Touching Evil (7 page)

"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 lips.
Those fingers slid, tracing his arms, tickling his skin. Fascinating,
the texture there. Right at the hollow of the throat Greg's skin went
smooth, only the tiniest of fine lines marring it. The bones there were
sharp, the skin thin and fine above them. So pointed, so sharp—he
could tell from the hips in his hands, the bones pressing against his
palms.

Greg's ass wasn't sharp, though. It wasn't soft, but it was round,
the muscle hard where Artie slid one hand back to grab it, rocking
forward with his own hips. God, his pants were scratchy. Maybe Leah was
right; he ought to buy some nice ones.

Greg chuckled, lips ghosting across his temple, the kiss soft, the
brief touch of Greg's tongue to his skin intense as hell. "You're like
a furnace. It's so good."

"Yeah?" Well, he certainly felt like he was burning up. Just
standing there with Greg did more for him than the last guy had with a
full-on blow job. "You're sharp."

Suave, Artie.

"Bony." Greg nodded, that stubble rasping his skin. Those hands slipped down, met on his belly and started moving again.

He sucked his gut in, his muscles going tight as he caught his breath. Oh, God. That felt ... "Amazing."

"Yes. I've imagined, but the truth is better."

"Uh-huh. I thought about it a lot. I bet you know that." Well, of course Greg did. He didn't have to be psychic to know it.

"I do. I ... I sit in your chair when you're gone, you know?" Oh. Oh, damn.

"I never knew that until the other day." Oh, hell. Just the thought
made his cock jerk. Greg had to feel that. He nipped one sharp
collarbone, resting his cheek on Greg's shoulder.

Greg moaned, one hand sliding up to brush his nipple, the other
around his waist. "I don't know anything about seducing detectives,
Artie."

"You don't have to. You're a natural." Finally he just did it, just
went up on tiptoe and put his mouth against Greg's, sharing a kiss.
Greg's eyes went wide for a second, then closed, tongue sliding and
pushing into his lips, the kiss going deeper, the heat flaring. Fuck.

That wasn't just a flare of heat. It was like a solar explosion. His
skin burned, and Artie started to pant, holding Greg in place to get
more and more.

One hand cupped his head, long fingers cradling him. Greg stepped
closer, held them both together. They leaned back against the counter,
just tasting, learning what both of them had wondered about. Artie
figured his legs would just melt soon.

"You. You are better than pie." Greg's eyes had green in them, tiny bursts of color he'd never seen before.

"Uh-huh. I need to sit down." Bad. Maybe in his chair.

"It's empty. Waiting for us." Greg nodded, moving them across the
floor, refusing to let go. They stumbled against the coffee table, both
of them grunting, but they made it, Artie falling back against the
chair and pulling Greg down. Oh, hell yes. Pressure. Friction. Uhn.

Greg nodded, tilting his head up for another one of those kisses,
Greg's lips pressing down against his, fingers framing his face. So
fast. They'd just flashed so fast after all this time spent not
touching and not looking and joking their way out of it. Artie arched
up, his cock settling against Greg's pelvis.

"It's okay? Not too fast?" Greg licked his lips, panting into his mouth.

"No. It's good. Are you ... You okay?" Tugging at Greg's T-shirt, he
struggled to get it up and off, counting each rib, feeling the jutting
angles of Greg's shoulder blades.

"Mmmhmm. Better than." Greg leaned back, stripped that shirt straight off. "You, too. Want to see you, too."

"Uhnkay." His shirt buttoned up the front, and, man, did that cause
him trouble. Damn. The fucking thing was turning into a straightjacket.
Greg chuckled, fingers fumbling with his, helping, leaning down to
taste bits of his skin as it came into view.

"Oh." The touch of those lips just made his skin tingle. Like Greg was passing some kind of crazy energy into him through touch.

"Mmmhmm." Greg smiled, lips slip-sliding over his collarbone. He
stroked Greg's back, scraped short nails over the vulnerable nape of
Greg's neck. All he could reach with his mouth was Greg's ear, but that
worked for nibbling. Greg arched, almost slipping off the chair, a
surprised little gasp escaping him. "I ... Oh. Sorry. It's been a
while."

"'S'okay. I got it." Yanking Greg back, he kissed that mouth hard,
loving the way that long, skinny body felt against him. Greg got
settled against him, hips rolling a little, sliding the hard prick
between them.

"Mmmm." Now if they could just line up. Like that. Shit, yeah. He
didn't give a shit if he came in his too-rough pants. It was too good
to stop and take any more off.

It didn't look like it was going to stop either, not the way Greg
was bucking, riding against him like the man was starved for it.

"Greg. I need ... oh, man. I think I'm gonna..." He lost it, eyes
wide and kinda not seeing anything, his hips bucking like crazy.

"Artie!" Greg watched him, held him, hands splayed on his chest.

He panted. "Damn. Greg. Damn." Clumsy as they were, his hands moved,
patting and petting. Greg just nodded, eyes huge, pupils dilated and
focused on him. He reached between them, the heel of his hand pressing
against the front of Greg's pants. "You, too, man. Definitely you."

Greg's head snapped back, throat working. Those pants were thin
enough he could feel Greg's prick throb against his palm. God. Fucking
hot. His own dick twitched a couple more times just watching, leaving
him gasping. Moaning. And sweaty as hell.

"You ... I ... Wow." Greg leaned into him, heart just pounding against him. "Wow."

"Serious wow." The silence stretched between them after that, just
sorta half comfy, half fragile, like they were afraid of what they
might say. The touching didn't stop, though, random caresses happening
over and over.

"Would you like some sweats? Something to wear for pie?" Greg was
still touching, kissing, as if he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop.

"Uh-huh. And then. Uh. The ice cream is melting." It was sitting
over there on the counter, no doubt ready to ooze off onto the floor.
If they were at his place that would be okay, as Duke would play
Hoover, but Greg liked the neat.

"Yeah. I have a mop." Greg's fingers found his nipple, tracing around it slowly.

"Oh. Okay. Well, we can always have the pie later. With some whipped
cream." He wiggled, ass scraping the chair. He spread his legs again,
trying to get the wet to settle.

"Come on. You can get comfortable." Greg stood, swaying a little, eyes just dragging over him.

"Comfy is good." The minute he got up he shucked the pants,
amazingly not one bit self-conscious about his scarred-up thigh or his
wet danglies.

Greg's fingers touched his thigh, wrapping around and holding it a minute. "I like it all."

"Yeah?" His cheeks flushed, a grin breaking out on his face. "Cool. I like your bony parts."

"You haven't seen them all." Greg headed over to the little partition separating the bedroom from the rest of the loft. "Yet."

Chapter Four

Artie was in his bed.

In his bed.

His bed.

Naked.

On purpose.

And no one had gotten there by accident or unconscious.

Greg poured another cup of coffee and blinked some more, heading back to sit next to Artie, close enough to touch.

In his bed.

Damn.

Artie rolled on his back, one arm whacking Greg's thigh and sitting
heavily there. Artie was happy to be in his bed. Sated and happy and
right at home. Dreaming about eating cheesecake. Off his belly. He
hummed, one finger touching, tracing over muscles and planes. Artie was
something else, something real. Something he had come to think of as
home long before last night. That arm twitched, the heavy muscles
pulling and moving. Artie was just wide everywhere, but not fat. Just
heavy and solid and made to get the job done.

"Shh..." He kept petting, putting the coffee cup aside. He moved to
that flat belly, the skin sprinkled with soft hair, so pale. Shiny.
Artie looked fine on his white sheets.

"Mmmnnh." Artie moved again, but not restlessly. More like Duke when
he was arching into a good scratching, all sinuous. Artie's belly
rippled, every muscle moving as Artie's cock twitched and rose. Oh, now
that was nice. He leaned down, cheek on Artie's belly, fingers trailing
on Artie's hips.

"Greg?" Groggy, scratchy as a two-day beard, Artie's voice floated down to him, one big hand cupping his head.

"Last time I checked, yes." If more people could smell
this—the scent of Artie right here? There'd be less need for
violence.

"Maybe I should check, man. Just to be sure. Do a little strip
searching." Oh, damn. There was serious intent in that touch. Artie
went from asleep to awake like
that
. He felt it through the rough skin of Artie's fingers.

So long. It had been so fucking long. "I can appreciate your attention to detail, detective."

"I like to make sure all of the bases are covered." Petting his hair, Artie chuckled, belly bouncing.

He grinned, turned his face to blow a raspberry on Artie's stomach, fingers sliding over to cup the heavy, soft balls.

"You're, oh. Pretty thorough yourself." Thighs spreading, Artie gave
him more room, balls rolling against his palm. Damn, Artie liked that,
liked the tiny hint of too much.

He kissed the tip of Artie's cock, then nipped the sensitive ridge,
giving Artie a taste of his teeth, just a touch. "I've been thinking
about this a long time. I can afford to be thorough."

"Uh-huh. I get that. Like it, too." Leaning up on one elbow, Artie started petting again, just stroking his neck and shoulders.

"You like touching." He rocked a little, cheek sliding down Artie's cock, then back up.

"I do. I like your skin. So smooth and pale." Artie liked his hair,
too. And his eyes. He never knew Artie liked his eyes so much.

It made him burn inside, a steady flame that just wouldn't go away. "I watched you sleep; you didn't dream until the end."

He rolled Artie's balls, tongue dragging over the tip of the thick, heavy cock.

"I ... Damn. I try not to." Thick and hot, Artie's cock dragged against his cheek, across his lips.

"I know." He loved the way the pale curls felt against his cheeks. "I know."