by Megan Derr
Merry smiled. "I like this one."
Kirby smiled back. "it's not much so far, hiding out here."
A hand ghosted over his face and Merry murmured, "No complaints from me."
"You'd best stop teasing, hobgoblin, or I'll be in a world of hurt for skipping out—" His words were drowned out as Ms. Pearson's strident voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing the raffle drawings were about to start and everyone should return to the main room.
Kirby groaned and reluctantly led Merry back inside, squeezing his hand before finally letting go and dragging himself to the stage at the far end of the room.
"Hey there, Sheriff," Ms. Pearson said with a grin. "All set?"
"If I said no, could we call it off?" Kirby asked with a teasing smile, pitching his voice so the crowd could hear him and laugh.
"No such luck," Ms. Pearson said briskly, then turned to the microphone. "All right, everyone, let's get this started. We've got a host of wonderful prizes tonight, including a car fixed up right by our man Ferdy, free meals for a week from Mary, and of course a date with our favorite Sheriff! Y'all know how this is done, so let's get to it."
Kirby waited patiently as the other prizes were slowly called and handed out, more than once seeking Merry out in the crowd, stifling a sympathetic laugh as he saw nearly everyone harassing him at some point. But Merry only smiled and dealt with each nosy person, though Kirby saw he looked completely puzzled more than once, and even a bit worried.
But then Ms. Pearson drew his attention back as she announced, "All right, everyone. Lots of money was raised this year, and most of it I must admit was given on the chance for a night out with Sheriff Kirby. We oughta make him a regular thing, what say?"
The room filled with laughing and cheering, good-natured ribbing.
"I don't think so," Kirby hollered back, just making them laugh harder.
"Hmm," Ms. Pearson said playfully. "I suppose it's true his pretty new boyfriend might take issue."
Kirby flushed, bright and hot, but he didn't refute the statement—and took the laughter that rose up yet again. He just hoped Merry didn't mind.
But then Merry's voice rang out, "Yes, I'm afraid the new boyfriend would take issue."
The crowd parted a bit around Merry, laughing still harder, until Ms. Pearson finally got them to settle down enough to continue with the drawing. "All right, here we go. The lucky winner is whoever's holding ticket number 304493."
"That would be me," Merry said, no small amount of satisfaction as he held up an impressive bundle of tickets. "Mine are 401-500." He strode to the stage and gave his tickets to Ms. Pearson, then turned to Kirby.
Ms. Pearson laughed. "I guess the rumors of a hundred tickets were true."
"What can I say?" Merry asked. "I'm impressed by your local law enforcement." He snagged the front of Kirby's sweater and yanked him closer. "Very impressed."
Kirby flushed again, and ushered Merry off the stage as everyone erupted into laughter and ribald teasing. Ducking out the first exit, he dragged Merry away from the community center and into the street, deciding he could go back for his things tomorrow. No way was he going back in there, not after that.
Merry only laughed—then pushed him up against the wall of Merrill's hardware store, pinning him there. "So, Sheriff, are you free the rest of the night?"
"Yeah," Kirby said, barely getting the word out before Merry put an end to his own lipstick.
"Mmph—" was about as far as Kirby managed before he gave up talking entirely and simply gave as he good as he got. He sank one hand into Merry's soft, soft hair, and got a handful of Merry's fine ass with the other, tugging until Merry was straddling his thigh, Merry's cock rubbing against his leg.
Merry's hand were almost painfully tight in his hair, but Kirby loved it. He wanted more and he wanted it now.
Tearing away, he managed to say, "My place."
With a groan, Merry took a step back and said, "Where is it from here?"
"Seven blocks that way," Kirby said, pointing. "I walked here."
"My car," Merry said, and dragged him to where he'd parked.
They drove off, and Kirby swore seven blocks had never taken so damned long in his life. When they finally reached his house, he only barely had the patience to wait for Merry to secure his car, deactivating his own wards on the way. Inside, he closed the door, locked it, then dragged Merry upstairs only because he didn't want to have to move there later.
He half-sat, half-fell upon his bed, and dragged Merry with him, pushing him into the blankets and rolling on top of him. Then he simply went for it, greedily attacking Merry's mouth, pushing at fabric, fighting with buttons, until at last his fingers slid over smooth, warm skin.
Merry certainly wasn't protesting, spreading eagerly for him, hands pushing up under Kirby's sweater, exploring skin of their own. Kirby pulled back and stripped off his sweater, then finished undoing all the evil little buttons of Merry's shirt. "I really hope," he said, getting the word out between biting little kisses to Merry's torso, "that this wasn’t' one of your thousand dollar outfits."
Chuckling, Merry dragged him up for a proper kiss. "Whatever it costs, it's worth the loss."
Kirby kissed him again, then attacked Merry's throat, loving the soft skin, breathing in that strawberry-lemon scent. "You always smell like summer." He moved down from Merry's throat to his chest, nipping and sucking, making Merry writhe and plead and Christ was he even prettier when he was begging Kirby to do dirty thing.
Muttering an oath when he reached the leather pants, Kirby drew back again. "I have no idea how to get these pants off you. They damn near even feel painted on."
"Getting them on takes a bit of effort," Merry said with a laugh, and pushed at him, rolling away to slowly peel the pants off.
Kirby watched in fascination as he did it, finally shaking his head and dragging a naked Merry close again. "I don't know how or why you get into such tight pants."
"Very slowly, and because I wanted to look good for my date," Merry said, going easily when Kirby rolled them again, rubbing against him, splaying his hands across Kirby's chest, raking his black-painted nails down it.
Kirby kissed him again, and reached a hand between them to finally take hold of Merry's cock. "You've been driving me crazy since we met."
"The feeling is mutual," Merry got out, voice a bit strangled, body moving, hips thrusting, encouraging the knowing strokes of Kirby's hand. "If you don't fuck me soon, I will go crazy."
Laughing, Kirby let go of his cock. "Can't have that." He moved his fingers back, moaning when he found what he sought—and groaning loud and long when he found Merry already slick, ready and waiting. It was the hottest fucking thing he'd encountered since college. "You—" he gave up and only groaned again.
Merry laughed, ragged and husky. "I'm glad you approve."
Kirby kissed him, hard and deep and rough, wanting Merry to still be feeling the kiss hours later. Then he pulled away and lined up his cock, pushing in slowly, moaning at the tightness, the heat. He paused to breathe after he was all the way, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Merry's shoulder.
"Come on, Sheriff," Merry said. "Show me what you've got."
"Surely," Kirby replied, and started to move, gripping Merry's hips, thrusting slow and deep at first, teasing them both, drawing it out. But Merry spread out on his bed, hands clinging to the headboard, make-up and hair a mess, skin flushed and sweaty—
His control snapped, thrusts turning quick and hard, grip tightening, and he was determined to leave Merry feeling it for days, pushing and pushing until he finally came hard, burying his head in Merry's throat, biting it, shuddering as Merry came between them.
He stirred several minutes later, soothing the mark on Merry's throat with his tongue. "Thanks for coming to see me."
Merry smiled and kissed him. "Pleasure is mine, trust me."
Kirby returned the smile, and burrowed close, and they fell into a light doze for bit. "I suppose we ought to br
ing your plants in," he finally said.
"Mmph," Merry said, then sat up and said more clearly, "Yeah. Shower first?" He put fingers to his face, laughing when they came away covered in ruined make-up.
"Surely," Kirby replied, and rolled out of bed, striding to his bathroom to get the shower started.
A minute later, Merry was crowding up behind him, copping a generous feel. Kirby laughed and turned, dragging him close and kissed him, managing to drag him into the shower without killing or injuring them.
Getting a shower took a lot longer than it normally would have taken, but Kirby had no complaints. When they finally clambered out, he pulled on his sleep pants, then offered another pair to Merry, when they realized that they hadn't actually bothered to get Merry's clothes out of his car.
Downstairs, he flicked on the kitchen lights and made a pot of coffee while Merry went to get his things. Then he went to see what he had in the fridge, since he was pretty certain he'd never actually given Merry a chance to eat at the party.
He was immediately distracted when he heard Merry come back, and looked up, expecting to see him in the kitchen, frowning in confusion when Merry didn't show after a couple of minutes. Abandoning the fridge, he wandered into the hall—and drew up short to see Merry standing at the little table where he kept his pictures, holding the one of him and Randy.
Merry looked up as Kirby reached him. "Um—this is probably a stupid question, but, uh—while you were on stage, everyone kept coming up and telling me how much I resembled Randy, and how you seemed happy the way you used to with Randy—" He looked down at the picture again, then set it back in its place. "Maybe it's none of my business, but is this the Randy I've been hearing about all night?" He looked up curiously, and a bit uncertainly, at Kirby.
Kirby lightly touched Merry's face. "Yeah, that's Randy. We were friends growing up, and a lot more than friends in high school. He died in a car wreck our junior year. But, you're nothing alike, not really. Randy was a rowdy one, a troublemaker born. I can't tell you how many scrapes we got into growing up because of him." He smiled faintly at the memory, then sobered. "It's true I didn't know how much I liked your look until he dressed up that one Halloween, but he's been gone nineteen years, Merry. It ain't him I see—"
He was cut off by a kiss, and caught hold of Merry in surprise, holding fast and happily returning the kiss until Merry finally drew back. "I didn't think you were," Merry said. "I was just curious. Everyone kept mentioning him, and he sounded special."
"He was," Kirby said softly. "But you are too."
Merry smiled, and finally bent to retrieve his bag and his little herb garden. "Shall we, Sheriff? I believe I've got a competition to win."
"Whatever you say, hobgoblin," Kirby said, grinning, "but you haven't won the day quite yet."
*~*~*
"You can lock them up for all I care," Kirby snapped. "I've about had it with them damn Withers boys. They want to mess around, they can finally get what's coming to them. Haul 'em in."
Ted shrank away from his desk and fled the office. Kirby picked up his coffee, realized it had gone cold, and set it down again with an impatient noise. Picking up the latest in a massive pile of paperwork, he read the papers through, made a couple of corrections, and signed off on the bottom.
A knock came at his door, and Kirby looked up, glaring at the intruder. "What?"
"Uh—Sheriff—" Ken said hesitantly. "I wondered if, uh, I could maybe take off a bit early? It's quiet and everyone else is in and—"
"Why?" Kirby asked.
"Pop needs my help out at the farm, two of his hands are sick. I told him—"
"Fine," Kirby barked, just to get rid of him.
Ken fled.
He managed to get through another twenty minute of work before someone else knocked on his damned door. "What n—" He sighed as he saw who it was, and moderated his tone. "Yes, Nancy?"
Nancy just gave him one of her looks and thumped a folder down on his desk, something metallic rattling inside it. "Ol' Thomas says his back is acting up something fierce today, and his boys are up Trenton way picking up some wood orders, and he wonders if you might not mind doing him a favor and going to have a looksee at Ms. Wither's old shop. Someone's looking to buy it, but it's got be inspected first. I told Thomas you'd do it. I'd have told him you'd be happy to do it, except you're such a damn grizzly bear anymore, you ain't happy about anything."
Kirby said nothing, only gave a terse nod and snatched up the folder, throwing it to one side of his desk before going back to his paperwork. "I'll get to it."
Rolling her eyes, Nancy stomped to the door. Then she stopped, and turned back to face him, legs spread, hands on hips. "When Roger gets to be all grizzly bear, you know what makes him feel better?"
"What?" Kirby asked flatly, wishing she'd just go away and leave him the hell alone. Why did people have to be so aggravating today?
"Telling me he's sorry for whatever we fought about," Nancy said tartly, then slammed his door shut so hard he swore the building shook.
Kirby wilted in his seat, all the fight knocked right out of him.
He couldn't even fucking remember what they'd been fighting about, anymore. He just knew he couldn’t fucking apologize because Merry wasn't answering his damned phone, and Kirby was too chickenshit to just call the store because he didn't want to be fobbed off by one of the clerks.
Fishing his cell phone out where he'd tried to hide it away in his desk because he was sick of looking at it, he punched the speed dial for Merry. But for what had to be at least the hundredth time, it only rang until it flipped to voicemail. Snarling and cursing, only barely resisting an urge to throw it across the room, he shoved it in his pocket and snatched up his hat.
Jerking his door open, he ignored all and sundry as he stomped out of the office. Deciding against his cruiser, needing to blow off steam, he crossed the street and walked the four blocks to the south end of main street where all the fancy little shops tended to cluster—boutiques and galleries and all. Ms. Withers, before she passed, had been one hell of a painter. It had been a damned shame when she'd died, and a bigger shame her only living legacy was a couple of irascible troublemakers hell bent on tearing Midsummer down one piece at a time.
Her shop had been closed up for ages, no one needing or interested in the space. He wondered who was after it now, of a sudden. He should have asked, but he suspected if he tried now Nancy would tell him what he could do with himself, in no uncertain terms. Hell, he'd probably have to buy the whole office breakfast before she'd get off his back.
Sighing, he opened the folder and fished out the keys taped inside. His dad had worked with Ol' Thomas all their lives, fixing up buildings and houses, doing maintenance work for folks, seeing all the city buildings were up to code. Kirby had helped them out a lot growing up, and he still pitched in whenever Thomas needed it.
Unlocking the door, he let himself inside. The building had gotten a makeover only a year or so before Ms. Withers had died, so it should be in good condition. He didn't imagine it would need work than whatever the new owner required for his own shop.
A cursory looked around seemed to prove him correct. Opening the folder again, he pulled out a pen and ticked off a few things, then began to go through the building more thoroughly. He was poking around the plumbing in the back when he heard the front door open and close. Who the hell would just walk in here? It wasn't like they knew he was in here.
Grateful to have a good reason—well, a reason anyway—to snarl at someone, he stomped back out to the front—
"Merry?"
Merry looked at him in surprise and no small amount of dismay. "Kirby? Uh. What are you doing here?"
Stung, Kirby snarled a reply. "What are you doing here is the better question. Then again, if you'd been answering your damned phone, maybe we'd have gotten to the part where you said you were coming up, except you don't seem particularly damned happy to see me so maybe I wasn't supposed to know."
; "Uh—" Merry winced, and looked at the floor. "After we were done shouting at each other I, uh, threw my phone in the back room. Then when I left to come here, I thought it was in my pocket. I didn't realize until four hours later that I didn't have it."
Some of Kirby's ire and hurt went out at that, but too much still stung. "So why are you here? And why are you unhappy to see me? I know…"
"I'm not," Merry said hastily, staring hard at the floor. "I just—you were pretty mad, and I figured my 'surprise, I'm here for the next four days', might not be a good surprise any longer, and—"
Kirby couldn't take it. He stalked across the room and sank his hands into Merry's hair, kissing him hard, rough, too desperate to be smooth. Merry kissed back, just as desperate and eager, clinging to the front of his uniform.
"I'm sorry," Kirby finally said, tearing away. "Hell, Mer, I don't even remember what we were arguing about, but I'm sorry for it."
"Me too," Merry said, slumping against him. "I was so damned mad—and then—I finally went to get my phone cause I couldn't take it anymore, and when I realized I'd left it—"
Kirby hugged him tight, held him as tight as he could get away with it. "I am happy you're here. Hell, I think half my problem is I never get to see you even half as much as I want. Not even a tenth." He wanted to see Merry every day, and sleep next to him every night, and getting to see him maybe a few days of every month just wasn't anywhere near good enough.
But he didn't know what to say or even what to do to fix it.
"Um—about that," Merry said, suddenly looking the closest to terrified Kirby had ever seen him.
He frowned, immediately terrified Merry was about to break up with him. "What is it?"
Merry pulled away and went back to staring at the floor. "Even before I met you, I'd been thinking of moving. I'm sick of the city, and the way all my major customers are close enough they have me at their beck and call."
Kirby's heart began to beat so fast he thought it might pop.
Still speaking to the floor, Merry continued, "And I know we've only been together five months, but um—would you mind—I was thinking—"
