Tex let go of his jaw, swallowing and stroking Peter’s cheek. “All right,” he said, brushing over Peter’s lip with his thumb. “It’s not for everyone.”
It certainly wasn’t for Carver. Tex had spit on him once, at the start of their relationship when they were figuring each other out, and Carver had decked him in the jaw.
“Sorry,” Peter mumbled.
“Don’t be,” Tex said. “I think it’s hot, but if you don’t get off on it, I’m not going to do it.”
“He tried it with me and I punched him,” Carver said, making Peter laugh.
“He spit on you?” Peter asked, incredulous.
“In my mouth,” Carver confirmed. “Don’t feel bad for not liking it.”
Peter looked at Tex, who just shrugged.
“You won’t do it again?” Peter sounded like he didn’t know if that was a bad thing or not.
“Not until you give me permission,” Tex said. He smirked. “Does this mean that pissing on you is off the table as well?”
Peter just stared.
“You want topeeon me?” The sentence couldn’t have been more outraged, and Carver laughed.
“Actually, I’m with him on that one,” he said. “Pissing on you would be hot.”
Peter took a deep breath like he needed the full strength of his lungs to voice his objection.
“You are not peeing on me,” he declared, absolute. “It’s not happening. I will bite your dicks off.”
Tex laughed. “All right, no pissing or spitting, memo received.”
Peter’s body was still tense, looking at Tex and up at Carver behind him warily, as though he was worried that they might start to drench him in piss right then and there.
“Seriously, I’m not into it,” Peter said.
“We heard you,” Carver said. “We won’t bring it up again. Promise.”
Peter relaxed, breathing out with a sigh. “You guys are nuts,” he said, shaking his head.
“More pizza?” Tex asked, holding up the slice. “Or some beer?”
This time he held up the can.
“Beer, please,” Peter said, Tex bringing the can to his lips and letting him drink. He then fed him a slice of pizza, Peter chewing with a thoughtful look on his face.
“What?” Tex asked.
Peter shrugged, looking at Tex with a considering expression. “Nothing. You guys are just weird.”
Tex and Carver both chuckled. “We’re not weird,” Tex said, leaning down and licking a wet stripe up Peter’s cheek. He grinned, a wolfish smile. “We’re werewolves.”
21
Tex
The next morning Tex headed to work, showing up at the precinct just in time for the morning roll call. He pushed down the rows of desks, sitting next to his buddy Mike.
“Saved you a seat,” Mike said in a low voice, tapping the back of the chair next to him.
