Page 43 of Flash

He laughs and wiggles his bare ass against my cock. It’s down for the count after several rounds of lazy handjobs and frantic frotting throughout the night, but it gives a twitch anyway.

“I wish that were true,” Lewis groans, yawning again and burying his face in my pillow for a moment. “I really need to run home and shower though.”

“Call in sick,” I suggest, biting down gently on his shoulder.

I’m acutely aware that my mask is fully off at this point. I’m nowhere in the neighborhood of playing it cool, and it seems like Lewis likes it. He reaches back to run his fingers through my hair and wiggles against me again with a sigh.

“I can’t. Big, important things happening this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” We spent most of the night talking, but we hadn’t made it around to the topic of careers yet, more caught up in debates about whether Marvel or DC are the better comics and what constitutes ‘classic’ rock. “Are you a CIA agent? Have a dictator of a small, island nation to depose before lunch?”

He giggles and rolls out of my grasp, throwing back the blankets and getting out of bed before I can stop him again.

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” he says solemnly, blinking owlishly around the bedroom in search of his clothes.

“I think they ended up on the floor near the foot of the bed.”

He shuffles over and scoops his shirt up. “Yup, thank you.”

I sit up and lean back against the headboard, my sheets pooling around my waist as I watch him pick up the rest of his clothes and pull them on one by one, like a reverse striptease.

“What do you do?” I ask once he’s dressed.

He smirks at me. “Tell you what, take me out again tonight and I’ll tell you.” He winks and backs towards the door.

“Deal,” I agree with a chuckle. “Hold on, I’ll drive you home.” I start to get out of bed, but he waves me off.

“I’ll Uber. You get some sleep.”

I grunt, tempted to argue, but I decide to pick my battles. He slips out of the bedroom, and I sink back down in bed, listening to his footsteps as he makes his way through the house, stopping to talk to Gregory for a few minutes again before going out the front door. As tired as I am, there’s an excited buzz under my skin that keeps me from being able to relax and go to sleep, so once he’s gone, I get up and head into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

My phone is sitting on the kitchen counter where I left it last night before I went to pick up Lewis, blinking with a missed text.

HERO: I need a huge favor. I know your hand is still fucked up and you aren’t planning to come in, but could you just open up for me this morning and when my appointment gets there, go over the paperwork?

I smile and shake my head, then text Hero back that I’ll take care of it. I have several hours before I’ll need to go open up, so I take my time with coffee, breakfast, and eventually a shower, replaying every second of last night with Lewis in my head.

I showed him the side of me that all the men before him have called “too much” and he’s still here. More interested than ever, as far as I can tell. Nothing’s going to derail us now, not if I have anything to say about it, anyway.

When it’s time to head over to Ink Slingers, I put on my Gregory harness and grab his protective goggles. He yaps and spins in circles until I pick him up and strap him on. I pull into the back alley as always, let my little buddy loose, and unlock the back door to head inside.

Gregory darts ahead of me, sprinting into the shop while I hang up my helmet. Before I can even set my jacket on the hook, a loud yelp sounds and he hauls ass back to me, his tail tucked between his legs.

“What’s wrong, little dude?” I scoop him up and tuck him under my arm, then I carry him back through the door into the main part of the shop to see what scared him. Honestly, it could have been anything, from a particularly large dust bunny to a menacing moth.

I stop in my tracks, my mouth falling open and my eyes going wide. It’s not a dust bunny or a moth. Standing in the middle of the shop there are three alpacas and four goats. Each one of the goats is wearing what appear to be custom knit sweaters, and one of the alpacas is wearing a jaunty beret on its head, while another one of them casually chews a piece of paper, and the third just stares at me with its ears back.

“What the fuck?”

The front door swings open and a couple of familiar faces appear.

“Dammit, we missed his initial reaction,” Stone, one of the owners of Four Bears Construction here in town, and no doubt the owner of the goats, complains.

The other man—Journey, who’s married to Red, one of the mechanics at Big Bull where my brother works—laughs. “I don’t know, still probably worth taking a picture now, he still looks pretty fucking horrified.”

“What the fuck?” I repeat. “Why are there farm animals in my tattoo shop? Do you have any idea how unsanitary this is?”

Stone holds his hands up in defense. “It wasn’t our idea.”

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