Page 43 of Oddly Fine

Hayes was more than happy to comply with Beckett’s silent command, moaning as he pushed his head downwards. His cock hit the back of Beckett’s throat and he swallowed around the large cock. He didn’t keep him there, though. He tugged on Beckett’s hair to guide him up and down again in a punitive rhythm that made Beckett’s mind swim. Hayes muttered epithets under his breath.

“Fuck, I’m going to—” he warned when Beckett’s right hand squeezed Hayes’ cock twice as he allowed his bottom teeth to catch the head of Hayes’ dick before swallowing him all the way down. Hayes came down Beckett’s throat, and he swallowed every drop, pulling a muttered curse from Hayes as his spent cock twitched, rapidly becoming oversensitive. Beckett pulled off him with a satisfied pop, before he looked up at Hayes from under his eyelashes. He was all too pleased with himself, and he wanted Hayes to see that as he offered him his best Cheshire smile. Hayes, breathing heavily, leaned back against the couch, shaking his head in mild disbelief. Beckett chuckled and unhurriedly re-positioned Hayes’ spent cock back in his pants. He allowed himself a few kisses along the strip of pale skin showing at the bottom of Hayes’ shirt before he unfolded himself from his position on the floor—old knees protesting the movement. Hayes caught him on his way up, stalling his progress by cupping his jaw and kissing him. Beckett chuckled against his lips. There was no denying the loved-up expression on Hayes’ face. He was soft and pliant with it. Beckett dropped down on the couch next to him.

“Guess we’re keeping our jobs for now,” he said, slightly boastful. He ought to be ashamed, really. He’d have been mortified if he’d gotten caught by Gill’s children. He was a pretty good liar, but even he wouldn’t have known how to navigate that specific shit show.

“Good thing—he didn’t seem in a mood to handle any of our chaos,” Hayes said, with a throaty laugh.

“Did you see how fucking panicked Gill was? You’d think he was facing the death penalty,” Beckett chuckled. He was hard as hell from getting on his knees for Hayes but wasn’t expecting to get off. Hayes eyed him with naked desire as Beckett adjusted himself, but Beckett shook his head and winked playfully. Hayes wouldn’t want to chance it and Beckett didn’t blame him.

“That expression was hard to miss,” Hayes agreed with a smile. Their kissing had smeared the lipstick he’d been wearing and Becket leaned forward to wipe it off with his thumb.

“I don’t think red is really your color,” Beckett said, with his best shit-eating grin. The one Hayes secretly loved.

“Fuck off!” Hayes laughed, pushing Beckett away from him.

He fell back against the couch dramatically with a loud huff.

“You should probably go wash off all that makeup,” Beckett advised helpfully, unable to suppress his snicker.

“Probably,” Hayes agreed, although he’d stretched out on the couch and looked as if he was in no particular hurry to get up. He grabbed the remote from the arm of the couch where Jameson had left it and un-paused the movie on the TV.

“Shrek?” Beckett asked, one eyebrow raised challengingly.

“Shut up.” Hayes scooted farther back against the arm rest and made space for Beckett next to him in clear invitation for snuggle time.

Beckett snorted with amusement, but stretched out next to him, his head pillowed against Hayes’ chest. The perfect way to watch movies in his estimation.

“We’re pretty good at babysitting,” Beckett observed, realising it was 9:00 sharp and all three kids were already tucked in for the night.

“You carried one of them like a sack of potatoes,” Hayes said with a snort.

“Act like a spud, get treated like one,” he answered, like it was a widely-used expression and not just some kind of totally improvised nonsense.

“You blew me on the couch,” Hayes said with a pleased smirk.

“That was definitely something the girls from The Baby-Sitters Club did—it just wasn’t in the books,” he declared with a snort.

Hayes shook his head but wrapped an arm around Beckett and hugged him.

Beckett snuggled in close, pleased beyond words as he sank into his boyfriend’s warm embrace and the scent of his citrusy aftershave filled his nose. Home, he thought. This was home.

Chapter 8

They’d drifted off to sleep sometime after midnight, about halfway through Shrek 2. Gill had not mentioned a guest room and neither of them had felt comfortable about searching for one—just in case Gill had a secret sex dungeon they could never unsee. Besides, the couch was massive, and they were both used to sleeping just about anywhere. Beckett was in the middle of a rather vivid baseball dream when he was woken by a sharp elbow to his solar plexus. He shot straight up, but found himself quickly restrained by Hayes with a hand on his chest and one covering his mouth. Instantly alert, he listened closely for any suspicious sounds. Hayes was acting like they were suddenly in the middle of a war zone. Teacup must have caught on to their mood because the fluffy thing jumped off the ottoman and up onto the couch, crouching behind Beckett, and growling softly.

Beckett shushed the dog, but fell silent as he heard a slight rustling sound, coming from down the hallway, near the staircase. They stayed very still—both of them waiting to see if one of the triplets was up and coming downstairs. The rustling stopped, and then a door opened. It wasn’t the front door, though, because Beckett could see it from his spot on the couch, and it hadn’t moved.

“Basement entrance,” Hayes whispered. Hayes had probably noted the location of the door when he’d secured their weapons in the basement safe.

“You go cover the kids—” Beckett whispered, moving silently off the couch.

Hayes put a hand on his forearm and held him in place. His gaze was sharp with disapproval, and he shook his head.

“Our guns are in the safe, and I’m better at hand-to-hand,” Beckett whispered. There was no doubt that Hayes didn’t like this plan, but he also knew Beckett was right, so he nodded and let him go. “Bring the hellhound with you,” he whispered before Hayes could disappear up the stairs. His boyfriend scowled but grabbed the poodle.

“What are the fucking odds?” Beckett mumbled as he approached the stairs leading down to the basement. Brass knuckle switchblade in hand, he crept down the bare wood stairs, praying they wouldn’t creak. The sounds of someone moving around the basement were clearer now. Whoever was down there wasn’t trying to be stealthy. He stopped on the landing, using the sharp corner that led into the open space of the basement as cover. A quick glance around the corner revealed the location of the intruder. He could see a dark figure across from him, searching frantically for something. A safe maybe? It was hard to see much in the dim light shining through the small basement window. But he could tell that the intruder was about 6 feet tall, had wide shoulders, and was heavy around the middle.

Slowly, Beckett eased along the wall, until he was only about a foot away, and waited for the right moment to strike. The intruder had moved a few feet to the left, still searching for something along the wall.