Touching Evil (17 page)

Greg thought it was one of the best sounds he'd ever heard. Them. Laughing. Together.

Artie agreed, from the sound of it, hugging him tight and kissing him hard. "Corn flakes or Cocoa Puffs?"

"Ooh. Cocoa Puffs. You get chocolate milk at the end."

"Uh-huh. Duke loves it." Duke purred at that, leaping up on their legs, claws carefully sheathed.

"He's a cat of exquisite taste." He stroked Duke's head and ears, loving that happy rumble.

"He is. He loves you." Artie's hand covered his, helping pet and
stroke Duke's silky smooth coat. Greg heard the echo of Artie's, "Like
me," through the touch.

Greg nodded. Yes. Yes, he knew that. Bone-deep.

Chapter Twelve

The phone was ringing as Artie struggled with the grocery bags and
the door, Duke yowling like a feline demon on the other side. Damn it,
where the hell was Greg? He could answer the phone, or get the door or
... A bag slipped and suddenly Artie had a milk bomb, white liquid
flying all over the hall.

The door opened, Greg in a pair of shorts, scrub brush in one hand.
Jesus Christ. It must only be fifty degrees inside. All the window were
open, all the lights were on, and Greg was cleaning.

Again.

Duke shot out like a streak and started licking the walls. Oh, ew. "Duke, no." Artie nudged the big cat with his toes.

"Sorry." Greg opened the door and stepped back to let him in, scooping Duke up before the damned cat tore his toes off.

"No problem, babe. The walls needed a milk bath. Would you do me a
favor and wipe that down while I put this stuff away and shut the
windows?" He still had three bags.

"Sure." Greg crouched in the hall, muscles clenching and relaxing as he scrubbed.

That made the day better, it surely did. Artie plopped the groceries
down and opened a bag of salmon, knowing Duke would come running. Keep
the damned cat out of the hall.

Duke yowled, purring and moaning and rubbing up against him. O, ye fickle feline.

"I'd rather it was Greg doing that," Artie mumbled, putting away a
six-pack of beer and a bottle of some kind of ... macrobiotic yogurt.
There was a bit of tofu cheese stuff and some organic gray crap in
there. Alice must have been by.

"Greg? What the hell is this gray shit?" Artie called, hoping it was
Alice and not something growing hair, because Greg would have a fit.

"Uh ... Some kinda hummus, I think. It tastes better than it smells."

"It had better taste better than it looks." God, it looked like
crap. But then Greg probably thought his olive loaf was frightening.

"That is, unfortunately, open to interpretation." Greg leaned
against the look-through, almost smiling. "Did you get anything
horribly decadent?"

"I did. I got us one of those brownie mixes with the little baggies
of caramel and fudge that you pour in." He'd found that Greg did better
with stuff that Artie had to mix and cook than he did with ready made
cakes and stuff.

"Oh, mmm." He got a grin that he knew meant Greg appreciated it, knew he was trying.

"So you have any trouble today?" He asked it casually, but he needed to know.

"I ... I tried to go to the store with Alice. I didn't get far." Greg shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "So I came back."

"That's okay. You tried." Greg had never gotten out well. Since he'd lost most of his stuff ... well. It had been hard.

"Yeah. Did you find anything out? Anyone walk in and confess?"

"No." He chuckled. That would be nice, wouldn't it? "We've been
passing the tape from my desk around. The fingerprint is in the lab.
The inventory at your place is almost done."

"What does that mean? I can go back? Can put it on the market, if I want to?"

"I haven't asked, babe. I just know they're almost done with the
whole deal, according to Leah." Leah was a champ, handling shit Artie
just couldn't, and not even bitching about him getting too emotionally
involved.

"Oh. Okay." Greg nodded, starting to wander a little again, still a little lost, a little at sea.

"Come here?" He grinned as Greg looked over, and Artie held out a
hand, wanting to touch. That was a little awkward still, too, knowing
he never knew how Greg would react to it.

That got him another smile, though, and Greg came right over, fingers twining with his. "Hey."

Artie held on, letting the touch ease the tension of the day. "Hey. Damn, you feel good."

"Better and better." Greg's eyes closed, muscles bunching and then
relaxing. Gently, slowly, so Greg could break away if need be, Artie
pulled Greg in, letting that skinny body rest against his. "Oh. Oh, you
feel." Greg got a little rambly as he picked up God knew what. "Do not.
Just. You feel good."

Sometimes he wondered where that psychic antenna went, because on
the surface Artie figured his thoughts said nothing to argue about.
Grinning a little, he sorta rocked, just enjoying. Greg chuckled, chin
snuggling right into the hollow of his collarbone.

"So. What do you want for supper, besides brownies?" They'd eaten a
lot of eggs. That was okay, it was normal. But he could do other stuff.
Not gray hummus.

"Pasta? I like pasta. Or just salmon and cream cheese on crackers."

"Oh, we could have pasta. I can do that." He could. He even knew how
to make this fresh tomato and basil thing. The salmon would be gone by
now, if Duke was true to form.

"Good. I'll help." Greg didn't move, though, just stayed there for
another long minute. "I'm going to sell Alice and Mitch the store. They
want it."

Artie leaned back to look at him. "Okay. We can talk about it."
Sure. Right. That made him blink a little, but they had time to see
what Greg really wanted to do.

Greg's head tilted, face suddenly worried. "I'm not suggesting that
I'd live off you or anything of the sort, Artie. I wouldn't."

"No. I know that." He grinned a little. Dork. "I just don't want you to rush it. You know. Stuff."

"Yeah. I just. Everything is..." Greg sighed, met his eyes. "Everything is so different."

"I know." His hands felt overlarge and clumsy as he patted Greg's
back, letting go afterwards so he could go start pasta water. "I do
know, babe."

Greg went to the refrigerator, rummaging and finding chopped garlic, tomatoes, butter.

They puttered together for a while, the silence easier now, both of
them more relaxed. Even if they did have to work around Duke, who
sprawled in a feline nap attack on the counter, belly distended with
salmon.

He got a glass of wine to sip as he cooked, Greg cutting the bread,
humming along with whatever song was in the man's head. There was that
antenna again. Artie turned the heat on under the tomatoes as the water
boiled and he dropped a couple of handfuls of pasta in. It was ...
well, under different circumstances it would have been homey. Good. It
was, really, but the reason was always there.

It figured, didn't it, that they'd get together under the shadow of
some weird-assed serial killer. It almost made sense, in a backassward
sort of way.

He added mushrooms and salt and some basil, watching tomatoes split
and bubble. Yeah. It figured. "Oh, the bread smells good," he said,
just then realizing it had gone into the oven.

"Thank you." Greg stopped suddenly, looked over at him. "Do you have a backgammon board, Artie?"

"Uh." Did he? Shit. "If I do it's in the cabinet by the couch. The pine thing."

"Okay. I'll look." Greg disappeared, Duke actually lifting his head and watching before slumping back down on the counter.

Artie tried not to watch or twitch. Who knew what was in that
cabinet. Or what Greg would get off of it. He heard the cabinet open,
heard a brief rattle, and then it closed again, his chair creaking as
Greg settled in it.

His chair. It made him smile how much Greg loved that chair. How
safe he felt in it. Shit. Spitting tomatoes. Duke was spitting, too,
flying up.

"Do you need any help, detective? Duke looks ... fluffy and vaguely pissed."

"I had a tomato burst." He laughed, moving shit around and turning
off burners. The pasta timer went off, and he drained it, moving
automatically.

Greg wandered back in and rescued the bread, hip just bumping
against him. He grinned, then made sure everything was off before
grabbing Greg and kissing him silly, needing the contact. He'd have to
remember to do that more often, considering the way Greg moaned and
went boneless, really relaxing.

The kissing went on, but that was okay. Dinner was good reheated.
Really. Greg chuckled into the kisses, hands stroking over his face,
down his throat. Uh-huh. Oh, yeah. An appetizer. Artie traced the
planes of Greg's body, feeling too many ribs.

Greg stretched under his touch, arching almost like Duke would. The
thought made him smile again. He liked the smiling. That part was good.
He liked the touching, too. This kind. Any kind as long as it came from
Greg. Greg hummed a little, nibbled on his bottom lip. It stunned him,
that this sensual man had spent years not being touched. Not at all.
Stunned him, made him all growly on Greg's behalf, and yet a selfish
little part of him was glad that
he
was the one who could do it and get away with it.

And didn't Greg let him see how good it was? They settled against
the counter, Greg's hands cupping his balls, rolling them nice and
easy. Artie grunted, body zinging like he'd touched a live wire. He
humped into Greg's hand, his own hands pulling them closer together.
Yeah. That was. Yeah.

"Mmmhmm." Greg nodded, agreeing to God knew what. Those fingers pushed harder, finding one hot spot after another. Lord.

He touched Greg, counting down Greg's spine, fingers slipping down
to stroke the crease of Greg's ass. The things this man made him want...

"Mmm? Tell me." Greg nuzzled, licked at his jaw.

"Want you. All over. Here on the counter. On the floor on your
knees. Want inside you. Want to suck you." He'd be embarrassed with
anyone else, but this was Greg. Why be worried when the man could see
it anyway?

"Artie. Yes. God." Oh, Greg liked that, jerked against him and sorta started humping.

He lifted Greg a little, turning so that thin body was pressed
against the counter all the way, giving them leverage as he humped
right back, moaning. Yeah. He couldn't really even think anymore. He'd
do all those things soon, though.

"Uh-huh. Soon. Artie." Greg's fingers scraped all up his spine, pulling him in tight.

"Yeah. Greg. Babe. I ... wow." His head snapped back, his whole body
arching as he came, just like that. Boom. Greg shook, holding off and
just riding it with him, eyes big as anything, staring at him like he
was pure magic.

"Babe. Come on." Now he could watch, could see Greg's face, and he
pressed Greg into his thigh, really gave the man something to rub on.

"Yes." Greg's face went flushed, dark eyes rolling like dice as all
the tension and shit got shoved aside and Greg just felt. It took one
thrust, maybe two or three, and yeah, yeah, good. Greg came for him,
and Artie watched it, watched every flicker of expression on Greg's
face.

God, blissed out looked good on his man. Fucking hot. Artie grinned and kissed and loved on Greg a little. The man deserved it.

"Feels so good." Greg's head rolled on his shoulders a little, eyes dazed.

"Uh-huh. Wanna sit? I'll get supper re-heated." He got them cleaned
up, then guided Greg to his chair, the walk from the kitchen seeming
long. A trudge.

"Mmmhmm..." Greg snagged the garlic bread on the way, fed him a bite as they walked.

"Yum. Okay, be back with salad and shit." There was, uh. Pasta. Yeah. And bread. Oh, that was good bread.

"Yeah." Greg was purring, almost as loud as Duke.

Artie laughed and went to get the food, Duke appearing as if Artie
thinking about him had brought him running. You'd think the silly cat
hadn't just eaten a whole bag of salmon the way he was carrying on.

There was something fine about the sound of Greg's voice, soft and
rumbling, calling Duke right over. They had supper, both of them
yawning like crazy, both of them starting to blink and drift. Looked
like no TV for them tonight.

"Mmm. Wanna take a movie into the bedroom? Something easy." Greg leaned over, shoulder against him, the action natural and easy.

"Sure. Something we can sleep to." He knew that much. He dumped the
dishes in the sink to soak and they moved on to the bedroom, more into
the cuddling than the watching.

Greg settled right into the curve of his body, cheek on his upper
arm, fingers twined with his. Artie settled in and let himself really
relax, letting their breathing coordinate. It was good to have Greg in
his bed, no matter what the circumstances.

Real good.

Chapter Thirteen

"Greg? Honey? You okay?"

Greg stared over at Alice, trying his best to nod. "I think so?"

He'd made it here. Finally. After ten days. It almost felt good,
wandering through his store, seeing the books, the stones and statues
and odd little knick-knacks. The life he'd created for himself after
the move.

"Well, it's good to see you here..."

"Yeah. It was a good, long walk. Winter's coming."

"Christmas, yeah? You going to put up your tree with the organ
ornaments?" Alice's eyes flew open and her mouth made an "o." "Oh, lord
and lady. Greg. Honey, I'm. Oh. Oh, that was..."

Greg blinked a second and started laughing, deep and hard, all the
tired muscles from his walk protesting, but his heart just tickled as
hell. Alice started laughing with him, plopping down on the stool
behind the register. God, if anyone came in right now they'd think both
of them were drunk or crazed. Possibly both.

Speak of the devil, the little bell over the door rang, and in came
Artie, looking at them both with this wide-eyed stare, tie almost up
under one ear.