𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄

ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴜɴᴅʀᴇᴅ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ

Kai pulled the laces on his shoes, slipping into them and tying, not bothering with a shirt, before he grabbed the door and pulled it open. He almost laughed at the fact that no one was there because it was so obvious that whoever decided to creep on him was doing a poor job.

He rounded the corner of the hallway and stepped into the kitchen/living room area, not surprised at all to see the crumpled blonde curls attempting to mask themselves in the cushions of the couch. But he knew Maverick was watching, so he pretended as if he had no idea what he'd just been up to, and entered the kitchen, reaching for an apple.

There were two ways he could deal with the trampy nuisance, and with his better judgment, he knew that if his husband returned to the house only to find a corpse, he would find himself the newest divorcee of Los Angeles.

So he chose option two.

Kai bit into the apple and mused the sound of his Converse on the hardwood as he closed the gap between his stance and the back of the couch. He held the fruit with his thumb and pointer finger and used the rest of his two hands to lean against the harsh fabric.

Maverick's nose was buried in a book, glasses leaning on his nose.

He blinked up at the same time Kai flashed a smile.

"Hey, Ick. What're you doing here?"

"Waiting for Rueben to get home," he replied too coolly.

"What for?"

"Details regarding the funeral tomorrow."

Kai replied with a hmm. Maverick frowned. But the look didn't linger because Maverick was too focused on pulling his legs out of the way while Kai hooked his body over the back of the couch and landed in the center with a plop.

"A little warning next time would be nice," Maverick mumbled.

"Sorry," Kai took another bite and cocked his head, "Whatcha reading?"

"A book," he rolled his eyes.

"Am I bothering you, Ick?"

"That nickname is," he sighed, "Why are you even here? I thought you were supposed to be at the hospital with Mason to meet his kid. And why don't you have a shirt on?"

Bingo.

It took him all of three seconds to have Maverick crumble like cornbread in his palm—it took him less to force him to be the bird eating out of it.

"Opted out," Kai smiled, "What's wrong?—do I look bad without one?"

He watched with curiosity as Maverick looked up from the words on paper to search his eyes. When he got no answer, no protracted emotion within to prescribe a medical explanation for Kai's sudden interest in him, he lowered his vision. His eyes hungrily scoured the rivets and dips of his abs, the slickness of his v-line.

To anyone else, it would look like his lip was curling up in disgust, but Kai had spent plenty of months alongside him—months in which he spent his time ogling his husband—he knew his tells like the back of his hand. And he intended to exploit every one of them.

"I asked you something," Kai spoke, using the same demanding tone Mason loved.

Maverick startled, "N-no! Y-you," he cleared his throat, "You look fine."

Kai leaned forward, abandoning his apple on the glass table to their right. Maverick looked at him like he had three heads—like he was questioning his new desire to be so close to him—and Kai reveled in it. He wanted to confuse him. Manipulate him. Contort his sensations into a play-thing.