He flicked the petals from his hand but slid one of the guitar picks into his jeans pocket. His heart warmed at the idea of the small piece of bendy plastic tucked in near his skin. Miki felt its edge when he took a step, and he couldn’t stop the smile erupting to a full bloom on his face.
Sounds from the kitchen drew him there. A rattle of a spoon against a pan and then a not-so-quiet Irish lilted curse when something metal clanged against another hard something. Music was playing low on the stereo system, and it took Miki a bit before he realized Kane was listening to Sinner’s Gin.
And singing right along with his lover’s words.
“Hey.” Miki padded into the kitchen, and Kane nearly flung himself in front of the stove, as if blocking Miki from seeing what he was doing.
“You’re home… early. Shit.” Kane blinked, his dark lashes fluttering nervously. “I’m not… fucking hell.”
“You’ve been hanging out with musicians too much. You sound like me.” Miki snuck a peek behind Kane, but he couldn’t make heads or tails out of what was sizzling in the skillet. More than sizzling, really, because a thick plume of black smoke was beginning to wisp up from around the savory mass. “I’d want a kiss, but something’s burning, dude.”
“Shit.” Kane spun about and grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter. Digging its edge into the charring mess, he turned the food over, breaking the heat seal. “Damn it. I think it’ll be okay. You really weren’t supposed to be home this early.”
“Yeah, Damie found the perfect grandfather clock for Sionn’s brawny wrist. You should see that fucking thing. It’s huge.” Miki hitched himself up onto the kitchen counter, well out of the way of Kane’s cooking area. With his legs dangling over the edge, his toes stretched out and curled down as he tried to ease a small ache in his scarred knee. “The Queen of England’s going to lose her shit when she finds out someone sold Big Ben and she didn’t get a cut.”
“Just… sit there and look pretty,” Kane muttered under his breath. “Fucking rock stars.”
“I am not a rock star.” Miki swung his feet, striking the cabinet with his heels. “I just write the songs. And sing some.”
“Stop hitting the door.”
“My cabinet—well, our cabinet. We share, remember?” He made a face at Kane’s back. “I’m hitting my side. You’ve got the back.”
“You should have been a lawyer.” Kane scraped the spoon against one of the pans, then set it down on the counter. Sniffing at something bubbling in a saucepan, he turned the burner down, eyeing Miki over his shoulder.
“Yeah, your mom would have loved that. Betcha she wanted you to marry a doctor or something.” He snorted at his lover’s chuckle. “Instead, she got me.”
“She loves you.” Kane closed the distance between them and leaned on the counter, placing his hands on either side of Miki’s hips. “My dad fucking adores you.”
“I don’t think that’s the Morgan I was jonesing for.” Miki pursed his mouth and contemplated Kane’s handsome face. “But you know, he is the original model….”
“Dude….” Kane rolled a disgusted sound in his mouth. “That’s my da.”
“Yeah, it sounded good in my head.” He echoed the noise, wrinkling his nose in mock horror. “Then it, like, fell out and was total shit. My brain, babe. It sucks.”
“Kinda of like it when you suck. Makes things very—” Kane leaned in and bit Miki’s lower lip. “—less sucky.”
“Wow, that was bad. Worse than what I said.” Miki slid his hands up the length of Kane’s bare arms. Kane’s chest and shoulders seemed to strain his T-shirt nearly to the breaking point, outlining the hard muscles beneath the worn cotton. The fabric looked soft, and Miki leaned in close, rubbing his cheek against Kane’s collarbone. “Damn, you smell good.”
He did. Miki thought he’d never get used to the clean, tingly smell of Kane. Everything about the man excited him. And in ways he’d never imagined could touch him. Lazy mornings were the best, but sitting on the kitchen counter and trapped by Kane’s muscular torso and arms came a close second. Although he did have a special fondness for the weight of Kane’s long body pressing him down into the couch cushions.
It was the feel of Kane’s skin under his fingers, from the sleek satin of his brawny arms to the soft velvet under his earlobe. And the slightly rough scrape of Kane’s jaw on his own tender skin was nearly hot enough to make Miki hard just thinking about it.
But the man’s mouth—his soft, slick lips, suede-rough tongue, and skillfully applied bites—did Miki in every time.
Especially since that mouth hovered only a butterfly wing’s distance away from his own.