Dinner From Chang's

An umbrella?  That was something he hadn’t seen before.

Jack tapped his middle finger on the stick as he contemplated throwing the jeep into reverse. 

The girl’s head was craned towards the patch of gravel road that led to the side of the shack.  She had obviously heard the car, but hadn’t pinpointed his position yet.  Jack knew that even if she looked in his direction, she probably wouldn’t spot him on the rise.  Sweet.  He could flip a U-y and be back on the main road in thirty seconds. 

He pushed in the clutch, but still didn’t move his hand on the gear.  His middle finger tapped faster.  If he left, Mal would kill him.  Or make him sleep on the couch, which was worse.  He knew the man had worked through lunch, and their take-out from Chang’s was riding shot-gun in the jeep with him.  Mal was serious about Chang’s. 

Jack took his foot off the clutch.  Fuck.

This wasn’t the first time Jack had come home to find some girl camped out on the walkway.  Ever since he’d been featured in Vogue six months ago -- one of “Twenty Photographers Who Can Make Your Career” -- literal minded hopefuls had been finding their way to their unlisted address at 43 Beach Bluff Drive, certain that they could convince him to make them famous. 

Jack’s gaze flicked to the clock in the clock in the dash, and he felt a surge of annoyance as he looked back at the girl.  Though he was sure she was going for a casual, innocent look, to Jack she looked brazen.  This was their place.  Private fucking property.  The only things he wanted to think about once he turned off onto the unmarked road leading to their house were the ocean and his lover.

As if certain of his imminent arrival, the girl craned farther forward so that she could see where the dirt drive met the clearing next to their house.  Jack wasn’t sure how she managed to stay upright and holding the umbrella.  Not that he cared.  If looks could kill, she’d be drawn, staked, and quartered. 

Jack was glaring so hard that he actually started when their huge front door slid open.  The girl was obviously startled too, because she dropped her umbrella and fell forward from her contorted position.  Jack started to laugh, but then Mal moved into the doorway, and the sound died in his throat. 

His lover leaned against the door jam in nothing but a low slung pair of jeans.  The overcast sky allowed Jack to see him clearly without shadows from the setting sun.  Mal’s hair was wet.  He’d obviously just come from the shower, but Jack knew there would still be traces of paint on his hands, and that he would still be able to pick up the scent of the oil paints on his lover's freshly soaped skin. 

Mal ran a hand slowly down his bare chest and hooked a thumb on his waistband, making the jeans look positively indecent.  Jack’s dick jumped at the sight.  Fuck.  He groaned low, his hand moving from the gearshift to his crotch.  Mal was such a sexy fuck.  And all his.

The sight of his lover suddenly put everything in perspective.  He could deal with the umbrella wielding wannabe.  He could deal with anything to get his hands on that man.

As if he heard his thought, Mal looked up toward the rise and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.  Then he pushed off the doorway to squatted down to help the poor girl to stand.  Jack could tell when she actually looked at the man who was holding her elbow.  Her jaw dropped, and she staggered backward, hand going to check her hair.  He saw Mal smile down at her as they walked toward her car.  She probably had no idea they were even moving; Jack knew the impact of that mouth.  The girl was as good as gone.

Jack popped the car into gear and pull behind a section of thick brush.  When he heard umbrella girl’s car whiz by, headed toward the highway, he waited a cool fifteen seconds before he drove down to the house.  He fleetingly wondered what Mal had said to get the girl to leave, but then decided he didn’t give a fuck.

Mal was learning against the wall next to the drive, and Jack’s eyes never left his lover’s as he grabbed the bag of take-out and jumped out of the jeep.  He all but dove for Mal, dropping the bag on the ground so that he could cup the back of his lover’s neck, and pull him in for a hard, needy kiss.

“Careful,” Mal grunted.  Jack pushed Mal back against the wall, biting his lip roughly; he knew Mal was talking about their dinner.

He nipped at Mal’s jaw, and then licked his way to his neck and inhaled.  He was right; he could still smell the paint under the aroma of clean, soapy skin.  The scent eased him, deep inside, and Jack smiled against his lover’s neck. 

“The food’s fine -- but we’ll probably have to reheat it.”  He ran his hands down the expanse of Mal’s back, and then slipped them into the back of his jeans.  Mal purred, the sound vibrating against his chest.  Jack might have whimpered. 

Somehow, Mal managed to insinuate his hand between their bodies, and began to deftly unfasten Jack’s jeans.  Jack’s cock jumped, eager to feel the touch of those talented fingers, and he moaned.  Shit, he wanted.  Still, he felt obligated to ask.  “Dinner?”

Mal’s hand stopped working on his fly and everything in Jack stilled.  Mal wasn’t really going to stop to eat was he?  Jack pulled back far enough to look into those his brown, brown eyes.  Mal’s slowly raised a brow, holding Jack's gaze.  His thumb began to stroke Jack up and down through his jeans.  Jack held his breath.  Please, babe.  Maybe he said it out out, because then Mal’s hands were on Jack’s waist, pulling him firmly against that stunning body.  Mal’s cock was hard against his, making Jack want to crow in triumph.

“I’m hungry, Jay.”  Mal’s fingers tightened as he thrust his erection against Jack’s.  Jack shuddered, and this time there was no denying the sound that left his lips was a whimper. 

Then Mal’s lips kicked up into that killer smile.  “Dinner can wait.”

end

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