Page 53 of Oddly Fine

Beckett ducked his head and frowned. “Yeah, okay, somewhere along the way, I went from rugged bisexual to desperate twink, and I’m not—like—super proud of that progression.”

“I think you’re ten years too old, and ten inches too tall, to qualify as a twink, Beck,” Hayes teased, releasing his hold on Beckett when they reached the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, but who made you captain of the Sour Puss Club?” Beckett replied in mock offense.

“You. Wasn’t the signet ring supposed to make that official?” Hayes asked, finding their banter as natural as breathing at this point.

Beckett muttered something indistinct, most likely in French, before he proceeded to pour each of them a cup of coffee and placed them on their small dinner table.

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” was all Hayes caught as he set the plates down.

“Careful, so is the plate,” Hayes cautioned, even though it fell on deaf ears, since Beckett had already started eating the very second Hayes set it on the table.

“Jeez, Haysie! This is incredible,” Beckett commented in between bites. How he managed to speak so clearly with his mouth stuffed with food was anyone’s guess.

“Figured I’d try a couple of new recipes,” Hayes said with a bashful shrug.

“I bagged myself a homemaker!” Beckett replied in amazement.

Hayes merely rolled his eyes as he attacked his own food.

As usual, breakfast was spent talking about work. They’d been called to testify at Campbell’s trial in a couple of months but had yet to hear back from the prosecutor. Typically, the prosecutor would schedule a time for pre-trial prep and to review their individual testimonies, but it had been radio silence since they’d returned from New York. Beckett was convinced there was something not quite kosher going on, while Hayes remained cautiously optimistic that Campbell wouldn’t get out of this quite so easily.

“Anything you wanted to do today?” Beckett asked him, as they finished cleaning up. Hayes didn’t mind cooking, but he absolutely refused to do anything else until the kitchen was spic and span again. Early on in their domestic partnership, it had been a major source of friction. While Beckett was generally tidy, he was more of a go-with-the-flow type of guy when it came to housekeeping, and preferred to leave the dishes until he felt like doing them.

“The gym, maybe, but nothing other than that.” Hayes hadn’t planned anything beyond surprising Beckett with a nice breakfast.

“Hmmm—” Beckett said, abandoning his cleaning to stand behind Hayes. He wrapped his arms around Hayes’ waist and kissed the side of his neck.

“A workout sounds absolutely perfect,” he said, pressing his groin firmly against Hayes’ ass.

With that solid wall of muscle behind him, Hayes felt his heartrate pick up. He chuckled and spun around.

“Yeah? Were you thinking of cardio or weightlifting?” Hayes asked with an innocent grin. Beckett’s expression changed from playful to lustful. Growling, he tightened his hold on Hayes and lifted him completely off the floor.

Hayes laughed at Beckett’s sudden attempts at manhandling, grunting with surprise when his ass landed on the center island.

“How about a little of both?” Beckett asked.

Hayes was a few inches taller than Beckett, but when he was in this position, they were eye-to-eye. That familiar glimmer of mischief in Beckett’s eyes brightened considerably as he leaned forward and captured Hayes’ lips in a feverish kiss. It was rough and bruising, and Hayes felt all of his natural reservations vanish beneath Beckett’s passionate onslaught. No one else had ever made Hayes feel like this. Like the world had fallen away. He was rawdogging life like he never quite managed to do when he had been on his own.

“What would you like, Daisy-doo?” he asked, the outrageous nickname never failing to get Hayes fired up. “Want me to take you right here? On your marble counter until you come undone? Or do you want to be bent over the sink?” Beckett didn’t always ask for his input. He usually just commanded him and had his way, which Hayes positively loved. But it was fun, too, to be offered a choice. Like he was forcing Hayes to become just as unhinged as he was.

“Right here,” he panted, already out of breath before they’d even gotten started.

Beckett smiled like his greatest wish had just come true, and suddenly went from playful to serious. Before Hayes could figure that out, he was being kissed to within an inch of his life.

Sex with Beckett was like everything else he orchestrated—overwhelming and chaotic. Apart from the few instances when Hayes had agreed to be ordered around, getting down with the former Special Forces soldier was like tossing the dice at the craps table in Vegas—wildly unpredictable. One moment, Hayes was sitting on the counter, Beckett’s mouth flush against his, getting his shirt yanked off. The next moment found him wrapping his legs around Beckett’s waist as he was hoisted off the counter and slammed against the fridge. Beckett began biting his way down Hayes’ chest. He wanted to interrupt this oral assault. Wanted to argue for getting fucked on the marble counter, but he was rendered speechless when his boyfriend’s mouth closed around one of his nipples, working it over roughly with the edges of his teeth. Hayes gave a helpless shout as the sharp pain shot straight to his dick, making him unbearably hard. Beckett abruptly shifted him higher in his arms.

“What in the world are you—” but Hayes was kissed into silence before he could finish his question. Suddenly, he was lifted onto the marble counter. Shoving him onto his back, Beckett began kissing and licking down his treasure trail as he yanked down Hayes’ sweatpants and underwear. The marble was startlingly cold against his feverish skin, but the sensation faded quickly as Beckett snapped him forward so his ass was hanging halfway off the counter, legs still wrapped around Beckett’s waist.

“Relax, Daisy,” Beckett urged, lips brushing Hayes’ inner thighs. Beckett reached under him and lifted his legs over his shoulders, forcing him to lie flat. His view of Beckett’s actions being cut off only heightened his sense of touch.

Beckett feathered kisses down the length of his thighs, then moved back up to his beautifully sculpted hip flexors.

“Fuck, I love this part of you,” Beckett said, voice hoarse with lust. “The first time we did this, I couldn’t look away,” he confessed huskily against his skin.

Hayes didn’t know how to tell Beckett that he already knew. That when they cuddled in bed, Beckett’s hands went straight to Hayes’ pelvis, the scarred pad of his thumb brushing against the smooth skin there. Hayes didn’t know how to tell Beckett how deeply affected he was when those rough hands stroked him so reverently.