'Nother Sip of Gin - Rhys Ford Page 0,38

heading to some show over in Oakland.”

“Excellent. Not that I don’t love them, but you know….” Kane nudged Forest as he went past. “You kids have fun. Don’t stay up too late.”

With the table bare of plates and the Italian takeout still in the kitchen, Connor stood in the middle of the patio and smiled at his lover. Forest turned, taking everything in, framed by the french doors Con’d installed to replace the ones riddled by bullets a few months earlier. They’d survived the carnage, a sure sign they’d withstand anything life threw their way.

Con just wasn’t sure if he could survive the love he felt for the man standing in front of him.

“Hey.” Forest stepped out onto the patio, his feet bare on the rough tiles. Holding up the bag, he jiggled the plastic handles. “Brought dinner.”

“Yeah?” He met Forest halfway, tugging at his lover’s waistband until Forest was snugged up against him. “I’ve got Italian in the kitchen. What did you bring to the party?”

“Mexican.” Forest brushed his lips against Connor’s, then pulled back, a teasing touch. “’Cause, you know, nachos.”

“Shit, why didn’t I think of that?” He couldn’t keep his grin from nearly splitting his face. “Nachos.”

“I like the lights.” Forest set the bag down on the table, stretching a bit in Connor’s embrace. “They’re… nice.”

“I was hoping for sweet, but I’ll take nice.” Connor slid his arms around Forest’s waist.

“It’s sweet. And nice. It’s both. Like you.” Forest captured Connor’s face in his hands, tipping his head for a kiss. “God, I love you.”

If Connor hadn’t already hungered for the man he held in his arms, Forest’s kiss would have whetted his appetite.

There were threads of sunlight and stars on Forest’s tongue, simmering into a silken heat when his teeth nipped at Connor’s upper lip. He sighed and dove in.

The air grew cold around them, their bodies heating the slender space between them. If he could have one thing, one sliver of anything in his life, Connor would have chosen Forest’s kiss. His lover gave, a tender, delectable drawing out of soft touches and raking bites.

It hurt to have to pull away, but every ache in his body soothed when Connor saw the lights reflected in Forest’s luminous eyes.

“I love you too, a ghra,” Connor whispered. “May we have many more months together. Years even. I will never have enough of you.”

Forest laughed, a husky rasp of pleasure. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere. Bigger question, though, what are we going to have for dinner? Italian or Mexican?”

Connor nipped at Forest’s nose, making him laugh. “I’ve an idea. How do you feel about some Irish first?”

Wild Turkey

“THEM DOWNSTAIRS? They’re fucking loons.” Damien shivered as he plopped down next to Miki, nudging his best friend over so he had space on the bean bag nest Miki’d made against a dormer window. “Mad as fucking hatters, the lot of them.”

He’d rooted the singer out, finding his not-so-secret hiding place on the Morgans’ widow’s walk. A wide overhang kept a large portion of the loft bone dry despite the not-so-gentle deluge of San Francisco rain, and when Miki unearthed a bottle of Scottish whisky he’d brought up with him, Damien nearly kissed his blood brother senseless in thanks.

The thick blankets Miki’d hauled out with him didn’t hurt either.

“Pass that over, Sinjun.” Damie motioned toward the bottle as soon as he got comfortable under the quilts. He took a long drag, hissing at the whisky’s bite. “God, this stuff’s like having an argument with you. Satisfying but a damned kick in the nuts.”

“I love you too, asshole,” Miki grumbled. “Why’d you come up here?”

“Why’d you?” Damie shot back.

It was a delicate tug-of-war they played—a cat-and-mouse game only they knew the rules to. Miki would badger, either into a hole or a growling attack; then Damien would soothe or wrestle. With Kane around, the attacks were to a bare minimum. Someone had to poke furiously at Miki before he would tear them apart, but the holing up, that remained the same.

As did Miki’s love of whisky.

“Your dad know you stole this?” Damie passed the bottle back.

“Who do you think gave it to me?” Miki snorted. “Best. Dad. Ever.”

A rap on the window behind startled them both, and Damie peered through the frosted pane. “And speak of the Donal and so it appears.”

The dormer window creaked inward, and Donal scolded them through the screen, “What are ye two doing out here? Witches’ tits are boiling hot compared to the weather now. Get inside.”

“It’s