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Spare the Bullet, Spoil the Child
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Written in 2010.
Alcohol

Nix flinched slightly when Dick pressed the alcohol-dipped rag to his forehead. “Ow,” he hissed.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t think it had broken the skin . . .”

“Yeah.” Dick smiled meekly. “You gave me quite a scare, Lew. When I saw you go down, I thought the worst.”

“I bet,” Nix smirked. “No more map guy. The whole company would be lost.”

Dick removed the handkerchief, revealing the clean patch of skin around Nix’s bullet-burn.

“Well?”

Dick paused. “Well what?”

Nix smiled slyly. “Aren’t you gonna kiss it and make it better?”

“For Pete’s sake, Lew . . .”

“Just a peck? Please?”

Desk

Dick sighed impatiently and glared at Nix, who pouted like a child. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered, then leaned forward and, holding Nix’s dark hair off his forehead, pressed a hurried kiss to the mark on the left side of his brow.

When he pulled away, Nix was grinning broadly. “Feels better already.”

“Wonderful. Now get off my desk. I’ve got to finish that report by tomorrow.”

But Nix just leaned back, taking up even more room. “You work too hard,” he murmured lazily. “Why don’t we find another use for this desk, hmm?”

Dick’s eyebrow arched suspiciously.

Knot

Nix lay with his cheek pressed against the desk, his eyelids fluttering as he was rocked rhythmically up and down. “God, yes, Dick,” he moaned. “That feels so good, oh, don’t stop . . .”

He clutched the sides of the desk and groaned again, enjoying the feeling of the cool wood against his bare chest, and those strong, able hands—

“Mm, lower, low—ah. Right there. Ahhh, yeah, you got it.”

Dick, trying hard not to chuckle, continued to massage the knot out of Nix’s weary back muscles.

Nix smiled dreamily, eyes closed. “Damn,” he mumbled, “I need to get shot more often.”


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