Don't Judge (Nothing Special 4)

“Naw. I gotta get some shit done.”

“Are you taking that job Duke called you about?”

“Thinking about it. Running his private investigations business doesn’t sound bad at all. Not on the road as much, have normal working hours, which is best for Book, ya know. I can get more done on my house.”

“It sounds great. You sure you ready to give up bounty hunting?” Michaels set his bag down and wrapped his arms around Judge’s waist.

“I’ve been ready. Bookem isn’t the only one who’s getting tired. I’m ready to relax too. I’m picturing my house all fixed up. Being home by five or six every day. Lazy evenings and long weekends.” Judge smiled and cupped the back of Michaels’ neck. “I’ve been picturing that for a while now.”

“Am I in that picture at all?” Michaels leaned closer, angling for Judge’s mouth.

“You are everywhere in that picture. But mostly, you’re in the kitchen, naked and cooking.”

“Fuck you.” Michaels laughed.

Judge’s expression turned serious. “Of course, you’re right there with me. It’s what makes the picture so perfect.” He removed his cane from his mouth and kissed his heart right there in the parking lot, Michaels’ arms tight around him and Judge’s large hands cupping both his cheeks, maneuvering his head and kissing him exactly how he wanted.

A deep throat clearing made them both pull back a couple inches to take a breath. Michaels wiped at his mouth, turning to face the interruption. “Oh. Morning, Sarge.”

Syn nodded his head, his mouth tilted in a slight smirk. “Good to see you back Michaels.” Syn didn’t speak to Judge, but the look he gave him let him know that Judge was square with him. How could he not be? Michaels’ megawatt smile looked like the man was on top of the world. Judge did what he’d promised. Returned Michaels to them, better than new.

“What time you want me to pick you up?”

“Six should be good. I’m just catching up on paperwork this week.”

Judge kissed Michaels again. “Good. We’ll get some takeout and I’ll take you to the house and let you see exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into, just in case you want to bolt.”

“Can’t be that bad.” Michaels shrugged.

“Actually, it can and it is.”

“I like fixer-uppers. Look how great a job I did with you.”

“You’ll pay for that later,” Judge promised. He yanked Michaels to him, gave him a punishing kiss, and popped his sugar stalk back in his mouth.

“I look forward to it.” Michaels’ leer was seductive enough to make Judge want to ask God for a few more days of leave.

Instead, he turned and walked back to the driver’s side, it was only a few hours until he’d be back to get him. He could wait. Judge watched Michaels turn and walk into the building. His phone buzzed with a text notification by the time he got to the stoplight at the end of the block.

He pulled out his phone and the smile that broke across his face made him feel like an adolescent with his first crush. He stared at the screen.

“I love you, babe.”

Warmth spread through him like sunshine in the morning. He had to stop grinning long enough to type a reply.

“I love you back.”

Epilogue

Six months later….

Judge turned over in their large bed, blindly feeling for the love of his life, but was met with a cold, empty space. He cracked his eye open, squinting at the bright sun filtering in through the blinds. He sat up and stretched his back, the ache still strong from the way Michaels had taken him bent over the balcony they’d just finished sanding last night.

Their home was really coming together. It had only been a couple months after they’d declared their love for each other that Judge convinced Michaels to stay with him. They were over there every night anyway. It didn’t take much to persuade him, especially since Michaels’ apartment was a dump.

That smells damn good. Judge got up once the smell registered with his sleepy brain. Michaels was cooking. When wasn’t he cooking? Judge was gonna have to amp up his gym time because eating so well every day was going to make him gain ten pounds a month. His new job as a private investigator didn’t require as much physical activity, either. He mostly researched and surveilled. Conducted long stakeouts. Still doing what he loved, but not as strenuous. Or dangerous. He loved it.

He washed up quickly, put on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and his steel-toe boots and made his way downstairs. They’d eat breakfast and then get back to working on the deck. Saturday mornings were always dedicated to a house project. Michaels was standing at the stove, flipping sausage links with one hand and drinking a cup of coffee with the other. Bookem was close to his side, waiting for Michaels to throw him scraps like he always did.