At Attention (Out of Uniform 2)

Apollo took a long, cool shower as soon as he got the girls to bed, but it did nothing to stop the pounding in his head, which continued as he pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and kept up as he surfed his way through a marathon of cooking shows. What was Dylan thinking going out?

That he’s twenty-three and single and it’s the weekend and you’ve been a jerk all week.

Yeah, pretty much that.

But did he have to go out looking like something out of Apollo’s fantasies from a decade ago? Man, if Apollo were single, he would have been all over that—brash, confident, built...

You are single. Apollo shook his head as he switched to yet another show. No, he wasn’t. Not really. This episode of Chopped had live lobsters in the basket, but Apollo’s brain scurrying all over the place prevented him from enjoying the contestants’ shocked reactions. He was not supposed to be this attracted to Dylan. And he certainly wasn’t supposed to be jealous, wondering who Dylan was dancing—or worse—with, whether he was laughing, whether his eyes had gone dark with pleasure the way they had Sunday night—

Snick. The sound of a key in the door startled him out of his endless mental gymnastics. Dylan’s footsteps were sure in the entryway—no drunken lurching—and his voice was steady as he came into the living room. “Thought I said not to wait up.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Apollo wasn’t lying. “I like this screen better than the one in the bedroom.”

Also not a lie. Anymore, he couldn’t stand being in the master bedroom beyond the bare minimum required for sleep and dressing.

“Is this the episode with all the food truck guys?” Dylan flopped down next to him. “I’ve seen it.”

“Don’t spoil it,” Apollo said without any real censure to his voice. Mainly he was pathetically grateful that Dylan wasn’t heading straight upstairs.

“I won’t.” Dylan’s voice was hoarse, and whether from shouting to be heard over bar music or something more extracurricular, Apollo couldn’t tell, and that was driving him crazy.

“Did you have a nice time?” he asked cautiously.

“Sure did.” Dylan gave him a wicked smile. “Funny thing. We ran into Ben at the Brass Rail. Guess I was wrong about him being on duty.”

Apollo let out a growl before he got control of himself. “You did?”

“Why do you care?” Dylan turned so that he was looking right into his eyes. “Really? Do you want a blow-by-blow? Is that a kink for you?”

“Blow-by-blow?” Apollo ground out.

“Yeah. You want to hear how we danced, how we—”

Apollo had had enough. He hauled Dylan closer, closing the gap between them, slamming his mouth down on Dylan’s with exactly zero finesse and a whole lot of anger that quickly transformed into a frantic need to kiss him until the only thing Dylan knew was this, until the memory of whatever had transpired earlier was blotted out.

Dylan tasted like mint and a hint of alcohol and surprise, but then he moaned, deepening the kiss, and all Apollo tasted was Dylan—unique and spicy and utterly addictive. They clawed their way closer, tongues tangling, hands grappling. He pulled him until Dylan was straddling his lap. Fuck. The weight on his thighs felt so right. He was the perfect height for this position.

Apollo broke away from the kiss to nip at Dylan’s jaw. “This? Did you do this?”

“Why. Does. It. Matter?” Dylan panted each word.

“Because.” Apollo met his mouth for a brutal kiss, one that Dylan eagerly met, sucking on Apollo’s tongue, and arching his back.

“Because you’re jealous.” Dylan ground down against Apollo. “Just admit it. You want to know every dirty thing I got up to because you wish it was you.”

“Yes. Goddamn it. Yes.” Apollo pulled him down for another kiss, seemingly unable to go more than twenty seconds without feeling Dylan’s lips on his.

“I wanted that too.” Dylan broke away from the kiss to whisper in Apollo’s ear. “Wanted it to be you I was dancing with.”

“Fuck.” Apollo’s head fell back as Dylan sucked on his earlobe.

“And dancing was all that happened.” Dylan’s breath was a warm kiss against Apollo’s ear, but all he felt was cool relief. “And not the grinding, one-step-from-public-sex dancing that I want from you, either. And damn you for being so in my head that I couldn’t even let him buy me a drink.”

“I was?” Apollo couldn’t contain the happiness leaching into his voice.

“Yes.” Dylan shoved at his shoulders. “Smug bastard.”

Apollo rewarded his admission with more kisses, gentler now, sucking on Dylan’s lower lip, taking his time. The first several buttons on Dylan’s shirt were already undone, and Apollo pushed Dylan backward so that he could trace the V of exposed skin with his tongue, fingers working to undo the remaining buttons until the shirt hung open.

He loved how fuzzy Dylan’s chest was—and yeah, he especially loved that Dylan hadn’t manscaped before his little adventure. Jealous bastard. He used his thumbs to flick at Dylan’s nipples.