Page 40 of Laken's longing

Lennon:The rest of us are most certainly not that.

Ziggy:Why, I’m as pure as the driven snow.

Frey:I can hear you laughing down the corridor, Ziggy. Is that your snake you’re talking about?

Hollis:How did we go from talking about catching up and drinks to the non-shifting snakes?

Bowie:Non-shifting?

Frey:He means trouser snake. Think about it Bowie, you’ve got one, too.

Bowie:Ohhh.

Wilder:Big sigh, I’d like to see some trouser snake that wasn’t my own.

Hollis:And that is where it stops, right now.

Isley:I bet Taylin’s got a nice trouser snake ; )

Lennon:It’s probably why he doesn’t need to talk about it.

Hollis:Are you all forgetting who Taylin’s father is and that he can read this!

Lane:No need to worry, darling boy, I married Derick for his.

Monty:I’m sorry Lane, but I snorted cola out my nose and Rue came to look at what I was reading, you should see his face… priceless! Can’t wait to catch up. Miss you guys.

Isley:Miss you too.

Isley closed the group chat that had started to ping five minutes after he’d gotten through the door after dropping Wilder home. He opened his calendar app and blocked out the following Friday evening, already excited to catch up, even if it wasn’t in person. It filled the empty evenings now Somme wasn’t going to be there to pester him. With Somme gone again, he’d invited Bowie over at the weekend to bake Christmas cookies and play.

After opening up about his Little persona, Bowie was trusting Isley by being Little in Isley’s presence. He was cute as a buttonand fun to be around. It reminded Isley of how much he missed the nights he’d had when Monty used to come around and they’d get tipsy and bake. He hefted a big sigh. Screen time would have to do for now.

The apartment was too quiet after Somme’s big presence and gave him far too much thinking time about a certain alpha. Needing a distraction, he went to his room, changed out of his work clothes and slipped on a loose pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt that belonged to Somme and must have gotten mixed up in his clothing.

Roaming to the kitchen, he opened cupboards and considered what he had. Sweet things were certainly a good substitute for sex. He was sure he read somewhere? As he eyed the ingredients he had, he nodded sagely. Then he was going to need a lot!

Chapter Eighteen

Isley

Having spent the rest of the evening the night before baking and not thinking, Isley was left with a whole lot of cake! The evidence of which was in three of the six plastic tubs he’d managed to fill. He carried what he knew for sure he couldn’t eat without making himself sick into his office, shrugging his shoulder bag onto his desk. Then he took the heavy tubs to the coffee lounge, knowing his friends would devour what he’d made. They had a rota for cake baking, though it was more fluid than fixed. If someone made something they wanted to share, whether it was their turn or not, no one cared. Cake was the answer to all woes.

“What you got in there?” Ziggy asked, coming in behind him. Today’s outfit said he wasn’t going to be in any meetings. On those days, he went more grunge wear. He’d paired a stripy, two-tone brown sweater pushed up to the elbows, revealing tattooed, sinewy forearms, with brown skater pants with large pocketsand Timberland boots. He always looked cool to Isley, and he envied his easy style.

Ziggy went straight for the empty coffee machine, which he tended. He wasn’t much of a baker, though he tried to improve with help from Bowie. He still bought cake from one of the local bakeries when it was his turn to supply their addiction. And they were all addicts, of that Isley didn’t need any convincing. Heck, Lane even asked about their cake preferences when he interviewed them.

“I was in a baking mood last night, so I made a raspberry and white chocolate torte.” Isley laughed and pushed that tub towards Ziggy at the grabby hands he made, the coffee beans dumped on the counter without a second thought.

Isley held up the other tubs. “This one has peanut butter cup cakes, and this one has triple chocolate chip cookies.”

“Did I hear triple chocolate chip cookies?” Frey questioned breezing in, but not looking directly at Isley. He gave the tubs a look of intense concentration that Isley wasn't used to seeing. His baking skills were good, but not as good as say Monty or Bowie. He got an itch at the back of his neck and studied his friend when he didn’t take the offered tub, going instead to put Emmy’s teething rings in the refrigerator.

“You did. Are you in need of chocolate for breakfast? Did Emmy keep you up last night with her sore gums?” She’d been suffering with her first teeth working to break through her gums. Isley had felt the tiny bumps under the skin when she’d gnawed on his pinkie finger knuckle, slobbering worse than the St Bernard they’d had when he was growing up.

Frey blushed and fussed at the counter, still not looking in Isley’s direction when he came and stood next to him offering the cookie box. He already knew that they would be Frey’s choice.

“I’m cool, I had breakfast with Booker.” He threw a smile at Isley that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll catch ya’ll later, got an early meeting.” And he fled the room.