“Good things come to those who camp.” Will batted his eyelashes. There was nothing remotely camp about Will, and Taylor nearly choked on his duck.
“Ha,” he managed. “Anyway, next vacation it’s my turn to pick where we go.”
“Well, this wouldn’t be a vacation, MacAllister. We’d be testifying in a federal case.”
“I’m going to remind you of that when you start packing the fishing poles.”
Will grinned, conceding the point, and returned to his wild salmon. He was not much of a fan of Japanese food.
Taylor bit back a smile, watching him. “How’s the fish?”
“Fine.” Will gave him one of those looks that turned Taylor’s bones to jelly. “I’m looking forward to dessert.”
Taylor said blandly, to cover the fact that his cock was instantly hard and aching, “I hear the green-tea ice cream is something else.”
“Maybe we can get it to go.”
Taylor smiled into his mai tai.
* * * * *
When they got back to Taylor’s house, Will fed Riley, and Taylor cut the birthday cake.
“We’re not singing ‘Happy Birthday’?” Will asked, accepting the paper plate with the generous slice of cake Taylor handed over.
“Go right ahead,” Taylor invited. Taylor couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, but Will liked to sing, and Riley — after a couple of beers — was known to howl along.
“Maybe later,” Will promised. He was anxious to see Taylor open his birthday present. Anxious and nervous both. He’d never bought anything this expensive for anyone, and this particular item was pretty far out of his realm of expertise.
He was relying on this gift to go a ways toward fixing the damage when Taylor heard what Will kept putting off telling him.
Taylor got a glass of iced water, took the wrapped parcel into the den, and sat down on the long sofa beside Will. He gave an experimental tug to the golden coil of ribbon and gave Will a half smile that seemed to flutter in Will’s chest like a butterfly.
“Well, go on,” he said.
Taylor held the box up and shook it gently. “Emmylou Harris’s greatest hits?” he guessed.
“You must think I’m pretty cheap. That would be her entire collection. And all her collaborations.”
Taylor raised his brows. Guessed again. “Porter Cable Speed-Bloc sander.”
Now that was a very good guess. That was the gift Will had originally planned to give him. In fact, that was the gift Taylor had admitted he’d like when Will dropped a couple of casual hints about upcoming birthday requests.
But this was a special birthday.
Will kept his expression blank.
Taylor smirked. Mr. Know-It-All was in for a surprise. He pulled the gold ribbon off the box, tore the cobalt blue paper away, opened the oversize, unmarked cardboard box, and lifted out the flat wooden box.
He shot Will a puzzled glance, opened the box, and stared.
Will waited tensely, watching Taylor’s profile. He saw Taylor’s Adam’s apple jump as he swallowed.
He said at last, almost inaudibly, “Will.”
Will relaxed, pleased with himself. He could see Taylor struggling to stay stoic and knew he’d scored big-time.
Inside the box was a Japanese percussion pistol. The black wood grip was carved in the shape of a dragon head with a gleaming brass eye. The dragon had a large pearl in its fangs. The long, narrow brass barrel was ornately engraved with kanji on a textured background.
Taylor said disbelievingly, “Where did you did find this?”
“I’ve got a few contacts. You like it?”
Taylor nodded. He still hadn’t faced Will, so Will made it easy on him by hooking an arm around Taylor’s neck and pulling him over. Taylor grabbed him fiercely, didn’t say a word — pretty much a first.
Will’s heart seemed to light up. He’d hoped this was the right thing. Taylor had a small but pricey collection of vintage Japanese weapons. A couple of samurai swords, a pistol — but nothing as nice as this.
“You shouldn’t have,” Taylor said, voice stifled by Will’s shoulder. “Must have cost you a fortune.”
Nearly three thousand bucks, as a matter of fact. And worth every penny to see Taylor MacAllister finally at a loss for words.
Will kissed Taylor’s ear, which was all he could reach. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he said, and he was astonished to find his own voice husky, choked.
Taylor sat up, swiftly dipping his head to his forearm, then studying the pistol with awe. “How old is it?”
“Eighteenth century. The details are on the bottom of the box.” Will turned his attention to his cake, which was moist and delicious and lavishly frosted with gooey pecans and coconut.
“Beautiful,” Taylor murmured, and Will tended to agree.
* * * * *
It was even better the second time.
They weren’t in any hurry now. They had the whole weekend ahead of them, and they’d already taken the edge off their urgency before they’d gone to dinner.
“What would you like?” Will asked, clearly still in a generous mood.
Taylor said the truth. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Fucking. A present you give yourself,” Will deliberately misquoted, and a giggle — borne of one too many mai tais — escaped Taylor.
He’d have been happy to be taken on the sofa in the den, or the kitchen table, or even the freshly sanded floor in the hallway, but Will opted for the bedroom and all its comforts, including the mysterious bottle of passion oil.
Taylor lay on his back, shivering enjoyably as Will’s blunt, oily finger slowly traced the crack of his ass.
“I like that.” He was more vocal than Will, offering feedback whether solicited or otherwise. But Will had never seemed to mind.
“Yeah?” There was a smile in Will’s voice as his fingers pierced Taylor, slowly, sweetly, slipping the warm, flowery oil into his tight little hole. “And this?”
“That too.” Taylor closed his eyes tight, savoring that slippery-fingered invasion. Will was good at this, good at making a sensual delight of preparation, and Taylor wanted that stroking touch to never end. It made him feel like he was melting inside, all the walls, all the barriers dissolving in a wet, hot thaw.
“More,” he whispered as Will’s
