Home Again

Disclaimers: Tim & Bill don't belong to me. Never have, never will, more's the pity.

Category: Slash (Bayliss/Boisy), crossover (Hard Core Logo/Homicide)

Spoilers: Post movie, post movie. Part 1 of Married with Children, the series that follows Going Under, Comfort Food, and Moving On.

Beta thanks to Gemini & Beth, who keep me on the straight and narrow (yeah, right!).

Rating: NC17.

Summary: "'My, my, such language,' he chides, then grins again and adds, 'Fucking Deep Throat Fucking Cocksucking Fucking Rock Star, that's me. Emphasis on the fucking.'"

Feedback me! bodge38@earthlink.net

Home Again

by shell

copyright 2002

We make it home okay, and the conversation with the kids and Tim's mom goes pretty well. Ruthie's a little confused by the whole thing, and Virginia's not sure how she feels about it, either, but Sarah's happy—about the wedding, anyway.

Neither kid is thrilled about moving to Flagstaff, although they do a good job of hiding it. I can't say I blame them—this will be their third school in a year, a year that's already had enough trauma and change for a fucking lifetime. Their grandmother's pleased we're leaving LA, even if we're not going to be much closer to Baltimore.

The general mood gets a little brighter when Tim tells the family some of his plans for the house. Virginia and Sarah are intent on security, while Ruth's more interested in helping her dad design a pool. Sarah remembers more about the area than I realized, and gets a little more enthusiastic when she finds out how close we'll be to Humphries Peak.

We invite Kat, Chelle, and Deeja over for dinner, and they're full of congratulatory hugs and kisses. Deeja looks a little shocked by the news, but the other two say they had a bet going—Chelle won. They take the girls out for some ice cream after dinner, giving Tim, Virginia, and me a chance to talk some more about wedding plans. Tim mentions that he's going to ask Frank to be his best man, which doesn't surprise me at all, but apparently his mom wasn't expecting it.

"Son, I know you're close to Frank, but I always thought you'd ask Jim to stand up for you. This isn't the kind of wedding I had pictured, but I still can't imagine anyone else as your best man."

"Who's Jim?" I ask, feeling out of the loop. I don't think I've ever heard Tim mention the name.

"My cousin," Tim answers flatly. "We were like brothers, growing up."

"I think you should call him," Virginia says encouragingly.

"He made it perfectly clear he wants nothing to do with me the last time we spoke, Mom." Tim's voice is bitter.

"He did call me when you were in the hospital, son—he still cares about you, and I hate to think you two can't get past your differences after everything that's happened."

"You don't get it, do you, Mom? It's everything that's happened that caused this. If I'd stayed the same person he grew up with, married some nice girl, had a couple kids, voted Republican, we'd still be close. But he can't handle who I am now—he wasn't thrilled when I became a Buddhist, but once I told him I was dating a man, that was it. Jim Bayliss does not associate with perverts, and as far as he's concerned, that's exactly what I am."

"Tim, jesus, I think he called once," I interrupt. "I talked to him."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was when you were getting the fixators off—I was half asleep, and you were out cold. This guy said he was your cousin and wanted to know if you were all right. I told him you were, but you were sleeping. I asked him his name, if he wanted to talk to you, but he said no, said not to wake you, told me he was sorry about everything, and hung up. The whole thing was weird. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, you needed my help with something, and I forgot to tell you."

"Even if that was him on the phone, he still didn't want to talk to me, did he? And he never called again. I'm happy with who I am, happier than I've ever been, and if that means not having Jim in my life anymore, that's fine by me." He's looking to me for confirmation, and I take his hand, give it a squeeze, and nod, so he'll know I support him.

"Don't try to tell me you don't miss him, son. I know he hurt you, but I think you could work things out if you would just talk. It's not the easiest thing in the world, accepting the fact that you're with a man—it takes time. Will you at least think about calling him?"

"Fine, Mom. I'll think about it. But I'm not making any promises. And Frank's going to be my best man."

It's a little uncomfortable for a minute—Tim's in stubborn mode, and Virginia and I both know it. Then the door opens to Ruth, Sarah, Chelle, and Kat, all giggling. Ruth tells us a story involving the ice cream they brought back for the agent guarding the house tonight, and we're back to normal, or as normal as it gets. I don't even realize Deeja's not with them anymore until they're getting ready to go, when Kat pulls me aside for a second and tells me she didn't even stay for the ice cream, just went off to a nearby bar.

"You're shitting me. That's fucked, Kat."

"Do you know what's going on with her? She talks to you more than she talks to us."

"No fucking clue. She doesn't talk about anything really personal, you know? We just shoot the shit, talk about movies, music, that kind of thing. She doesn't seem comfortable talking about anything else. Acts a little squirrely when I talk about Tim sometimes."

"So she hasn't mentioned anything like a boyfriend dumping her, or problems with her family?"

"Not a word. I haven't really noticed her with anyone, but didn't you say she had a boyfriend last fall, when Tim was in the hospital?"

"Yeah, but she broke up with him right after she joined the band, and she seemed fine. Shit, she seemed fine until we went on tour, you know?"

"Yeah." Chelle comes up behind us then, ready to leave. Kat gives me a look to let me know this is something we need to be thinking about, as if I hadn't realized that already. Yeah, her hormones are out of whack—Chelle isn't really worried about Deeja at all, thinks Kat's being too maternal—but I've been getting concerned over the last few road trips, and hearing about Deeja passing up ice cream with Ruth and Sarah... That's not like her. Fuck.

Then Tim comes up behind me, kisses the back of my neck, and I stop thinking about anything but him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hello?" The voice sounds the same as always—annoyed—and I smile to hear it.

"Hi, Frank, how are you?"

"Is that you, Tim? I'm fine."

"Good. That's good."

"Tim, what's going on?"

"Uh, I have some news. And a favor to ask."

"So ask."

"Bill and I are moving to Flagstaff."

"You're moving to Flagstaff."

"Yeah, we're buying some land, right up in the mountains—it's so beautiful there, Frank. Have you ever been to Flagstaff?"

"Tim, the only time I've ever been in Arizona was last winter, and the only place I went was Phoenix."

"Well, you should see it. Um, actually, I was hoping you could come out here in a few months. In September."

"What's happening in Flagstaff in September that's so special?"

"Uh—I'm getting married."

"What?"

"Bill and I, we're getting married."

"Two men can't get married."

"Well, not legally, no. Call it a commitment ceremony if it makes you feel better, Frank. Jeez, sometimes the Catholic in you shows up when you least expect it, doesn't it?"

"You and Bill. You're getting—married—in September, in Flagstaff, Arizona."

"Uh-huh."

"So I suppose you expect me to fly out there for the wedding, bring Mary and the kids."

"Actually, I was hoping you'd be my best man."

"You want me to be your best man?"

"That's what I said, Frank. Do you have a problem with that?"

"A problem? No, no problem, Tim."

"Good. That's great. Because it would really mean a lot to me."

"I said I'd do it, Bayliss. But don't expect some sort of bachelor party."

"No, of course not."

"Okay then. Anything else you need to ask me?"

"Uh—no, that was pretty much it."

"Because I'm late for class. I'll put Mary on the phone, you can give her all the details I know you're dying to spill."

"All right, Frank. And thank you."

"You're welcome. Mary? Come talk to Tim, okay? Goodbye, Tim."

"Goodbye, Frank."

It's great talking plans with Mary. By the time I've gotten off the phone with her, Bill's up and eating breakfast. He smiles at me when I sit down next to him, resting my cane against the table. We've only been back in California for two days, and we don't even know for sure yet if we're going to get the land, but neither one of us is willing to wait. We've got an architect coming over this afternoon. We've set the date. Gloria, personal assistant extraordinaire, has already started looking into catering, tuxes, and everything else we might possibly need.

I grin back at Bill, then bring his hand to my lips, kissing his ring finger.

"You talk to Frank?" he asks me, stroking my lips.

"Yeah. He'll be there, as long as I don't expect a bachelor party. Mary's more excited than he is, of course."

"He's more excited than he let on, I bet."

"Have you talked to John yet?" He shakes his head.

"He's out of town. I left a message—I think he's getting back sometime today."

"What about Billie?"

"Figured I'd tell her in person this weekend."

"You'll have to be fast to beat Ruth to the punch." He shakes his head again with a smile.

"Talked to Ruth already. She agreed to let me tell my own daughter I'm getting married, believe it or not."

He starts playing with the ring on my finger. "We're getting married," I say. "I'm marrying you. That's amazing. Isn't it?"

"Fuck no," he says softly. "It's just—right. The logical thing, if you will. Amazing part's that we actually met."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He lets go of my hand so he can reach behind my head, pulling me in for a soft kiss. He tastes of toothpaste and frosted flakes and coffee, and I take time to explore all of it. We kiss for a long moment, and then he breaks off and asks in a husky voice, "You going in to the office this morning?"

"Not for another couple hours."

"Good. Come on." He stands up, offers me a hand, and we walk back to the bedroom. He pulls at my shirt in the hallway until I take it off. He's just wearing sweats, so he's undressed and wrestling with my jeans before I've finished getting my socks off. Once he's gotten me stripped, he stands there for a minute, looking me over.

"You've filled out nicely," he says. "You've been working hard, eating your fucking wheaties."

"I have been working hard. I think I deserve a reward, don't you?"

"What did you have in mind?" He's moved closer, so we're almost touching, and I can feel the heat coming off his body, his breath on my face. I lean down, my lips just shy of his ear.

"Fuck me."

He takes a step forward, and I put my arms around him. He takes my shoulders and pushes me back towards the bed, then onto it. I let him. He follows me onto the bed, pinning me down beneath him, kissing me hungrily. He's impatient this morning, moving quickly down my neck to my chest, caressing my nipples with lips and tongue, reaching down to stroke my cock, fondling my balls, making me gasp. He looks up with a sly grin, so fucking sexy, then moves between my legs and takes me in his mouth. I gasp again, then moan loudly, glad Ruth and Sarah are off at school, glad Gwen won't be here to pick me up until noon. Then he takes me all the way in, jesus, and I'm making a lot of noise, because it feels so fucking good, and he's going to town, going all out, going for the gusto, and whatever other things he can do or go, not holding any damn thing back, working fast and furious to make me come and come hard. Which I do, grunting, deep into his throat, feeling the muscles work as he swallows every drop.

He releases my dick with a last soft kiss and leans back, glancing with evident satisfaction at the wiped-out, blissed-out expression on my face.

"So," he says, not even trying to hide his shit-eating grin, "was that good for you?"

I reach out and smack him. "What the fuck do you think, Fucking Deep Throat Rock Star?"

"My, my, such language," he chides, then grins again and adds, "Fucking Deep Throat Fucking Cocksucking Fucking Rock Star, that's me. Emphasis on the fucking." Then he's pushing me onto my belly, getting a pillow under my hips, and attacking my back with the same ferocity he used on the front, tongue and lips and teeth on my neck and shoulders, then down to my ass, one hand quickly lubed up and working fingers in while the other arm wraps around my waist. He's always gone so slowly, been so cautious, so afraid of hurting me, but maybe he's finally realized he can let go, the way he lets go when I'm fucking him, because he barely preps me before I feel his dick pressing up and into me, and before I know it he's in and thrusting and it feels fucking fantastic, and this time he's the one making the noise, or at least most of it, because now I'm moaning, getting hard again already.

He keeps going, hard and fast, but now he's grabbed my cock and started stroking it in counterpoint to his thrusts. I feel him tense up, then slam into me as he comes, and hearing his grunting in my ear, feeling him come inside me, thrusting a few more times, hitting that sweet spot, and continuing to stroke me, and I'm coming again, like a fucking teenager, all over his hand and the sheets. He's kissing the back of my neck, softer now, tenderly, then resting his forehead on my shoulder and wrapping both arms around my chest and belly, letting all his weight rest on me, letting go, relaxing as completely as he fucked me, and it feels so good to know he finally trusts himself, trusts us, so completely. And he stays there—doesn't get up to grab a washcloth, doesn't pull out, just stays there, with me and in me, as our breathing slows and our bodies stop shaking. I bring his hand up to my lips, kiss each finger, and he kisses the nape of my neck again, then rolls us onto our sides, still linked together.

"This okay?" he asks softly.

"I could stay like this forever, except I can't see your face."

He pulls out, and I turn to face him. I bring him into my arms, his head pillowed on my shoulder, looking up at me with those incredible eyes, and I kiss the scar on his eyebrow, and he smiles.

"Thank you, Bill."

"For what? I was enjoying myself, you know—you don't need to thank me."

"For enjoying yourself. For not being afraid to let go. For trusting yourself, and us."

He looks at me for a minute, then starts to smile. "Yeah," he says, nothing else, but I know he understands, so I kiss him.

"I trust you," he says. "I love you, Tim."

"I love you, and I trust you, and I'm going to marry you." He smiles again, full of joy, and I'm grinning back at him. He grabs me into a tight embrace, kissing my ear and holding me with all his wiry strength, and we stay like that for a minute or two, until Georgia jumps up onto the bed and meows loudly, and we both laugh, and Bill gets up and feeds her. He walks out into the hall, naked and unselfconscious and just beautiful.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After we get out of the shower, I'm doing the gel thing on my hair when the phone rings. Tim calls me over a second later, tells me it's for me.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Billy. It's John."

"Johnny! How are you, man? How's Celine?"

"We're fine. We're good. Celine—Celine's pregnant."

"That's great fucking news, John. When is she due?"

"February. February 14th, Valentine's Day."

"Congratulations to both of you."

"Yeah, we were out of town, celebrating. Sorry I missed your call."

"Hey, that's okay. Listen, I have some news, too. Tim and I are getting married."

"That's—that's wonderful, Billy. I'm glad you finally found someone."

"Yeah, I hit the fucking jackpot this time." I smile as Tim kisses my temple, then sits down next to me.

"Joe wouldn't have made you happy." John's voice is so sweet and familiar, always trying to speak the truth, no matter the cost to him or anyone else.

"No, he wouldn't." There's a pause in the conversation, but it's a comfortable one. We don't need to fill it. Then John speaks again.

"When is the wedding?"

"End of September. It's going to be in Arizona—we're moving to Flagstaff. And John, it would mean a lot to me, and to Tim, if you'd stand up for me—be my best man."

"You want me to be your best man?"

"Fuck yes, Johnny. Who else?"

"I'd be honored, Bill."

"Freak. Love you, Johnboy."

"Love you, freak. I'll see you in September, then."

A few days later, Billie arrives for the summer. I go to the airport alone to pick her up—I want some time together, just the two of us, to talk about what's been going on and what's to come. Her flight's delayed, which happens about half the time, and we decide to stop for dinner before heading home.

There's a Friendly's nearby, so that's where we go. As usual, she orders chicken fingers and fries. She looks at me a little funny when I order a grilled chicken salad—Tim's influence, I suppose. Which doesn't stop me from grabbing some of her fries.

We're waiting for our sundaes when I stop putting off the inevitable.

"Hey, lovebug, I want to talk to you about something."

"About Tim, right? And Sarah and Ruthie?"

"Yeah. Figured me out, huh?"

"Mom says you're not as complex as you pretend to be. And this is the first time you've come to pick me up alone."

"Well, your mom's pretty smart, and so are you. Billie, what do you think of Tim? And don't tell me what you think you should—I want to know how you really feel."

"He's nice. I like him, really. And I know he makes you happy."

"But?"

"I used to make you happy." My heart fucking breaks.

"Billie, jesus, you will always make me happy. The day I found out you were my daughter, that was the happiest day of my life. I love you, more than anything."

"As much as you love Tim? As much as you love Sarah and Ruth?"

"Lovebug, I couldn't love anyone more than I love you. Yes, I love Tim. I love him very, very much, like your mom and Evan love each other. And I love Sarah and Ruth—they've been through a lot, and they're great kids. And they love Tim, and me too, believe it or not. They're even pretty crazy about you." She looks unconvinced, so I give her hand a squeeze and look her in the eye with as much fucking love and sincerity as I can.

"Billie, when you first met me, I was this new person in your life, suddenly there, scared to death that you were going to hate me. All you knew about me was that your parents had fought in court to keep you away from me, and they lost. But you gave me a chance, got to know me, accepted me into your life. That couldn't have been easy for you to do, but you did it. So I guess I'm asking you to do it again."

She's looking down at her sundae, playing with the spoon. I wait for her to look up before I say anything else. I have to wait a few minutes, but she finally meets my eyes.

"Do you think you can do that? Give Tim and his kids a chance?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"People always have a choice, lovebug. But Tim and I are going to have a ceremony in September, like Chelle and Kat did a few years ago, remember? A wedding, to let everyone know how much we love each other, and that we plan on being together forever, like your mom and Evan. I'll be helping parent Sarah and Ruth. Tim and the girls are an important part of my life, so they're be part of yours, too. How much a part—well, that'll be up to you, at least a little bit, but I want you to remember that you let me in, let me love you. There are three more people at home who want to love you, just like I did. I'm asking you to give them a chance, even if it seems like you don't have me all to yourself anymore."

"I'll try, Daddy."

I reach over and ruffle her hair. "That's all I ask, kiddo. Now go on, eat up—we've got a traffic jam waiting with our name on it."

"How come you never take the limo when you come to pick me up?"

"Because that would be silly."

"But it would be fun!"

"Tell you what. We'll take it when it's time for you to go back to the airport, okay? Special treat, just for you."

"Okay."

We talk about our typical shit on the way back to the house—what she's been doing in school, how the band's doing, what she wants to do over summer vacation. She asks some questions about Tim and the girls, too, which I take as a positive sign.

The minute we walk in the door, Ruth bounds up and greets us with hugs. Billie smiles, hugs back, and lets Ruth to guide her over to the sofa, where Tim and Sarah are watching the Lakers. Billie goes right over to Tim and gives him a hug and a kiss, which she's done every time she's seen him, but I can tell she's thinking about what she's doing this time. I think, I hope, that this is going to work out, that Billie's going to be able to handle this additional complication in her life.

A couple weeks later, we're getting fitted for our tuxedos. Mark and Gloria have a surprise for us, though—they've got other shit for us to try on as well, suggested attire for the MTV Video Awards. Jenifur's gotten several nominations this year, and the label wants us there with bells on.

I know what to expect, but Tim's gaping at half the things they show us. He protests—says he's just going to be my date, surely he can just wear something more, well, understated. The "fashion advisor" the label sent along, a tiny, stunning woman somewhere between Betsy Johnson and a dominatrix, holds up a pair of black leather pants and tells him firmly to put them on, and Tim stares for a second, then starts laughing, accepts them, and heads off to try them on. She shouts after him to lose the boxers, and I start laughing as well.

I stop when he comes back out, though. He's still laughing, saying she forgot to give him a shirt. Maybe the rest of them are fooled, but I see the fucking glint in his eye and know he did it on purpose. He looks fucking amazing, dressed only in tight black leather, low on his hips, bare feet, leaning on his cane in a way that makes the pecs on that broad chest stand out. He catches my eye again and smiles, and I'm glad I'm back in my street clothes. I squirm a little, trying to adjust myself without giving my reaction to him away. He looks at me, then blushes, because what he's wearing doesn't hide a fucking thing, and he's just as ready to go as I am. He clears his throat, says he doesn't feel these are appropriate, that they chafe the scars on his leg, and besides, he prefers not to wear dead animal skins, and Betsy Dominatrix sighs and hands him another outfit to try on.

While he's in there, I pull Gloria over and tell her to have them delivered to the house, gift-wrapped, with a card from me. I scribble what I want it to say on a piece of paper; she reads it and laughs, then smiles at me and nods.

I don't even remember the rest of the afternoon—it passes in a blur of various blurs of outrageous colors, interspersed with men modeling tuxedo after tuxedo. Tim insists we need to pick out cut, style, colors, but must not try them on; he looks embarrassed when I ask why, and says he wants to be surprised. Fucking goofball.

We're both at home, the girls at school, a few days later, when the box arrives. Yeah, I arranged it that way—do you blame me? I get a surprise myself, though—there are two boxes, and one's addressed to me. I open the card on the way back to the living room. It says, "I thought you should have matching pairs. Enjoy them, and congratulations. Gloria." I smile and put the second box on the hall table, then head back to Tim.

"This arrived for you," I tell him, holding back a smile. He accepts it curiously, pulling off the bow. He pulls the pants out first, grinning, then opens the card, reading it silently, then shaking his head and laughing. "What's it say?" I ask innocently.

"It says," he answers, still laughing, "'So, Detective, admit it—you've worn leather before, haven't you?'"

"Well, have you? I wouldn't have thought so, until I saw you in those the other day, but now I'm not so sure."

"Talk about deja vu," he murmurs, then heaves himself up and hobbles toward the hall closet, opening it and shuffling through a couple boxes on the top shelf. "Can you give me a hand here?"

"Sure," I say, moving under his shoulder so he can lean on me rather than his cane, freeing up both arms. He pulls down a box still taped up from the apartment in Baltimore, and the two of us get it back to the sofa. When we sit down again, he looks at it for a moment, then pulls me in for a quick embrace. His face is solemn now, and I wonder what the fuck is in the box.

"Did I ever tell you about the Angela Frandina case?" he asks finally.

"Angela Frandina. Was that the one with the old man, the really old case, that you gave to that dink Falsone?"

"No, that was Clara Sloan," he answers absently. "Angela was—years before that."

"Tell me," I say, taking his hand. When Tim wants to talk about a case, it's almost always some horrible fucking nightmare-inducing emotional landmine, but I always learn something new about what made him the man he is now. And then we have mind-blowing sex. So I'm good for listening.

"She was young, but not a kid—I think she was about twenty. I was finally getting a little confidence back after Adena, was in the regular rotation, solving cases, getting some confessions. Starting to get into a groove, with Frank, you know? So I caught this case, this young, beautiful woman, strangled to death with some sort of belt, and we start doing the interviews, trying to find out who she was, why someone would want her dead. And it turns out, she wasn't what she appeared to be. She worked in a leather shop, and she had another job, too, giving phone sex.

"One of her friends, who worked with her in the leather shop, let us know that she and Angela were into bondage. The friend—Tonya, I think that was her name—she looked a little like that stylist the other day, what did you call her, Betsy Dominatrix?"

I nod, and he starts messing with the tape, peeling it off the box in his hands. It takes another minute before he starts to talk again; by this point he's gotten all the tape off, but shows no sign of actually opening it.

"This was only a year or so after I started in homicide. I was—I'd never worked Vice, you know, only QRT, the security detail, and then homicide. I'd never even seen a dead body until I became a detective. By then I thought I knew a lot about how the world worked; I was still the rookie in the squadroom, but I was getting a little more respect. But I didn't know shit. I didn't let myself know shit. My repressions were fucking repressed."

He opens the top of the box, reaches inside, and slowly pulls out a very nice black leather biker jacket. "Tonya gave this to me after we put the case down. I didn't want to take it, but she—" he smiles wryly "—she insisted. Firmly. She tried to explain a little of why she did what she did, how putting herself in the control of another person made her free, and I didn't get it, wouldn't let myself get it. But I accepted the jacket, in the end, because Frank said I was either a liar or a moron if I didn't acknowledge the darkness inside me, and at least some part of me was aware enough to know he was right."

He pushes the box aside and absently strokes the jacket. "So, in answer to your question, Bill, yeah. I've worn leather before. Every once in awhile, in the years after Angela was killed, I'd put this on, go out to the Block, look around at the people and the places, the kind of clubs Angela and Tonya liked to go, the corners where hustlers of both sexes hung out, where I could go and try to figure out who I was."

"And did you? Figure out who you were?"

"Not really. I made some progress, here and there. It was when a street boy killed a gay man behind the Zodiac that I met Chris. Peter Fields, that was the killer's name. Frank and me, we had him in the box, and he wouldn't answer any questions until I admitted I liked his ass. Frank thought I just said it to get the guy to confess, but the thing is, this punk, this homophobic murderer who'd been killing johns all over the country, he saw something in me Frank never saw. Between admitting it to him and meeting Chris, that was enough to let me admit it to myself, that I was attracted to men."

He puts the jacket down and takes my hand. "It was when I met you, though, that I started to figure out who I was. Who I am."

"And who is that?" I ask softly.

"Your lover. Ruth and Sarah's father. A fucked up former cop with depressive tendencies and a bum leg. Bisexual. A Buddhist. Imperfect. Human. Happier than I've ever been in my entire life. Terrified sometimes that something's going to come along and take it all away."

"You're forgetting a few things," I tell him, kissing his knuckles.

"What?" he asks with a tender smile.

"Courageous. Beautiful. Fucking sexy. The strongest person I've ever met. Loved." I punctuate each phrase with a kiss, ending on his ring finger. "Loved so fucking much. Stuck with me forever."

"Not going anywhere. Jesus, Bill, love you so much."

"Enough to put aside your vegetarian beliefs long enough to model some leather for me?" I ask with a grin. "I'll model some for you."

He smiles and kisses me, then goes off into the bedroom with the pants and the jacket. A few minutes later, having changed in the hall bathroom, I join him. And then, after I get him out of his leathers and he gets me out of mine, we have mind-blowing sex.

END

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