CENOTAPH

DANCING WITH SPICES

QUINN

"Is that what I think it is?" Quinn asked as a delicious aroma greeted him as he entered the apartment.

"If you are thinking Butter Chicken? Yes it is, according to my sensors," the house computer informed Quinn almost cheerfully.

Veer came to the living room, drying his hands with a kitchen towel. "I just thought I'd treat you to your favorite dish before you went out— since it's Saturday night and such." He wore a lemon green and fuchsia apron over a brilliant yellow shirt. At least his jeans were dark.

"You look like Bollywood exploded all over you."

And so frigging adorable, I don't know if I want to smack you or push you against a wall and kiss you until you can't breathe.

"Really?" Veer asked, but he was smiling.

Quinn nodded, a grin blooming. He moved closer to Veer. "What's this?" He swept the brownish powder with his forefinger from Veer's right cheek. He tasted it. "Mmm, garam masala."

Veer rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know why that always ends up everywhere."

"Is the stove off?"

"Yes. Why?"

"So I can do this without messing our dinner." And Quinn pushed Veer into the leather couch; they bounced together. "You really thought you were gonna be under my roof without some harassment?"

Instead of growling or pushing Quinn away, Veer laughed. The laugh was a throaty thing— one hundred times hotter than that syrupy noise Veer had gifted Bilodeau before the Algiers debacle. It made Quinn's prick grow hard in a flash. It also came accompanied with the aroma of his favorite beer, Moongoddess Dark. "You were drinking!?" He inspected Veer at arm's length.

Veer didn't drink; he wasn't allowed to drink. His partner made a V sign, still chuckling. "Only two. They looked really sad and abandoned by themselves in the fridge. I felt sorry for them and put them out of their misery."

"You frigging lightweight. Now how am I supposed to know if you're doing this because you want to or thanks to beer-induced disinhibition?"

Veer shrugged. "Maybe I needed the dark goddess to give me courage." His eyes were half-lidded and zeroed in on Quinn's lips. They screamed I want it.

"What goddess? You don't believe in goddesses."

With a huff, Veer rolled his eyes. "Talking about the beer, you moron." He took a strand of Quinn's hair, winding it around his index finger. His voice came out sultry and dreamy, "Do you know how many times I sat on the opposite bank of Harmandir Sahib at night, and the lights illuminating the golden temple reminded me of your hair?" He swallowed hard. "Of how it shone in the sun when you used to laugh? I haven't seen you really laugh since I got back. Why?"

Quinn had waited— wished this moment for far too long. To feel Veer's body beneath him, that thick, square hand resting on his lower back. To see those dark eyes drowning in desire, in acceptance. Still, the truth needed out, "You took all my happiness when you ran away."

You left me broken.

Veer lifted his face, brushing lips with Quinn, and murmured, "I'm sorry." He released the hair he was pulling and grabbed the back of Quinn's head, smashing their mouths together, making the kiss hungry, desperate, violent.

But the competition wasn't just up north, where hands had joined the fray and clothing had begun to fly in all directions; down south, their covered crotches came alive, rubbing, squeezing, wiggling, vying for dominance. They rolled off the couch with Veer landing on top of Quinn; laughter erupted again, barely interrupted by Veer's bites on his neck and shoulders, those big hands frantically roaming over Quinn's torso.