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Eggplant, cucumber, bananas…
“Is there anything in this store that you want that’s not shaped like a cock?” asked Scotland, chuckling as he glanced at everything Clint had shoved inside the cart. It wasn’t nearly piled as high as it could have been, seeing as Clint had only just started to make a dent in all the food Scotland had stocked in the cabin.
Clint shot him a little smirk, heading to the end of the aisle where some fancy olive oil glistened on an overpriced shelf. He grabbed the bottle, gently setting it inside the top of the cart.
“Now we have everything we need for the dick veggies,” said Clint. A slim zucchini on the stand caught his eye so he quickly tugged it from its spot, setting it with the rest. It was tiny next to the eggplant and cucumber. “It’s okay, buddy.” He patted the zucchini. “Size isn’t everything.”
Scotland snorted, shaking his head before he reached for two apples, setting it on top of the rest. “We might as well have some balls, too.”
A man passing by shot them a scowl, grumbling something under his breath as he shuffled a little faster. So what if they were acting like a couple of teenagers? Clint hadn’t had so much fun in ages. It was also a great way to distract himself from whatever else was happening with him.
In that chair, Ross had been the last thing on his mind. He’d wanted to kiss Scotland— He’d wanted more.
“You always meet the best people in grocery stores,” said Clint, shooting the man a wink as he made eye contact. “I met Henley in one. A few dick jokes later and he had a membership at Unkinked.” Clint frowned, pulling at his ear. As far as he knew, Henley was some sort of government agent—a fact that he probably wasn’t supposed to know. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen the guy since their last off-premise munch.
“I dunno. I usually run into exes.” Scotland paused at the bread section, grabbing a few loaves and gently setting them in the cart. It was probably the first practical thing in there. Clint honestly didn’t know anything about cooking eggplant.
“Ouch.” Clint looked over his shoulder. “I guess I’m lucky on that front.”
Scotland winced, sending him an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Clint. I really didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s okay.” Sending him a soft smile, Clint reached for one of the artisan loaves of bread. It was darker, with a swirl of dusted flour still clinging to the top. It also weighed about the same as three loaves of regular bread combined.
It was strange to say it was okay and not have a wave of grief make him stagger moments later. But for once, it actually was okay. He didn’t wonder if Ross would have liked the bread, or if he would have urged Clint to eat it because it was a little healthier. He gave it a sniff through the plastic packaging before setting it on the shelf. Not today.
“Who else did I meet in a store?” mused Clint, glancing toward the freezer section. “Oh, can we get ice cream? I’ve got a hankering for those little ice cream sandwiches.”
“Sure.” Scotland turned the cart, following a few steps behind as Clint headed for the freezer section.
“Oh, I know.” Clint tugged the door open, immediately shuddering at the sudden cold. “Have you met my cousin Shelvin? He’s one of the designers of the new place and one hell of an architect. We’d fallen out of touch for the most part until I saw him at the store one day.”
Leaning his shoulder against the door, he covered his chest with his hands. “I’m freezing. My nipples could cut glass over here.”
Scotland chuckled, opening a second door and picking out a tub of ice cream presumably for himself. “I think I know why you meet people here so often. I think they probably heard that all the way at the checkout.”
Clint flushed, biting his lip as he skimmed the shelf. He caught sight of the regular-sized sandwiches, but the spot on the shelf for the small ones was blank. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Sometimes I don’t know my own volume—too long with club music, I guess.”
He started as Scotland touched his arm, his grip molten in the cool air that was pouring from the freezer in thick, steaming clouds.
“Never apologize for something like that.” His tone was just as serious as his gaze. “I love how comfortable you are with yourself and the lifestyle. I hope that never changes. It’s beautiful—you’re beautiful—when you’re yourself.”
Scotland was so close, the warmth of his chest right there. His lips looked softer than Clint remembered. It had only been minutes since he’d watched them, pain skirting over his ribs as his cock throbbed in the tattoo chair. His ribs still pulsed along with the spot on his wrist, like sunburn baking in bright light.
“Okay.” He looked along the shelves again, shuddering as Scotland moved another step closer. He skirted his warm hands over Clint’s shoulders, chasing away the chill. His nipples hardened further, more confused than he was.
“When it comes to ice cream sandwiches, size does matter,” said Clint, smiling as someone approached them along the aisle. A familiar thrill washed over him, knowing that he was being heard in a public place—being naughty. “I want something I can fit in my mouth and shove straight down my throat. The big ones just trigger my gag reflex a little too much.”
Scotland chuckled, running his hands down Clint’s arms before settling at the level of his elbows. “You don’t like them big, baby?”
Shivering at the endearment, Clint shook his head, sending a wink over his shoulder at the stranger who was looking at them with wide but very interested eyes. “I love them big, just not in my mouth.”
He turned his head, freezing when Scotland was right there. When did he get so close? There was a small bruise on his lower lip like he’d been chewing on it all the way through the tattoo and the trip to the store. Maybe he was more nervous than he was actually letting on.
It was like trying to swim against an undertow. Even as he shifted, his arm brushing against the freezing door, Scotland loomed closer. It was Clint who closed the final distance until their lips were touching. They were softer than freshly budded leaves and so warm that Clint instantly fell into them, gasping as his senses were overwhelmed.
There was nothing better than kissing in public. You couldn’t get arrested for it, and it always managed to shock and thrill someone. Grocery store aisles, restaurants, the park—it didn’t matter. Anywhere there were eyes on him, longing to be him.
He turned in Scotland’s arms, bringing their chests together before wrapping his arms around Scotland’s neck. Threading a hand through his hair, he tugged him closer, until the kiss turned hard. He parted his lips, ready to seek out Scotland’s tongue with his own.
