Dean had just finished in the bathroom, his hair in it’s usual state of immaculate, well-sculpted glory, freshly dressed in a casual business suit. He put on his glasses, peering about the bedroom, but Mort was not in sight. It was already nearing eleven a.m. and that meant the writer had finally crawled out of bed. Dean would never understand how Mort could sleep so much, but he supposed it was the isolation of the cabin.
“Mort?” he called heading out into the loft as he straightened his tie. He was not at his desk either. The laptop was untouched. “Hmm.” Dean hummed thoughtfully. He made his way down the stairs and heard a faint rustling from the kitchen. Apparently food had been the priority this morning.
As expected his lover stood in front of the counter, barefoot, hair a-tussle jutting up in crazy directions making curls and spikes, wearing his favorite if not nearly destroyed bathrobe.
Dean snuck up behind him and wound his arms around Mort’s waist, pressing his hands against his stomach. “Morning, sleepy head.” he chuckled, kissing Mort’s neck.
“Mornin’.” Mort said back. His voice was strangely thick and seemed to crack a little. Dean nuzzled him curiously, turning to look at his face.
“What’s wrong with your voice?” he asked.
Mort smiled quickly and cleared his throat loudly, rubbing it. “I think I might have a cold.” he answered.
“Aw.” Dean offered. He kissed his forehead. “Well don’t give it to me, I got a call from a client this morning and I need to go into the city. Will you be okay by yourself?”
Mort nodded.
Dean fixed him with a curious and worried look, the corner of his lips scrunching as he looked at Mort Rainey at length. “You sure?” he added.
Mort smiled and offered him a hug and kiss. “Ack! Germs!” Dean yelled when Mort smacked his lips against his. The blonde smiled mischievously and his hand slid down his lover’s stomach and came to rest on his crotch, groping him.
“Not gonna miss me?” Mort chuckled, his voice still slightly off from the soreness in his throat.
Dean grunted. He really should get going….but Mort had already effectively aroused him. “You’re determined to get me sick now, aren’t you?”
Mort grinned and to Dean’s surprised, got him pinned against the counter. It wasn’t like Mort to be so forceful in sex, that was usually Dean’s job. The blonde was always so shy and self conscious, he usually had to be coaxed---or drunk---to get him into this sort of power play. He was kissing him hard and Dean found himself breathlessly trying to keep up.
“Somebody’s fiesty this morning…” he managed to get out. Mort bit his lip hard. “Ah! Not so rough baby…I still gotta go to work, ya know.”
His answer to this was Mort yanking his belt off and sending it skidding across the kitchen floor.
“Mort, Mort easy!” Dean yelped, as his shirt was torn open next.
“Oh quiet, boy.” Mort growled.
The dark haired man froze. He blinked carefully at his lover. “Did you…just call me ‘boy’?” he asked shakily.
Mort looked up at him slowly.
No.
Not Mort.
Shooter.
“Gotcha, boy.” he grinned.