Snapping the water off, Sage reached for the towels hanging nearby and dried Law off.
With a slight smile, Law followed him to the bed.
Sage dropped face first into the fresh sheets.
“I could sleep a week.”
Law chuckled deeply and followed him down.
The following morning…
The kitchen was quiet in that early-day way, light coming in through the windows and settling across the counters, catching on bright surfaces that didn’t look like they saw much use.
Sage moved through it like he belonged there.
He didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate—just flipped the stove on, pulled a pan down from the hook, set it in place like he was on a mission. Efficient. Easy. No extra motion.
The burner clicked, then caught, a low, steady flame settling under the pan.
The faint hiss of gas evened out as the heat built.
Law stayed at the island, leaning against the counter, watching him work.
There was something different now.
Not the movement—Sage had always been quick, always sure of where his hands needed to go—but the lack of distance. No edge to it.
He cracked eggs into the pan.
The sharp crack of a shell against the pan cut through the quiet.
The yolks spread slowly, catching the heat with a sizzle.
The smell of eggs and grease started to fill the kitchen, warm and immediate.
“Two or three?” Sage asked, not looking back.
“Five,” Law said.
Sage did glance back then, green eyes wide, lips parted as if to say something. He only snorted and went back to cracking eggs.
“I’m a big boy.”
“Yes…yes, you certainly are,” Sage agreed, and Law heard the snicker in the man’s voice.
Buckshot’s tail thumped against the floor. The dog lay near the back door, head up, eyes following them both, but mostly locked on Sage.
His nails clicked once against the tile as his tail picked up.
Law pushed off the counter and moved in closer, running one hand down the curve of Sage’s ass through the tight jeans.
Heat from the stove pressed into him as he stepped in.
The warmth settled into his front, grounding the moment.
Sage didn’t move away.
Didn’t even glance up.
