Will & Patrick Meet the Mob by Leta Blake, Alice Griffiths

Dylan?”
    “Or we can wait—” Will starts.
    “No, it’s fine,” Jenny says, shooing them off. Disappointment that Patrick’s not staying is written on her face, but she doesn’t say anything else about it. “They’ll be here any second and I know the rules. Don’t pick up anything heavier than the remote.”
    In the elevator, Will sidles up close. “Doctor stuff, huh?”
    “That’s what I said.”
    “Yeah, but you’re not allowed to do doctor stuff, remember?”
    “Hard to forget.”
    Will huffs. “So, what are you really up to?”
    “Terrorizing old people. Eating babies. Satanic rituals.”
    “Your usual down-time activities then?”
    “Yep.”
    Will turns Patrick around and takes hold of his shoulders, looking into his eyes. “You’re not going to talk with Missy Hammond are you?”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m not an idiot.”
    Will studies him closely, ducking his head to keep eye contact when Patrick tries to break it.
    “What? I said I’m not an idiot! I want to practice again. I like my little neuro unit you’ve made for me and I want to get back to it. The sooner, the better. The hospital’s attorney said if I talk with Missy Hammond I could mess things up for myself—”
    “No, he said you’d definitely mess things up for yourself.”
    “And I don’t want to do that.”
    Will chucks Patrick’s chin up, searching his eyes. “All right. I believe you.”
    “Gee, thanks.”
    Will drops a kiss on his lips, and Patrick can’t help but smile into it, wrapping his arms around Will’s neck and getting some tongue action in before the elevator dings open on the first floor.
    Once he and Will part ways, Patrick swings by the Cackleberry food truck parked beside the front entrance to the hospital for a heavenly fried egg breakfast sandwich and then lingers outside in the cold to eat it. Despite the wiry rush in his blood left over from last night’s adrenaline high, he refuses to give any outward indication that he’s rattled. If Tony or his spies are watching, let them think he’s untouched by their “joke.” He’s got pride, after all.
    Once he’s inside Healing Regional, he sneaks through the corridors, keeping an eye out for Don and his network of nurse spies, or patients that might bombard him with questions about why everything is being rescheduled or why they’ve been passed on to another surgeon. He pauses at a tricky corner, darting his head around the side to check for the all clear, when Will’s voice whispers in his ear, “Is this a military operation?”
    Patrick jumps a foot and a strangled, deep-throated yelp escapes.
    “I’m sorry.” Will reaches out to steady him. His coat stretches over his broad shoulders and his cheeks are rosy with cold. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    “The hell you didn’t!” Patrick’s heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest. “What are you doing?”
    “Before I got to Good Works, Owen texted he didn’t need me after all. So I followed you here instead.” Will rubs soothingly up and down Patrick’s arms and his expression is all wide-eyed contrition.
    “Why?”
    “Because you’re being weird.”
    “No, you’re being controlling.”
    Will takes a deep breath, looks over his shoulder, and then whispers, “Is this about my father?”
    “Not everything is about Tony Molinaro. Or you for that matter.” Patrick’s pulse slows under Will’s careful touches, but he’s irritated with Will for nearly making him piss his pants again. He likes these jeans. They’re soft and lined with flannel. They’re his new favorite.
    “C’mon, Patrick. Why won’t you tell me?”
    Will’s shoves out his bottom lip, so Patrick grabs the back of his neck and drags him down for a long, wet, hard, and satisfying kiss. It calms his wildly beating heart.
    After, Will lifts his fingers to his lips, his eyes gone dark and a little stunned. “Um? What was that for?”
    “It wasn’t for being a dog with a