“How's your shoulder?” he asked, leaning backward across the marble island for his glass of wine.
“Good—really good, thanks to you.” John turned, his gaze falling to where Wyatt’s shirt rode up over his belt, exposing the skin and muscle of his stomach. His eyebrows lifted and he sighed, “You’re making me regret not having dinner ready before you got here.”
Wyatt settled, placing himself directly in front of him, stance widening and eyes teasing him as he sipped his wine. The need reflected in John’s expression was his, and his stomach fluttered.
John’s gaze traveled over his body slowly, and he shook his head, “I’ve never been one to have dessert first, but if you keep looking at me that way, I might have to.”
As if on cue, Wyatt’s stomach rumbled, and he chuckled, “Maybe next time, because I’m starving.”
John’s smile faltered, a vulnerability flashing across his face. “Do you want there to be a next time? Here?”
“Only if you want to.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Wyatt tilted his head and nodded, “Yeah. I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Relaxed.”
John scoffed playfully, “What, I’m not relaxed at the hotels?”
“It takes an orgasm or two, but yeah, eventually.”
John stepped forward and reached for the bottle of wine behind him, his arm brushing his as he leaned over, his scent engulfing him like a hit to the gut. Wyatt dropped his forehead once more into John’s shoulder before kissing his neck and spotting the hickey he had intentionally left the last time they were together.
Heat spilled into his veins as he thumbed the spot.
John sighed, but his mouth continued to quirk up, “I considered wearing a turtleneck to work this week.”
“What? Worried you’d have to explain to Steph you’re having fun?”
John chuckled, “She thought I was interested in Samuels. That we were…”
Wyatt growled, unable to hide his irritation, “I thought the same thing for a while.”
“Really?” he asked, handing him the bread knife, the cutting board, and a fresh loaf. “Cut this for us, will ya?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, why did you think Samuels and I were—God, I can’t even say the word,” John said, shaking his head.
“Fucking? Probably because I never met two out gay men in command. I thought it made sense y'all would wanna battle dicks, too.”
“Ugh, gross.”
Wyatt enjoyed John’s reaction, the ridiculous jealousy knot in his belly released as he sliced into the soft focaccia bread. “I eventually realized you guys would never work.”
“Not that I actually want to know or have ever considered this, but why not?”
“He’s got a lot of anger, deep bottled anger that needs to be contained by someone like him. Someone not afraid of it, meeting it with something entirely more powerful.”
John glanced up from the stove curiously.
“Love,” Wyatt finished.
He arched his eyebrows, “You saying I can’t love?”
