Chey stared at Gary in between turning the pages of his Field and Stream magazine. The man was itchy, leg bouncing, unable to sit still. Gary loved his stupid forensics shows, usually glued to the TV, so this was... odd.
So was the smell.
He hated to admit it, but Gary smelled wrong. Not just different, although there was an undertone of that, too, which was intriguing. This, though, this smelled like Gary had an infection. Like he'd been torn open.
Gary grunted, shifting positions yet again, and Chey finally put the magazine aside. "Are you okay, man? You've been restless ever since you went out the other night."
"Huh?" Gary glanced up, eyes seeming to glow a bit. It had to be the light, because they were back to their normal blue in no time. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Chey sat up all the way, leaning his elbows on his knees. "What's your deal?"
"I don't know what you mean." There was definitely a growl there, one Chey had never heard before. One he responded to on a really primal level.
He growled back, putting some command in his voice. "Tell me."
Gary stared at him a moment, then his shoulders slumped. "I went to that bar. The Tool Box?"
Huh. He'd been taunting Gary about getting out more. Guess it showed a man should be careful what he wished for.
"Okay, and?"
"And I got the most amazing blow job."
)
