Touching Evil (24 page)

"Mmm ... You just like to watch me move." Oh, shit. That little
sound Greg's voice made, rough and deep and pure sex, that went
straight to his prick.

"I love it all, babe. Every bit." He could watch from the top, too. His arm ought to hold up. Hopefully.

"You have better things to worry about that whether your arm will hold. I want you touching me. I love your hands."

"Yeah?" At that he did lift his head to look at Greg, staring into that heated gaze. "I like to touch you."

He rolled on his back, pulling Greg with him. On top. Let Greg find the lube.

Greg laughed and started digging in the little drawer in the
headboard—God, how long since he'd heard that? Just easy and
happy and not tight and caught in Greg's chest?

While Greg rummaged Artie touched, sliding his hands along Greg's
ribs, under Greg's arms, feeling the hot skin where it was so soft.

The sounds of digging sort of hiccupped and Greg moaned, pushing into his hands so nice. "Artie. So good."

"You are. Hot, babe." A tiny nipple rose under Artie's fingers as he pulled at it, then covered it with his palm.

He could feel Greg's heart pounding, feel the little, hard bit of
flesh rubbing his hand. Greg was humming, rocking just a little, that
ass making promises. The lube was pushed into his other hand, Greg just
wanting. No way was he gonna fail to deliver. Artie popped the top,
squirting a big blob of lube on his fingers and reaching for Greg's
ass, pushing at the hot little hole there.

"Never do. You never leave me hanging. You never did, even before." Greg bore down, riding him, taking him in just so.

"Love you." It just slipped out when he wasn't thinking, but he did.
He wasn't ashamed. It was just like it was. He stretched Greg
carefully, fingers moving inside.

"Yes. You ... Here." Greg held his hand against that thin chest,
that pounding heart. "Right here. So long, Artie. Oh ... Oh, there.
Again."

"Here?" He pushed his fingers in, finding that same spot, pressing
against it until he thought Greg was gonna buck right off the bed. Then
he pulled free, yanking Greg up on top of him. "Now."

"God, yes. Now." Greg grabbed his cock, that hand firm and knowing
exactly what they needed. Oh, hell, yes. Greg was tight, just burning
as he was taken in deep.

He pushed up, Greg bore down, and damn. A man could be happy for
life. Just like that. Artie groaned, remembering to touch, his hands
slipping and sliding.

Greg nodded, lips open, hands flat on his chest. Greg looked dazed, blissed out. Damn.

Hell, Artie figured he probably looked that way, too. He slid one
hand up behind Greg's head, pulling the man down for a kiss. He wanted
to taste. So bad. He got it, Greg's happy little cry pushing into his
lips a heartbeat before Greg's tongue did.

Oh, fuck yes. Artie opened right up, let Greg's tongue fuck his
mouth the same way he was moving inside Greg, hard and fast and burning
hot. They just moved through it, the heat flaring between them, flaming
and leaving everything else in ashes. Like a fucking phoenix. That was
what they needed. Cleansing. Fucking A. The kiss went crazy, their lips
bruising, Greg's so soft against his that he groaned at the feeling,
humping up with his hips.

Heat sprayed over his belly, Greg's body going tight and milking his
cock as Greg gave it up. Jesus fuck. Artie went tight, his whole body
shuddering as he came, filling Greg deep with his spunk. God almighty.

Greg groaned, the kiss going soft, lazy. Happy.

His fingers ran across the back of Greg's neck, feeling the lack of tension there, the ease in the muscles. "Mmmm. Good."

"Mmmhmm." Greg just snuggled in like they hadn't been sleeping with
careful inches between them for days. The dam felt like it was broken,
and Artie clung like a limpet, needing the contact. Really jonesing on
it.

"When we get the place fixed, will you and Duke come and stay? Stay there with me?"

He pondered that, not wanting to agree just to agree. Could he live
there? Yeah. If Greg was there, and Duke, and his shit. Yeah. They'd
make it Greg's again. No. They'd make it theirs. "Yeah, babe. Yeah. I
will."

"Oh." Greg smiled, settled deep. "Oh, good. You ... You're inside me."

"I am." All the way. And not just physically. "Love you, babe."

"Yeah, Artie. All of me. Think you can sleep now?"

"I think so, babe. If you stay with me." They could beat those dreams. They could. They'd figure it out together.

Epilogue

Greg heard Duke mewling before the elevator stopped, and he braced
himself for the pouncing. They'd had a Christmas Eve rush—which
was weird, but true. Crystals and books, jewelry and music, and that
damned pyramid, all zooming out the door. It made for a happy
Christmas, and as he'd squeezed Alice's hand, she'd been happy, pleased.

Now, though, it was Christmas and time to feed Duke his supper.

He got an armful of Siamese about the time that the smell of chocolate and tomato sauce hit him. "Artie? You home already?"

"In the kitchen, babe."

Oh, cool. Usually this time of year was crazy for the PD, and Artie had been getting home at all hours.

He was still getting used to the colors. The white had been replaced
with warm reds in the living room and bright blues and light yellows in
the kitchen. They'd done all the work themselves, had even taken half
of the third floor that had been all storage and made a nice, big
office for Artie, with Mitch coming in to help.

"We had a good day. Busy. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Artie said, up to his elbows in some kind of
dough. "Come on over. Don't let Duke fool you. I gave him leftover
flounder."

"Oooh. What's that?" He chuckled, nuzzling the top of Duke's head. "And I don't know, he's starving."

"That's because he's spent all that energy chewing brimstone so he
can breathe fire when we're not here..." Artie laughed as Duke hissed
at him. "It is going to be some yummy braided parmesan bread."

They'd decided on sort of a non-traditional feast. He wasn't sure either of them would ever eat meat again.

"Ooooh." He got a dish and some cream for Duke, then went to look and smell. And wrap his arms around Artie.

"Hey." Artie grinned, bumping their heads as he tried to turn and look. "So, the business rocked, huh?"

"It did. Made us some money. How's Leah? She feeling Christmassy yet?"

"I'm not sure. She seems to be mostly taking on Duke's less
desirable traits." Artie said it so cheerfully that Greg had to laugh.

"Ho ho ho?" He settled in, jonesing on the feel of Artie's muscles moving against him. "What do you need me to do?"

"The salad. The vinaigrette, too. And hey, you can uncork wine."
They got maneuvered a little so Artie could kiss him without giving up
kneading.

"Mmm." That was just right, and Artie agreed, a rich pleasure just right there.

When they broke apart Artie wrangled the dough onto a board and
started rolling it out to braid. Artie had really gotten into the
cooking for him, buying a couple of cookbooks and stuff when Artie
found out how much easier it was for Greg to eat homemade food.

He started on the wine, hummed with the carols floating through the
house. Between them, they had replaced, refinished, repainted
everything that they didn't bring from Artie's. They were making it
work.

"Man, I tell you what. Things are jumping at work. They gave me and Leah preference on days off, though. Cool, huh?"

"What is it about criminals and holidays? Do they not have enough to do?"

"I think they figure people are vulnerable then. That, and crimes of passion are high when the holidays are in. Ta da."

Oh. That bread looked ... mangled. But it would taste good, he'd bet, with all that olive oil and parmesan.

He laughed and applauded, just loving it. "It smells like heaven."

"Splash a little of that wine in the sauce. Did you see those
olives? They look like goose eggs." Those gray eyes twinkled for him,
the lines he'd gotten used to around Artie's mouth almost gone.

"Did you buy us mutant Christmas olives?" The words tickled him as they fell out of his mouth and he started laughing.

"Shit. If I did you can let Duke bite me. I've just never seen any
that big." Artie's eyes widened as he said that line, and then they
were both laughing like idiots.

He had a stitch in his side by the time it tapered off, both of them red-cheeked and gasping. "Oh. Oh, man. Merry Christmas."

"Uh-huh. You know it."

Duke leapt off the counter, hissing and spitting as Artie's cell
phone went off. They shared a resigned glance as Artie answered it.
"Yeah? Uh-huh. So I don't have to. Okay. Yeah. I'll be there then.
Okay. Bye."

Artie whooped as he hung up. "New case, but I don't have to go in
tonight. Dyler will handle the prelim. Is that a good gift or what?"

"Works for me, detective. You ready for your wine?"

"I am." The bread pan slid right in the oven and Artie set the timer
before coming over to grab a glass and toast him. "To a great Christmas
and a hell of a New Year, babe."

"It will be. I know it." Greg took a sip and then leaned forward, took a long, slow kiss.

Artie kissed him right back, sharing the deep red of the wine with him, warming it, making him burn.

It made his head spin, made him more than a little dizzy with the sheer power of it. "Mmm. Hey."

He got a hum in return, Artie's sticky hands grabbing his butt. "Hey."

"You're going to leave hand prints." He couldn't stop smiling. He was a fool.

"Who's gonna see?" Those lips traveled down his throat, Artie leaving little bites along his skin.

Oh.

He just hummed, shorted out as he lifted his chin. More.

He got more. Artie licked and nibbled and finally gave him a short,
sharp nip right at the base, making him shiver. Those big hands
squeezed his ass the whole time.

"How long does the bread have to cook?" He could get on his knees. Right here. So easy.

"Uh. I think twenty-five minutes. The timer will ding." Looking as
dazed as he felt, Artie stroked his lower back, petted his upper thigh.

"Plenty of time." He worked Artie's belt open, found the zipper pull. "I want you."

"Okay. Not gonna ... uhn. Argue." His hand closed around Artie while
the man was trying to talk, and that sound was pure gratification, pure
need.

He slid right down, lips dragging along Artie's soft T-shirt, the
smell of the man just right. Just what he wanted. His tongue brushed
along the strip of skin at the bottom of Artie's belly, that hot cock
rubbing against his neck.

"Babe." Artie petted his cheeks before those thick fingers slid into his hair. "Oh, God, babe."

"Mmmhmm." He nuzzled in, breathed deep as his tongue slid around the
base of Artie's cock, nothing but this between them right now.

Going up on tiptoe, Artie rubbed against him, the sound of Artie's deep moans addictive. Raw. Needy.

Greg turned his head, lips parted as he licked the shaft, working
his way up to the tip to trace that swollen ridge. "Artie ... ‘s
good."

"Uh-huh. More. Greg. Please." He could smell how much Artie needed
him, could feel it in the way the heavy balls drew up beneath.

"Yeah." Oh, God yes. Salt and heat and Artie and ... Yeah. Greg
closed his eyes, head bobbing nice and slow, focusing on nothing but
that cock in his mouth.

Artie was trying to hurry him along, tugging at him, cussing a
little, humping a lot. But none of it was gonna make him give up the
feel of Artie that fast.

He had twenty-some-odd minutes and this was all his.

Greg took a deep breath, sliding his lips down to the base of Artie's cock, humming, swallowing carefully.

"Oh. Fuck. Greg..." That sounded like Artie wasn't gonna make it a minute, let alone twenty.

He pulled back, then let his lips sink back down, working it good and slow.

"Yeah. Like that. Damn." He had Artie babbling now, that deep, gruff voice rumbling for him.

One hand dropped down, started working his own cock, jacking himself
in time and just aching with it. The other stroked Artie's scarred
thigh, holding the man close.

Artie went nuts, pushing in, taking his mouth fast and hard. They
had a hell of a circle of pleasure going, taking and giving, Artie
letting him know how damned good it was.

Love. Fuck. Yes. Love, Artie. His balls went tight as he groaned, let Artie push all the way in.

Artie came for him just like that, pressing inside him, shooting into his throat. Hot. Wet. Pure Artie.

His own orgasm followed right behind, wetting his fingers, his belly, the pleasure secondary to Artie ringing inside him.

Right where Artie belonged.

"Love you, babe," Artie said, panting, petting him.

"Yeah." He grinned, kissed Artie's hip. "Love you. Damn."

They stayed that way until the timer went off, the shrill sound making them jump and laugh. "Guess I should wash my hands, huh?"

"Uh-huh. I'm going to go get clean pants. You want sweats or are we dressing for dinner?"

"Sweats are good." Artie grinned, pulling bread out of the oven. It looked like hell on a plate and smelled like heaven.

He stole a corner, popped it in his mouth, and hummed with pleasure.

"Good?" It was cute as hell how Artie still needed cooking
reassurance. Stood to reason though, as the man used to order out more
than he ate in. "And where did I put my wine?"

"Almost better than sex, and I don't know. I was busy." Greg laughed, wandering toward the bedroom.

Artie's laughter floated after him, the sound of Duke purring over his cream rising to twine with it.

He bent down, turned on the Christmas tree lights on his way, the colors lighting up the entire room.

There.

They were ready.

end