butter and honey taste.
"Well, of course it is! It's the perfect balance of butter and honey
and bread." Greg looked almost affronted, except for the laughter in
the dark eyes. "Now yours?" A chunk of biscuit was stolen. "Lacks
enough butter. Too bready and cloying."
"Hey, it's a cholesterol bomb either way." He added some more hot
sauce to the greens, just for Greg. "The ribs, though. They're perfect."
Feeling damned daring, he tore a bit of meat off and held it out.
"Perfect, huh?" He swallowed as Greg leaned over the waxed wood of
the table, took the bite. Those lips brushed his fingertips as the pork
was taken, and a soft breath that could have been a moan moved the tiny
hairs on his fingers. "Oh."
"Mmmhmm. See?" Feeling a little breathless, Artie pulled his fingers back and licked them. "Good sauce."
Greg licked the sauce off his own lips, eyes focused and shining as
that white sweater was pulled off. "Delicious. I didn't think I liked
ribs."
"Yeah, well, you'd not had the right kind, then." Lord. Artie
flushed. He'd always had thoughts like this about Greg, but he could
usually control himself until he got home.
"Well, I haven't tried them in a long, long time. I'll know now."
Damn, he could almost see Greg's heart beating through the tight
white T-shirt. He wondered what Greg could see through his baggy work
pants. Right. Think about something else, Artie. "More chicken?"
"I..." Greg took a deep breath, blew it out and gave him a twisted little grin. "Yeah, a drumstick'll work."
Handing one over, he grinned back, just as wry. They had a lot to talk about. Damn it.
They got back to eating, laughing at the same old jokes, the same
old shit. They were getting too damned good at this. Too good at hiding
and pretending ... what? That there was nothing there? "Man, I think
it's time for pie."
"You want me to start the coffee?" Greg stood, passing close enough
that Artie could smell him, smell his soap. "And do you want ice cream?"
"Yes and yes. And you touch that folder in there before dessert and
I'll break your arm." The man didn't fool him one bit. Not one.
"Tsk, tsk. Police brutality, detective." Little shit.
"I'm off duty, bitch." The remains of supper needed to be packed up
and put in the fridge. Artie got up to do it, wrapping up a thigh for
Duke, snatching the folder and moving it before Greg could touch.
Greg just cackled, water from the coffeepot splashing on the
counter. "Was that ‘you're an off-duty bitch,’ officer?"
"That, too. But ice cream and pie will sweeten me right up." Plates, pie, new forks.
The silver pie server was handed over, Greg doing the dishes quickly, easily. "Man, is that all you guys need? Good to know."
"Why do you think there're all the doughnut jokes?" He flopped
pieces of pie over and turned to get the ice cream out of the freezer.
And ran smack into Greg as he did the same thing.
"Oh!" Greg's eyes went huge, snapping to his as those long fingers wrapped around his upper arms.
"Sorry." They just stood there. He'd grabbed Greg's hips to keep him from falling and now he couldn't seem to let go.
"No, you're not." Greg blinked, flat belly moving against him. "I'm not either."
"No. I'm not." Thin pants. Greg had on those thin pants and that
white T-shirt, and Artie's cock was just trying to open his zipper from
the inside.
Greg closed his eyes, the want and need on the long, sharp-featured face sudden and harsh and real. "I know. I know."
"I ... I don't know what to do about this, Greg." He didn't. Artie
stared right at Greg's Adam's apple, not moving away. Swaying closer.
"I ... What do you want?" Greg lifted his chin, the hint of dark
stubble right there, real as the heat of Greg's prick against his hip.
"You." That throat was as irresistible as pecan pie, so Artie leaned
in and tasted it, lips open and damp on Greg's skin. He'd worry about
what might happen if they got too intense later.
"Oh..." Greg swallowed, the soft moan just vibrating under his
"Well, of course it is! It's the perfect balance of butter and honey
and bread." Greg looked almost affronted, except for the laughter in
the dark eyes. "Now yours?" A chunk of biscuit was stolen. "Lacks
enough butter. Too bready and cloying."
"Hey, it's a cholesterol bomb either way." He added some more hot
sauce to the greens, just for Greg. "The ribs, though. They're perfect."
Feeling damned daring, he tore a bit of meat off and held it out.
"Perfect, huh?" He swallowed as Greg leaned over the waxed wood of
the table, took the bite. Those lips brushed his fingertips as the pork
was taken, and a soft breath that could have been a moan moved the tiny
hairs on his fingers. "Oh."
"Mmmhmm. See?" Feeling a little breathless, Artie pulled his fingers back and licked them. "Good sauce."
Greg licked the sauce off his own lips, eyes focused and shining as
that white sweater was pulled off. "Delicious. I didn't think I liked
ribs."
"Yeah, well, you'd not had the right kind, then." Lord. Artie
flushed. He'd always had thoughts like this about Greg, but he could
usually control himself until he got home.
"Well, I haven't tried them in a long, long time. I'll know now."
Damn, he could almost see Greg's heart beating through the tight
white T-shirt. He wondered what Greg could see through his baggy work
pants. Right. Think about something else, Artie. "More chicken?"
"I..." Greg took a deep breath, blew it out and gave him a twisted little grin. "Yeah, a drumstick'll work."
Handing one over, he grinned back, just as wry. They had a lot to talk about. Damn it.
They got back to eating, laughing at the same old jokes, the same
old shit. They were getting too damned good at this. Too good at hiding
and pretending ... what? That there was nothing there? "Man, I think
it's time for pie."
"You want me to start the coffee?" Greg stood, passing close enough
that Artie could smell him, smell his soap. "And do you want ice cream?"
"Yes and yes. And you touch that folder in there before dessert and
I'll break your arm." The man didn't fool him one bit. Not one.
"Tsk, tsk. Police brutality, detective." Little shit.
"I'm off duty, bitch." The remains of supper needed to be packed up
and put in the fridge. Artie got up to do it, wrapping up a thigh for
Duke, snatching the folder and moving it before Greg could touch.
Greg just cackled, water from the coffeepot splashing on the
counter. "Was that ‘you're an off-duty bitch,’ officer?"
"That, too. But ice cream and pie will sweeten me right up." Plates, pie, new forks.
The silver pie server was handed over, Greg doing the dishes quickly, easily. "Man, is that all you guys need? Good to know."
"Why do you think there're all the doughnut jokes?" He flopped
pieces of pie over and turned to get the ice cream out of the freezer.
And ran smack into Greg as he did the same thing.
"Oh!" Greg's eyes went huge, snapping to his as those long fingers wrapped around his upper arms.
"Sorry." They just stood there. He'd grabbed Greg's hips to keep him from falling and now he couldn't seem to let go.
"No, you're not." Greg blinked, flat belly moving against him. "I'm not either."
"No. I'm not." Thin pants. Greg had on those thin pants and that
white T-shirt, and Artie's cock was just trying to open his zipper from
the inside.
Greg closed his eyes, the want and need on the long, sharp-featured face sudden and harsh and real. "I know. I know."
"I ... I don't know what to do about this, Greg." He didn't. Artie
stared right at Greg's Adam's apple, not moving away. Swaying closer.
"I ... What do you want?" Greg lifted his chin, the hint of dark
stubble right there, real as the heat of Greg's prick against his hip.
"You." That throat was as irresistible as pecan pie, so Artie leaned
in and tasted it, lips open and damp on Greg's skin. He'd worry about
what might happen if they got too intense later.
"Oh..." Greg swallowed, the soft moan just vibrating under his
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