Well, if they’re going to go off and leave us, then they don’t get smutty sneak peeks:
This time, Greg brought down the hammer after they’d finished clearing the dishes into the sink. “You know what I’ve been thinking about all evening?” he said casually over his shoulder. Too casually, maybe, because John’s shoulders stiffened instantly. Just can’t get the hang of that. Greg gave himself a philosophical mental shrug and rounded on him. He felt the wolfish grin bloom on his face at the way John backed up at his advance, cool and wary. John didn’t believe in going down without a fight.
“I’ve been thinking,” he continued when John’s back hit the wall, “about how you lied to me.”
“It’s not-” John stopped when his hands were pinned next to his head.
Greg leaned in to keep them there with his weight. “I know it wasn’t your idea,” he answered silkily. “But you know better than to withhold evidence. I should run you in for it, god knows. But instead, tonight you’re getting an object lesson in proper procedure. Turn around, and put your hands behind your back.”
John didn’t obey immediately, even after Greg released his hands. He gave John the moment. It wasn’t insolence; John was sorting something in his head, and Greg had found that giving him the time to think always paid off.
Sure enough, it only took a few seconds before John sighed quietly, his shoulders settling with the exhale, and turned to press his chest against the wall.
Greg braced him with one hand on his back, and stripped both his shirts off together. His hair stuck up adorably in its wake; Greg couldn’t resist reaching up to pet the soft strands down, even though John’d be a mess again by the time Greg was done with him. Then he smoothed his hands down John’s bare arms and bent them up to put on the speedcuffs, locking his hands crosswise, palm to wrist, at the small of his back.
Startled, John jerked at them a little. The position Greg’d locked him into immobilized his upper body beautifully; he couldn’t so much as twist one wrist without it working both arms and shoulders. John’s shoulders strained and rolled, trying out the limits of his movement, and Greg kept on eye on that pretty sight while ducking around the kitchen doorway to grab supplies off the shelves there.
He set his police baton down on the kitchen table as softly as he could manage, but John caught the sound anyway, and froze. He couldn’t know what it was; just that Greg’d broken out some kind of equipment. Greg slid up behind him and put his hands on John’s belt. “Maybe I should make you guess what it is,” he teased.
John flashed his teeth cheekily over his naked shoulder. “You mean deduce it?”
“Oi!” Greg seized him by the hair and pushed him hard against the wall. “Watch your mouth, cocky little bugger.” John’s laugh cut off with a yelp as he was nearly jerked off his feet by a fierce tug on his belt. Greg freed it from the rear belt loops on a second yank, then swung it up to catch the other end and give John a good solid thwack across his bottom with it. “Now behave, or there’ll be more where that came from.”