meeting curious blue eyes. It took all his self-control to force down a blush that would definitely have betrayed his – frankly quite innocent – thoughts. Staring back at Lem he wondered when the other man had noticed his look and he almost opened his mouth to ask, but thought better of it. Instead he just sat there calmly, while the other guys, oblivious to anything going on between the two, joked and laughed. Lem didn't make any move to ask him why the hell Ronnie was checking him out. He just leaned his arms on the table, still looking at Ronnie curiously, expectantly.

Twenty minutes later Vic decided to go over their plan for the night again and Lem looked away. The moment these blue eyes left Ronnie's, he could have sworn he heard his heart break.


Ronnie sat in the driver's seat, Shane next to him, staring out into the dark. Lem was quietly muttering curses under his breath in the back of the van, clutching his bandaged hand, Vic's eyes where rapidly moving like they used to when he was thinking very hard. He was probably blaming himself for Terry's death just as much as they all did.

Ronnie felt sorry for the guy, but he'd never been one for excessive grief. Or any other kind of emotion. His face was usually a calm mask, not because he was repressing his emotions, but because he just didn't feel them as strongly as other people did. Like Shane and Lem. He couldn't remember ever being all too upset because of something. Of course he'd been angry before and that was probably the strongest emotion he could feel. But apart from hissing a curse he usually didn't react to that feeling.

When he pulled into a parking space at the Barn and shut off the engine, no one made a move to get out of the van. Lem just let his head sink a little lower, Shane and Vic still started ahead. Ronnie sighed and got out. He didn't hurry to walk around the car and open the doors in the back before walking to Shane's door and opening that one, too. They didn't move, except for Lem, who lifted his head and looked at Ronnie sadly. Ronnie took a moment to enjoy Lem's attention before he focused on Shane and shook his shoulder.

"Hey man, we're back. Think you can drive?" He didn't raise his voice much above a whisper, but it was enough to snap Shane out of whatever trance he'd been in. The southerner blinked a couple of times, then turned to look at Ronnie and nodded. While he climbed out Ronnie got in through the back doors. He paused to kneel next to Lem and squeeze his shoulder before he sat down next to Vic and put an arm around his shoulders. That seemed to attract Vic's attention and the man looked back at Ronnie.

They smelled Shane's cigarette smoke while he silently told Vic it wasn't his fault. Of course their leader produced a weak imitation of what could have been considered a smile on Ronnie's lips and told them he was okay. He got up and left the van, too, to stand by Shane and talk to him. Ronnie watched him go absentmindedly, but got pulled back into reality when Lem got up just to sit down next to Ronnie and catch him in a desperate hug. He could feel the blonde shaking all over with suppressed sobs.

Whatever Shane and Vic where doing or talking about, it seemed to take all their attention and Ronnie was left alone with Lem. He tried to comfort the man without picturing all the places he could let his hands travel to and plead innocent afterwards, because, really, he was just trying to make Lem feel better. Instead he just rubbed the man's back in slow motions, stopping here and there when he found an interesting dip or curve he couldn't refrain from touching a couple of times more than strictly necessary.

After a while Lem calmed down, but that didn't stop him from clutching Ronnie's shoulders in a death grip that started to hurt more and more by the minute. He could feel his moist breath on his neck, smell Lem's aftershave that intoxicated his mind. Not even the images of grannies in thongs could disgust him enough to prevent his body from reacting to the feel of having Lem pressed up against him like that. He was just glad it was dark.

The darkness could not, however, mask his far too treacherous gasp when he felt Lem's lips accidentally touch his neck. He tensed up completely, trying not to panic when Lem stopped moving, too. He was an atheist, there was nothing to say about that, but he still sent a silent prayer to heaven or hell or whoever wanted to listen to him and make Lem oblivious to what was going on in his head.

One thing he had learned in life: It was unpredictable.

As was Lem's shaky breath on his neck again, when the man leaned forward slightly to close the small gap between his face and Ronnie's neck to plant a none-too-innocent kiss there. Ronnie's fingers clutched Lem's shoulders when those lips on his neck opened enough to allow the blonde to slightly suck on his skin. Some people would say they'd have felt like floating in a situation like this; Ronnie felt like falling and sinking deeper and deeper, trying to swim in dangerous waters and pull his mind out of the goddamn gutter where it joined Lem's happily. If Vic and Shane had decided to come back and see where their team mates were, they might have been able to tell whom of the two was indeed quicker: Lem whose head shot up the second his lips left Ronnie's neck, or Ronnie who grabbed Lem's chin to lift it enough to kiss the living daylights out of the man.

Definitely clear was that Ronnie wasn't the only one on the team who liked to play with both genders. Maybe it was wrong to exploit Lem's weakness in a moment of emotional loss and follow his own interests, but Lem certainly didn't complain. Not back then, not later at night when he found his way into Ronnie's bed, nor when he woke up the next morning to wake Ronnie with a few kisses to places that shouldn't be mentioned in a room full of minors.