Promptly Penned ~ April

Gibson was going to kill Coen. Slowly. Painfully. And he was bloody well going to enjoy it because the man had singlehandedly screwed Gib’s arse. And not in the good way. The way he wanted with Dungeon. The unspoken tension between them that had been brewing since Gibson had met up with the other man at Cannon’s office. Attraction that was so damn thick, it made simply breathing a freaking event. One Gib would have lost because…damn, did Dungeon look good.

Tight shirt. Tight jeans, and fuck Gib, the tightest looking arse he’d seen in a long time. The way it filled out the denim—with muscular thighs to match. Not staring at it was another miraculous feat. And another of Gibson’s failures.

Pretty much like this entire op. 

Dungeon slapped him in the chest. Hard. “Would you close your damn mouth and stop gawking at everything? You’re supposed to be my gaming partner. Not some newbie who’s never seen a set of cards or dice, before.”

Gibson crossed his arms over his chest. “You said we were going to a gaming convention.”

To Dungeon’s credit, the man didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t sock Gib in the jaw, or go for the nine mil Gib knew was holstered at the man’s ankle. Instead, Dungeon took a deep breath, held it, then closed the distance between them.

Which did nothing to ease the tight press of Gib’s prick against his jeans. Or allow him to focus on something other than how fucking hot Dungeon looked in the fake glasses. The ones that were supposed to make him more of a nerd and less of the lethal warrior he was.

It might fool others, but the Clark Kent act wasn’t fooling Gibson. If anything, the thin black-wire frames gave the other man a hint of boy-next-door charm. Which matched perfectly with the shadow of scruff and long locks that sat in a perfectly tousled mess about Dungeon’s head.

But, damn it, Gibson had trained long and trained hard. And he would not give in to temptation. Wouldn’t reach his hand behind the other man’s neck and drag him in close. Finally taste that sarcastic mouth that had been haunting his damn dreams for far too long.

Dungeon glanced around, shifted closer, letting one hand slide onto the waistband of Gib’s jeans. Those long, broad fingers wrapping around his belt as he tugged him to a secluded section of the lobby. “I told you back at the office. This is a tabletop con.”

Gibson should not be that turned on by the low rasp of Dungeon’s voice. Not if he wanted to remain sane over the next few days. “I know what you bloody well said. I was standing right there. But I don’t see any of those ridiculous foosball tables or even ping pong.”

“Foosball? Why the hell would there be foosball, here?”

“What other games do you blokes play on a table? Which makes no sense. If you all wanted a round of footie, why not grab some mates and go play? And while we’re at it, where are all the monitors streaming the latest release of Fortynight.”

“It’s called Fortnight, and that’s a video game.”

Gibson closed his eyes and took a deep breath, arching a brow when he gazed at Dungeon, again. “This is a gaming con, yeah? So, it stands to reason there will be games. Betting I can hold my own in those shooter ones.”

Dungeon chuckled. “I bet you could. Too bad there aren’t any of those, here.”

“Afraid you’ve lost me, mate. Why doesn’t a gaming convention have any games?”

“It does have games—tabletop games. Dungeons and Dragons. Torchbearer. Neon Black. They involve cards and dice. Some are RPGs—role-playing games. Some revolve around live action role playing, or LARPing.”

Well, fuck. 

Dungeon inched closer. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re pissed.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then, why are you glaring at me?”

“If you must know, I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust, and I can call it a day.”

“You said you could handle this. Shit, Gib, if you can’t pull this off—”

Gib grabbed Dungeon’s shirt and yanked him against his chest, his mouth crushing down on Dungeon’s. The man gasped in surprise, allowing Gib to slip inside—trace the soft contours of the other man’s mouth. The only part of the ex-Delta soldier that was remotely soft.

Dungeon fisted the hand on Gibson’s waist, digging his knuckles into Gib’s waist, and damn if the firm contact didn’t feel like heaven.

Dungeon blinked when Gib finally released him, mouth still gaped open. Eyes wide. Slightly lust-blown. His chest heaved as he drew in a series of quick breaths, glancing around before tilting his head to the side. “What was that?”

“The solution to our problem. If we get in a tight spot, I’ll simply kiss you. Public displays tend to distract people from their train of thought.” He leaned in, brushing his mouth of Dungeon’s but not lingering. Not really kissing him, again, because he’d already broken the rules. Already knew he’d be lost if he got another taste of the man’s flesh. “And I bet I can derail any conversation. Now, are we checking in, or what?”