Just Say the Word

Chapter 1-3

Gabe glared. “You know, when I was confessin’ my dark desires, I was not expectin’ paperwork to be the end result.”

Tom did not seem the least bit cowed by Gabe’s glowering. “Best way to make sure we pick fun things to do that we both want,” he pointed out. He made a shooing motion. “Go on, you’re more than halfway through.”

Gabe rolled his head from one side to the other, popping his spine. “Whoever made up these sheets has way too much time on their damn hands. Like, who th’ hell thinks ‘I’ll just shove a piece of ginger up my partner’s ass so he don’t clench up when I whip him?’” The description had been interesting, though; a whole host of punishment ideas that he’d come across on one site.

“People have been shoving stuff up their butts for probably the entire history of humanity,” Tom said. “Most of them without all this calm and rational aforethought that we’re demonstrating here.” He tipped his head, studying Gabe with those dark eyes and that unnerving little half-smile. “Figging, huh? Interesting.”

Gabe scowled, feeling the blush creeping up his throat again. He wasn’t sure how the hell any of this was going to work, if he couldn’t get over feeling like he was going to explode on contact. He stretched again and peeked at Tom’s list, wanting to know something about what Tom was into, so he didn’t feel quite so weird and perverted.

Tom looked far too pleased—probably because Gabe was blushing so much; he loved it when Gabe blushed—but willingly tipped his page so Gabe could see. Exhibitionism wasn’t much of a surprise; Tom loved the spotlight. Shibari was surprising. Gabe couldn’t imagine Tom being still enough for it; he was constantly in motion, pacing or waving his arms. He even twitched in his sleep.

Gabe turned back to his sheet, scowled at it again, and checked no to a whole host of options that included sharing or swapping his lover with someone else. Gabe might have used the phrase over my dead body, but truth was, in Gabe’s case, it was more likely for it to be over their dead body instead. Tom was his. He knew that made him a possessive son of a b***h, and possibly borderline controlling, along with a bunch of other words that weren’t particularly commendable, especially for someone who went around armed most of the time, but there was no way. None. If he and Tom were together nobody else got to put a hand on him. If Tom wanted to negotiate that, it wasn’t going to go well for anybody.

“A’ight,” he said, pushing back from the desk and dropping onto the sofa. “I’m done.”

“Great! Now we’ll trade sheets, and see where we match.” Tom sat back and wriggled insistently under Gabe’s arm, snuggling up against his side. He pulled a handful of highlighters out of his briefcase as they compared, and soon their sheets were marked up with green and yellow and a few fluorescent pink X’s. “Well, that’s promising,” Tom said cheerfully. “Lots of things we can try.”

“No doubt,” Gabe said, his arm tightening around Tom’s shoulders, pulling him close. “We’ll give this a whirl. When?” The darker part of him was already rubbing its hands together and putting together plans. The rest of him was still bordering on worried. The websites he’d looked at had promised that plenty of normal couples did this sort of thing all the time, but this was all still new to him. For that matter, just being with a man at all was still damn new. How the hell had he gotten into his thirties without ever realizing that he was queer? Denial was not just a river in Egypt, he supposed. Trying to be normal, trying to fit in.

“Not tonight; it’s late and I have court again in the morning. This weekend maybe, if we have a murder-free Friday and that’s not too soon?”

Gabe allowed himself a brief chuckle and squashed down a spurt of mingled disappointment and relief. “It’s D.C., baby. You’re wishin’ for the impossible.” He nuzzled at Tom’s neck. “It’s a date, then.”