Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Run it by me again, y’all are doin’ a what now?”

Bradley smiled around a mouthful of pancake. His husband was so cute when he was tired and let his Texas twang loose a little more than usual. “Station 86 was chosen to do a firefighter calendar,” he repeated, and then he huffed. “Mav only let us know yesterday so we wouldn’t be able to back out of it.”

Jake looked suspicious as he reached for more syrup.

They’d met at Mel’s Diner for an early breakfast, as they often did when they had wonky schedules. It was halfway between the firehouse and the hospital, and Jake was just getting off a shift while Bradley was heading into his.

Jake had often said he only wanted to do this breakfast date ritual when it was the other way around, for obvious reasons. Because there Bradley sat looking well-rested and dashing in his pristine station uniform, while Jake looked like a gaunt, rumpled mess in fourteen-hour old scrubs, a threadbare Navy sweatshirt, and wild, sweaty hair from pulling on and yanking off those cute little scrub caps he had to wear sometimes.

But they hadn’t seen much of each other lately, so Jake had reluctantly agreed, though he kept checking his reflection in the window beside them.

”You look fine, honey,” Bradley hooked his boot around the shapely calf across from him. “Better than fine,” he corrected himself immediately, before Jake’s glare turned into something more belligerent. “So much better. You’re gorgeous, baby, just like always.” He waved over to Mel behind the counter, and gestured to her with a pleading look and Jake’s empty coffee mug. Mel, the sweetheart, shot him a wink and a knowing nod.

He reached over their table to grab Jake’s hand under the guise of being sweet before he could fuss with his hair again. His husband was running on fumes. He’d thought once he got some food in him he wouldn’t be so “hangry”, but he desperately needed a decent stretch of uninterrupted sleep to transform Grumpy Jake back into Sweet Jake.

Jake huffed, but squeezed Bradley’s fingers and didn’t let go. “A calendar?” He shoved his hashbrowns around his plate with a fork with his free hand. “What kinda calendar?”

Bradley felt the heat rising in his face. “Oh. You know,” he gesticulated vaguely with his own fork and avoided eye-contact.

Jake’s frown deepened. His green eyes narrowed. “What kind of calendar, B?”

”The um…” Bradley sighed. Jake was just being difficult now. “There’s gonna be puppies. It’s for charity. Some kind of kid thing.”

”Some kind of kid thing?”

Bradley shoved almost half a pancake into his mouth just so he didn’t have to talk for a minute.

Mel sidled up beside them, coffee pot held aloft victoriously. She had to be at least eighty years old, her white bouffant pinned into place by a million barrettes and at least half a can of hairspray. “Sugar,” she croaked as she poured Jake his third coffee, her voice sounding like she’d chain smoked since the ‘60s. “You look like you’ve lost a fight with a honeybadger.”

Jake mean-mugged Bradley like it was his fault. He gulped.

“He’s just getting off a long shift at the ER, Miss Mel,” Bradley said with an easy grin; he tried to put out fires even off-duty. “He’s been saving people’s lives all night, cut him some slack,” he winked at his husband, but Jake was already glaring at his own disheveled reflection again as he nursed the fresh cup of coffee.

“Hmm.” Mel reached out and patted Bradley’s styled curls. “You two boys are always the cutest things in here. ‘Sides me, of course,” she bounced her hip as provocatively as her ancient body could manage and then handed Bradley the bill. She addressed Jake again with an obviously aborted attempt to pat to his untamed locks. “Sugar, you get on home and get some sleep before you fall out,” she patted his shoulder instead.

Jake glared at Bradley. Bradley hid his fond smile behind his glass of orange juice. Even rankled and rumpled and a little mean, Jake was still the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

He walked Jake to his Wrangler in the parking lot after he paid, his strong arm slung around his wobbly husband’s trim waist. “Are you sure you’re good to drive, honey?”

Jake fumbled with his keys to unlock his Jeep, and then let himself fall face-first into Bradley’s chest with a grunt. A happy grin stole across Bradley’s face as he brought his arms up to hold Jake tightly. He could spare a few more moments, Cap wouldn’t care if he was a few minutes late. He hoped.

”M’fine.” Jake’s words were muffled as he burrowed deeper into his chest and let loose a sigh that sounded like it came straight from his toes. He tucked his face into Bradley’s shoulder and asked around an almost violent yawn, “when’s the…the calendar thing?”

Bradley swayed gently, getting caught up in the hug. “The photography crew said they’d be there a little bit before four. Hey,” he brushed a hand across Jake’s face as a stroke of genius hit him. “Why don’t you come to the station around then and watch? You can see the puppies!”

Among other things.

He felt Jake’s grin stretch along his collarbone. “If I’m not still asleep by then, yeah. Yeah, I might come by and see y’all.” Jake reached up with both hands and pulled Bradley’s face to meet his in an unhurried kiss maybe a little too deep for 7:30 in the morning in a diner parking lot.

Bradley’s brain blue-screened for a moment, as it always did when Jake put his mouth on him, and he inhaled deeply and let his hands wander at their will, gripping and pulling Jake closer to him. He let out a pathetic whimper when Jake gently pushed his face back and broke the kiss. He gazed deeply into Bradley’s eyes, and maybe Bradley melted a little bit when Jake stroked his cheekbones with his thumbs. “You be careful today, stud.”

He smiled at him, completely lovestruck. “I always am, babydoll.” He squeezed Jake’s fit body against his one more time, dropping a smattering of light, fluttery kisses and mustache tickles along Jake’s face and neck, and reveled in the sound of Jake’s soft laughter. “You be careful heading home. Text me when you get there if you remember,” he requested as he pulled away from Jake completely and opened the driver’s side door for him. “Shower, then bed. And have some sweet dreams, baby.”

Jake hopped up into the Jeep with a smile and a nod. “Thanks, B. I’ll probably see you this afternoon. I love you, babe.”

Bradley’s smile was beaming. “Love you more, angel.”

Jake gripped the wheel tighter and swerved to cut off a slow-ass pickup, and tried hard to resist flipping up his middle finger at the aggressive horn honking.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what kind of calendar Bradley had expertly vaguely alluded to over breakfast. There was only one type of firefighter calendar. Words like smoking hot and sexy and thirst trap immediately came to mind.

So quite frankly, Jake had to be there, come hell or high water. As a chaperone. Because his smoking hot sexy firefighter husband already attracted far too much attention without being scantily clad and holding a puppy and…and posing seductively.

Oh hell no.

It of course wasn’t that he didn’t trust Bradley. He did, with every fiber of his being. It was others he didn’t trust to keep their hands to themselves. And his husband was a total sweetheart, he always tried to see the best in people, but Jake knew people. Oh boy, did he know.

And yeah, sue him, maybe he was a little jealous. He’d never learned to play well with others, and he sure as shit didn’t like sharing.

Charity, Bradley’d said. What the hell kind of charity called for working men to debase themselves by strutting around half naked for sexy photos for bored housewives to purchase and fawn and giggle over? The very idea was incomprehensible! Inconceivable! And a lot of other words Jake’s exhausted brain couldn’t think of right then.

He made it home and showered in record time, and dove straight into their bed for hopefully at least six or seven blissful hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness. He needed to be well-rested, because was probably going to have to physically fight someone later that day.

Around twenty past four, Rooster spotted the white Jeep screeching into the parking lot on two wheels, and he shook his head with a little sigh. Jake was going to worry him to death driving like a madman, but he knew better than to comment on his driving abilities now.

“Rooster,” Fanboy slid up next to him, already oiled up and covered in strategically placed fake soot, “did you have to invite Jake to watch us humiliate ourselves?”

He huffed out a laugh and slouched further on the kitchen stool he’d lugged outside so he could sit in the shade until it was his turn to get “dirty”. He’d always thought Fanboy’s not-so-secret puppy crush on his husband was adorable. “He watches me humiliate myself on a daily basis and he still loves me. You’ll be fine.”

They were set up toward the end of the lot, out of the way of the trucks in the event of a major call. There was apparently a lot that went on during a photo shoot that Rooster hadn’t been aware of. There were all kinds of tripods and light boxes and white screens that had been swiftly and meticulously pieced together by a startlingly large crew. A smoke machine had already been set up and pumped out pristine white smoke to coil dramatically around them while they posed.

The calendar really was for a good cause - the proceeds would be split between the local chapter of the ASPCA and the Shriners Children’s Hospital. There couldn’t be any better cause than to raise money for animals and children. Rooster could tolerate being objectified for twenty minutes for animals and kids. Even if the weird little guy with the camera kept looking at him like he wanted to eat him.

He shuddered at the thought.

But the best part of the shoot was the pin set up behind the building under the shade of one of the awnings, and the twelve unbearably adorable, waggly-tailed puppies yipping and yapping and playing rambunctiously within it.

He’d never seen a group of badass grown men melt so quickly as Station 86 did when the animal shelter volunteers started unloading them from the back of their van. At one point Javy and Cougar had plopped down in the middle of the pin and happily let the puppies climb all over them until it was their time to get greased and dirtied up. Rooster was pretty sure he saw Payback talking to one of the volunteers about adopting one outright.

And there was Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell himself, his crooked, boyish grin stretched wide across his face as he cooed over a little golden lab-mix puppy who was trying its absolute best to wiggle inside Mav’s open turnout jacket. He’d seen that look once before on his godfather’s face, and that was the day he and Ice had adopted their mangy, cantankerous old cat Dutchess, who hated every single human in existence except for her doting father Mav. The way things were looking right then, Dutchess might have a new sibling by the weekend.

Rooster wondered if he could talk Jake into adopting a puppy. Maybe two. It was a whimsical thought, the pitter-patter of little paws, the excited yips and barks when he walked through the door. Going hiking with it and to the beach. They’d both agreed to not even think about children at this stage of their lives, just wanting to bask in uninterrupted togetherness, just the two of them, for now. The idea of growing their family wasn’t completely off the table, just too far off to even contemplate yet, but for the moment Bradley thought the addition of a four-legged baby might possibly - potentially - fit into their cozy little corner of the world.

A vehicle door slammed abruptly, drawing more eyes than Rooster’s, and there he was - the vision that was Jake Seresin Bradshaw, strutting around the back of his Jeep like he was the star of the show. Dressed casually but still to kill in those sinfully soft faded Levi’s that hugged his perky ass so well Rooster was already salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and a cream cashmere sweater, sleeves shoved up to his elbows to show off that Cali-boy tan. He looked decidedly more well-rested than he did that morning, the healthy glow back on his skin and his gleaming gold hair was clean and stylishly tousled instead of resembling a squirrel nest. A pair of aviators - Bradley’s, that he’d “borrowed” and refused to give back - perched coolly on his nose. And that ever-present, shit-eating smirk that made people want to punch him and/or kiss him quirked those soft lips of his.

He looked like he was strolling up to his photo shoot instead of only being a spectator.

Bradley wanted to devour him. He didn’t think he’d ever get over just how fucking drop-dead gorgeous his husband was.

He watched as squad members flocked over to him excitedly, no doubt looking to see if he had treats with him. But he was empty-handed this time, no basket of home baked goodies to spoil them with today. It was for the best, really, they’d all pumped iron all morning getting their muscles ready for the photo shoot, the last thing they needed was to load up on sugar.

That would come after.

He heard Jake gasp, saw him skid to a theatrical stop, arms splayed out wide and his jaw dropped excitedly.

“Bobby!,” he hollered, and Bob Floyd flinched, wide-eyed and startled, and almost knocked the bottles of Gatorade off the refreshments table. “Gatdamn, son, where the hell did those things come from?” His husband gestured to his own well-defined pecs - covered by his thin sweater, but as tight as it was it certainly didn’t leave much of his trim physique to the imagination - and shamelessly gawked at Bob’s freakishly well-cut torso. “You been holding out on me, Bobbo. Put’em away before they hurt somebody!”

Bob turned beet red at Jake’s catcalling, from his face to his chest. For all he looked the part of a beefy hunk, he was still painfully bashful and didn’t like calling attention to himself. Unfortunately for him, calling attention to himself was Jake’s favorite hobby. They all knew Jake’s picking came from a place of admiration and pride, not jealousy or meanness. Bob took it for what it was, a compliment, and spun in an endearingly awkward circle to show off his get-up. Much like the rest of them, it was just turnout pants and suspenders over his naked, gleaming torso, and the turnout coat on top, open to show his bare chest.

Rooster grinned, proud and fond. Though he worked at the hospital now, the firehouse would always be Jake’s home, too. Because home was where family was.

“Quit ogling the staff and come give me some sugar, baby!” He yelled merrily, at once distracting Jake so Bob could make a clean getaway, and moving Jake’s attention from Bob to where it should be - on him. He cocked the fire helmet perched on his head to a more jaunty, rakish angle, and practically vibrated with excitement.

He couldn’t wait to see his husband’s reaction upon seeing him. He knew he looked good. The red suspenders were dangling, the turnout pants slung scandalously low over his hips, the V-cut he’d worked so hard to define over the summer on full display, as was the shrapnel scar on his abdomen, but he wasn’t self-conscious about that in the least. Jake always said it looked rugged and heroic, never tragic or ugly. It was a part of him that he’d accepted, was proud of even. He slouched further on the stool and tried to look cool and unaffected, but he couldn’t help the little grin that stole across his face when Jake whipped around and made eye contact with him. His heart started beating a little faster.

Bradley waited for Jake’s jaw to drop. For his eyes to grow wide and dark. For him to seize up and shift his feet uncomfortably. And in the span of three seconds, Jake did all of that, and Bradley’s grin widened until it was crooked and cocky. Oh yes, his devious plan had worked. He was so getting laid tonight.

And then, blatantly scanning his body from toe to top, Jake’s eyes narrowed.

Dangerously.

Bradley’s eyes narrowed, too.

Confused.

“Hi, honey,” he said, perking up from his slouch and reaching his arms out to Jake with enthusiastic grabby hands. Jake went willingly, because of course he did, and Bradley was so thankful he hadn’t been greased and sooted up yet so he could wrap around his pristine, angelic vision of husband and squeeze him until he squeaked. He pecked a quick kiss to Jake’s lips and then to his forehead. “Did you sleep okay?”

Jake didn’t answer. He’d pulled himself away a bit, not quite out of the circle of Bradley’s bare arms, but enough that he could stare. He watched, a little fascinated, as Jake’s throat convulsed, his calculating green eyes trailing from Bradley’s V-cut up to his collarbone, over his pecs, over his scar, and then back down to the deep V etched over his hips. Over that tiny but stubborn roll of fat he couldn’t ever seem to get rid of that pudged out a bit when he was sitting down. He saw Jake gulp again, his teeth worrying his plump bottom lip as his gaze lingered on his belly.

Bradley was beginning to feel a little objectified. In the very best of ways. He beamed, suddenly feeling infinitely more confident than he normally did. “My eyes are up here, babydoll.”

His low, sultry words must have finally registered because Jake’s dilated eyes snapped to his like he’d been caught, his cheeks flushed red. “W-what?”

Bradley laughed then, a short burst of mirth. It was rare to see Jake this flustered. He brought his hands from around Jake’s waist and gripped the hands that were, seemingly with a mind of their own, climbing their way up his torso. He squeezed Jake’s hands and said, “I asked if you slept okay.”

It seemed to jolt Jake out of his little reverie, and he looked around at all the people milling around and seemed to finally remember where he was and what they were doing. “Yeah, baby, I did,” he replied softly. Bradley watched as he looked around the set, at each firefighter milling around the parking lot. And then he turned back to Bradley with a critical eye.

”Where’s your coat?” The pointed question came out more like an accusation.

Bradley blinked. Of all the things Jake could have asked him, that was probably the least expected. It was at least seventy-five degrees today, definitely not cool enough to worry about a jacket. ”They ahh… they told me not to wear one.”

Jake cocked his head and regarded him coolly. ”They told you not to wear one.”

Oh, shit. ”Yeah, the…the photography people said I didn’t need it.”

”They said you…Why would they tell you you don’t need a jacket?” Jake did a lazy spin and gestured to all the others to make a point. “You’re the only one out here without a jacket on.”

”I…I don’t know, honey, I didn’t ask. I just do what I’m told.”

”You just do what you’re told.”

Rooster’s knee started bouncing. ”Yeah. I mean. I think so? I don’t even know anymore, baby, am I in trouble?”

Jake blinked, frowning. ”Are you in trouble? What? No darlin’, you’re not-”

”-Cuz you’re repeating everything I say like you do when I’m in trouble-“

”-You’re not in trouble, B, I just don’t understand why you’re different from the rest.”

“Because he is the main character of my shoot!”

They turned as one toward the boisterous voice behind Jake. The man was…interesting…to say the least. He was probably somewhere in his fifties, and his frosted hair was molded into hundreds of spikes pointing straight up to the sky. All kinds of metal and jewelry and doodads hung off him in strategic places. The sheer purple ruffled blouse he wore billowed around him in the breeze, and contrasted starkly with his stiff leather pants and knee boots.

He stood, maybe a little too close to Jake, like maybe personal space wasn’t really a thing he thought about much, hands perched on his cocked hips.

Jake turned within the gap between Bradley’s knees to face the newcomer head-on, creating a solid wall between them. As soon as Jake’s hands perched on his own cocked hips, Bradley knew there was going to be a face-off between these two…bold personalities. He didn’t know much about Sinclair, but he knew Jake was a force to be reckoned with.

“He’s the what now?”

With a flurry of hand flaps, the man theatrically replied, “He is our star!,” he moved - because Jake wouldn’t - so that he could see Bradley. “Bradie, darling! My muse! My Harlequin hero! My Michael! There you are! Have you been hiding from me?” He hooted loudly at his own joke.

Jake turned, a shapely eyebrow arched. “Bradie?”

Bradley winced. “I know. I just…it’s for charity,” he finished lamely.

Jake turned back to the dramatic vision in front of him. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I am Bernard Sinclair,” the man beamed with an obviously practiced flourish, “principal photographer of Hollywood Heights Film and Photography! And you are?”

“Jake Bradshaw,” he deadpanned. “Principal husband of Studmuffin Number One here.”

“I knew I was in trouble.” Bradley groaned and pouted unhappily, his knee still bouncing where he perched.

Jake clamped a hand down on his bare shoulder without breaking eye contact with Sinclair. “You’re not in trouble, baby,” his voice was pleasant, cheerful even. It scared the shit out of him.

In his peripheral vision, Bradley could see Nat, Javy, and Bob inch closer so they could listen, trying unsuccessfully to stifle their childish giggling.

“Hmm,” Sinclair sauntered even closer to Jake, his kohl-rimmed eyes narrow and analyzing. The top of his head came up to Jake’s chin, even with the three extra inches his boot heels provided. “Do you know you’ve got astoundingly good bone structure, Mister Bradshaw. Almost perfectly symmetrical. Have you ever thought about modeling? You’re a fireman as well, I presume.”

Sinclair reached up and grasped Jake’s defined shoulders and squeezed as he spoke, turned him this way and that, studying him from different angles.

Jake let it happen, in the way a rattlesnake “let” Animal Control grab and manhandle it with a hook staff.

As soon as Bradley saw his husband’s astounding jaw tighten, he gripped Jake’s hips and physically scooted him to the side so he had room to stand up. He slid off the stool and moved in between them, not sure which one he was trying to protect from the other.

“Jake is an RN, Mr. Sinclair,” he said, the pride in his voice evident. “He works in Mercy’s emergency department.”

The photographer’s face immediately fell from intrigued to abject disapproval. ”You mean you’re not a fireman?”

“No, I’m a-“

”Then why am I wasting my precious time with you? This is a fireman calendar, not a hospital one.” And with that, Jake was dismissed. Dismissed. Sinclair had done some snappy hand movement right in front of Jake’s flabbergasted face, and then he turned and walked - sashayed? That was definitely more of a sashay - back to the photo setup.

“Bradie!” He called over his shoulder with yet another snap of his fingers, “it’s time for your makeup, darling!”

A few feet away, Nat, Javy and Bob buckled and dissolved into hysterics.

Before Jake could take more than two steps, Bradley’s arms shot out and wrapped around his waist again and lifted, his back pinned against Bradley’s chest. Air-jail was infinitely more acceptable than real jail. “Honey,” he breathed into Jake’s ear as he grunted, feet pinwheeling in the air for a second before Bradley set him back down, “bloodstains and cashmere don’t mix. I’d hate for you to ruin your favorite sweater.”

”That asshole just-“

”-I know-“

”-Did you see-“

”-I did, baby, let’s calm down-“

”I’ve never in all my life, Bradley!”

”He’s not worth an assault charge, right?” He felt Jake tense as he fumed.

”…Right, Jake?”

Jake hovered like a watchdog while Bradley got oiled up. He even growled a couple times, when the makeup ladies got a little too handsy and giggly. He was…pretty sure…Jake wouldn’t tackle a woman, but he did have a rowdy older sister and there was always that slim chance muscle memory might take over, so Bradley kept a close eye on him as he seethed and paced along the outskirts of the makeup tent.

So did Javy and Bob. They were still laughing merrily, but Bradley knew the wink Javy shot him meant he was ready to swoop in and grab Jake if he started for one of the makeup girls.

Bradley was beginning to think maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to invite his slightly feral husband to this photo shoot. Just barely hidden beneath that pretty face and sweet Texas charm was something cold and calculating… and downright mean sometimes. They were both a little possessive of the other, but where Bradley would just physically grab Jake and leave, Jake…well, Bradley thought maybe Jake’s fury was more akin to those country songs where vehicles were mysteriously set on fire.

In no time at all, though for some reason it did take longer than the rest so far, Rooster strutted from the makeup tent looking like he’d just…been oiled and sooted up by professional makeup artists.

Jake scrunched his face when he stopped and struck a pose just for him. “That doesn’t look realistic at all,” he judged, judgementally.

Bradley slumped out of his Hercules pose and pouted. “I don’t think it’s really supposed to look realistic. It’s just supposed to look…sexy.”

Jake’s eyebrow was going to be permanently fixed to the top of his forehead if he didn’t quit with the look. “You don’t need fake dirt to be sexy, B.”

He’d take the compliment, even though Jake’s face looked like he’d eaten a lemon as he said it. “Marta, the lady over there with the spiky collar, she said it’s supposed to be like…overstated, or something, so it’ll show up better on camera.”

The guffaw that exploded out of Jake’s lungs startled him.

”Baby,” his husband wheezed, sounding exasperated and a little fond, “that creepy little guy’s got a five thousand dollar camera setup with another couple thousand in that zoom kit. They’ll be able to see the hair on the balls on that gnat on your face.”

Bradley swatted the apparently well-endowed gnat off his nose. “How do you know how much cameras cost?”

He was intrigued by the blush that suddenly stole across Jake’s stunning cheekbones as he shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know, I just Google stuff sometimes, okay?”

”Are…wait, honey, are you into photography?” Bradley was on the notion like a dog on a bone. Other than baking, which was done mostly to quell his anxiety, Jake didn’t really have hobbies in the sense that he came home and fell into a peaceful passion to unwind and enjoy. Bradley had several dozen hobbies that he rotated based on time and interest. A “collector of hobbies” his mom had called him when he was a teenager with undiagnosed ADHD.

Even with regulated ADHD, he still found himself hopping from one interest to another, never really leaving one before starting another. He’d planted a now thriving vegetable garden in their back yard because Jake had once offhandedly remarked he couldn’t find any fresh tomatoes during their weekly grocery run. He had a garage full of woodworking equipment that he was a few more Youtube videos away from learning how to operate. The relatively short-lived stained glass stint that Jake made him quit after he’d sliced his hand open. He was practically Bob Ross with a paintbrush and a canvas, and his drawing skills were above average if he was being modest. Though lately it was used to draft plans for their home. Every once in a while he’d get a burst of inspiration and knock out a wall or add on to the deck. He’d built an entire screened-in back porch during one of his long weekends when Jake had to work doubles and left him unsupervised.

But Jake hadn’t ever really expressed any interest in anything yet in their relationship. He loved his job, spent a lot of time at the hospital, and then he came home and ran errands and watched tv. He did yoga and ran and lifted weights, but only to keep fit and pretty, not because he actually liked doing them. If he had time off without Bradley, he spent it either deep-cleaning the house or vegging out on the couch.

Jake shrugged again, an odd look on his face, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. “It doesn’t matter. I was just sayin’ Mary told you that so she could rub on you a little longer.”

”Marta,” Bradley corrected kindly, but his mind was already thinking about places to buy cameras. He probably couldn’t afford a seven or eight thousand dollar setup at this point in his life, but he was sure there were relatively nice ones for half that.

”Whatever,” Jake reached over and snagged a coat from the back of somebody’s chair. “Here, put this on.”

Bradley’s face scrunched, confused. “That’s not mine. I think it’s Hollywood’s.”

Jake shook it in front of him. “Doesn’t matter,” he said lightly, “you aren’t being photographed yet, there’s no reason to strut around here half naked.”

”I can’t, baby. It’ll smear Marta’s handiwork and she’d have to start over.” He watched Jake’s jaw clench at his logic, but he laid the coat back over the chair with a grunt and a roll of his eyes. He knew what Jake was doing. If it were the other way around and Bradley had to watch his husband strut around in a sexy uniform in front of a big group of people, he’d probably be just as huffy as Jake was right now.

Who the hell was he kidding? If Jake was strutting around half naked in a sexy version of his uniform Bradley would probably be certifiable by now.

But Jake had always called him a caveman. It was true, Bradley was a little grabby, a little handsy sometimes. He staked his claim any chance he got. But Jake had never really been the jealous type that he knew of. At least not the demonstrably jealous type. It shouldn’t even really be an issue, it wasn’t like he was out here with strangers. Other than the maybe dozen people between the photography studio and the animal shelter, he was out here among family who certainly didn’t look at him with any lustful intentions. Well, Fanboy did, but he looked at most of them like that. It was how he got his nickname.

“Fine,” Jake said primly, his nose in the air, and Bradley couldn’t help but smile. Jake was swiftly heading towards being a brat, and to be quite honest, though he’d never tell for fear of creating a monster, he loved when Jake got a little bratty with him. It was such an integral part of his personality that Bradley couldn’t help but love it, the little bit of push-back Jake gave him sometimes. Hardly ever enough to cause a fight, but just enough of that huffy attitude to send a little thrill down Bradley’s spine.

He followed Jake as he ambled over to see who was being photographed. It was Phoenix and Halo’s turn, posing like the badass first responders they were in their helmets and sports bras. Bradley had been shocked when the girls had agreed to pose so scantily, but they’d been enthusiastic about it from the get-go.

”It’s the least we can do,” Halo had said, and made a point of adjusting her boobs in the tight shirt she wore, “sales will triple with us in it.”

”It’s for charity, of course,” Phoenix had flexed her arms and grinned at him.

They had a point.

Jake strolled over to the edge of the setup - quite obviously ignoring Bradley now - and propped his chin on Javy’s shoulder to watch, careful not to smear his best friend’s soot-covered jacket. “Look, it’s Gigi and Gisele,” he hollered, and grunted when Javy elbowed him in the stomach and shushed him. It didn’t work, of course. “Y’all are fierce! Look at that blue steel!”

Halo fell out of her pose with a giggle, and Nat dropped the hose she was posing with to flip him off goodnaturedly.

“Quiet on the set, please!” Sinclair bellowed, his eyes rolling dramatically behind his circle-framed glasses. “Ugh, who let these moronic hooligans roam freely during my shoot?” He huffed a dramatic sigh and wafted his extravagant camera around like a flare to attempt to gain the girls’ wandering attention. “Ladies, if you please.”

Javy snorted, and then Jake snorted, and then they were both wheezing with stifled giggles, pushing and shushing each other like misbehaving school boys. “Shhh, Javy you hooligan!”

”You’re the fucking hooligan, jackass!”

Sinclair shrieked wordlessly in their direction.

“Alright you two little shits, knock it off,” a deep, stern voice demanded from somewhere behind them.

Bradley glanced from his idiot husband, and his idiot husband’s idiot best friend to see Slider and Wolfman ambling up to them, looking both amused and just done with this entire thing. Bradley felt their sentiments exactly. He was ready to get this dog and pony show done so he could go home and rinse the makeup off and snuggle up next to Jake for the rest of the evening.

He stepped up next to Jake just as Javy mumbled a contrite “he started it.”

Jake rolled his eyes and smacked Javy in the stomach, and then turned his attention to the newcomers. “Sorry, Slide- oh my good god. Holy shit.”

Bradley looked from Jake’s wide-eyed, gobsmacked face to the two older crew members walking toward them, seemingly in slow motion, out of the artificial smoke billowing wildly in the afternoon breeze. Why were they strutting like that? They weren’t even being photographed yet, he thought.

Slider and Wolf were somewhere in their sixties, but they were fitter than most guys half their age, and had the stamina to match. Broad-chested and jacked - with a layer of soot and sweat, and salt and pepper fur plastered between frankly obnoxiously-defined pecs - and Slider casually swinging a fire axe like a baseball bat, they looked… they looked… big and beefy and…and manly in their state of ostentatious undress, their turnout jackets flapping dramatically around their bare torsos.

Bradley swung his gaze back to his husband and frowned. Deeply.

And then he reached up to physically close Jake’s slack jaw with a firm finger under his chin. His teeth clicked as his mouth shut. He blinked rapidly, as if waking from a dream.

”Oh my god.”

Bradley huffed, perturbed and probably a little pouty if he was being honest with himself. “You said that already,” he snidely replied.

It wasn’t really a secret that Jake found the older members of the squad attractive - on a purely intellectual, aesthetic level, of course. While the rest of the 86 affectionately called them the “geriatric crew”, Jake had always dreamily referred to them as the DILF Squad. Bradley had to Google the term when he’d first cheekily said it. The way Bobby had snorted into his coffee and turned red should have tipped him off.

To say Bradley had been mortified upon reading the definition was an understatement. “Those wrinkled old farts practically raised me, Jake! Gross!”

But Jake had just shrugged, unapologetic and unconcerned. He’d tossed out a flippant “it’s just an expression, babe,” and had gone on his merry way with Javy in the ambulance. That had been his first day as a paramedic at the 86, and Bradley hadn’t had a moment’s peace since.

Wolfman caught his eyes. The old fart smirked slyly, knowingly, and threw him a wink. “What’s up Jakey-boy?” He grinned at his dumbstruck husband, who practically vibrated where he stood at his side. “Haven’t seen you ‘round much in a while. Ol’ ball and chain keeping you locked away from us, huh? Keeping you to himself, I see how it is, Roos.” Wolf reached up and happily smacked Bradley’s shoulder.

Hard.

Good-natured and whatever, but it still hurt.

An honest-to-god giggle burst forth from Jake’s lips, and it seemed to startle him. He wringed his hands like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Nah,” he breathed with a crooked little smile, “he um, he lets me out on- on occasion.”

Jake, usually so poised and in control of his faculties, was tripping over his words like a flustered schoolboy, and wasn’t that the singular straw that broke Bradley Bradshaw’s back.

“Jake!” He said, maybe a little too loudly, and Jake jumped beside him like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. “The puppies!” He reached down and grabbed his husband’s hand and yanked, gently but firmly. “Let’s go see the puppies! C’mon!”

Slider laughed, still swinging that stupid axe like it was a toy. “What’s the hurry, Roos?” He remarked, a little too smoky and a little too sure of himself, as Bradley loped past dragging a lead-foot Jake in tow.

Bradley paused, just for a second, with a hand gesture wild enough to rival one of Bernard Sinclair’s. “Why don’t you two go…go cover up. Put a damn shirt on, or something. That’s just,” he raked a hand toward them again, “that’s just obsene guys, come on.”

He yanked Jake away without waiting for a reply, though he did hear Slider exclaim “still fuckin’ got it, brother,” and Javy’s light reply of “y’all still old as dirt, don’t get too excited.”

Jake huffed close to his ear, trying to get his feet under him to keep up with Bradley’s long-legged lope across the parking lot. “Are there really puppies or are you just caveman’ing again?”

Bradley brought Jake’s hand up to his lips for a quick, apologetic smooch. He smiled back at his husband, and it only widened when he saw the fond grin on Jake’s pretty face. “They’re the most adorable pile of pups you ever saw, baby, I promise.”

Jake nodded, finally got his coordination back and caught up to walk beside him, fingers linked tight with his own. “Good,” he said lighthearted and bright, “cuz I’d hate to think you’d ever be jealous of those guys. Sure they’re good lookin’, baby, but they ain’t got nothin’ on you. Stud Muffin.” He reached over and dropped a flirty peck on Bradley’s sooty cheek, and Bradley swore both his feet came up off the asphalt for a solid few seconds of cartoonish, gravity-defying adoration.

Even though he felt like he was getting whiplash from Jake’s crazy mood swings. He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. His slightly feral husband kept him on his toes, that was for damn sure. He didn’t have the heart to bring up the obvious posturing Jake had literally just done when he was getting attention and praise from the odd little photographer, and again with the nice makeup ladies. Caveman’ing, indeed. At least Bradley wasn’t about to pull an assault charge with Wolf and Sli.

They ambled along, no longer in any hurry, strolling across the lot hand-in-hand like they were on a date. Payback, Harvard and Yale were sitting around a folding card table stuck out in the middle of everything, lazily thumbing their phones and looked bored to tears.

”I just don’t understand why we couldn’t be on-call now,” they heard Yale mutter. “There’s a fender-bender on seventh right now that sounds more fun than this shit.”

Harvard scoffed. “It’s for charity, man. And I’m sure they’ll give you one of the smaller ones if you ask.”

”I don’t need a small puppy, asshole,” Yale reached over and flicked Harvard, “Shut up with that.”

”I’m just saying, brother,” Harvard’s eyes twinkled, “lots of people are scared of dogs-“

”-I’m not fucking scared of dogs!” Yale quietly shrieked. “It was one time and that damn Doberman almost bit my leg off-“

”-She was a border collie, and she was just herding you, man,” Payback chimed in. “That’s what they do, they’re herd-dogs. She just thought you were a dumbass lost sheep.”

”Never seen Yale run that fast in my life,” Rooster laughed as they stopped to say hello.

“I hate you guys,” Yale huffed, but he was grinning when he said it.

”Jake,” Payback nodded a friendly greeting and reached up to clasp Jake’s hand. “How’s my favorite white boy?”

”Hey,” Harvard and Yale both indignantly replied.

“Ruben,” Jake smiled down at him and shook his hand in a firm grip. “I see you’ve been working on those obliques. Lookin’ good, man. Nine percent?”

”Seven, baby!” Payback stretched in his folding chair with a cheeky grin to show off his bare, shredded torso and his seven percent body fat. ”When are you gonna come back and work out with us?”

“I wouldn’t wanna show y’all up,” Jake replied with a fond laugh. “Where’s your shadow?”

Payback smirked and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ”He saw you coming and hid behind the dumpsters.”

There was a startled clattering behind the bins behind them and Fanboy sprang up, red-faced and waving a closed fist. “I was just…I dropped my chapstick. I was looking for it. Found it!”

Rooster shook his head at his friends’ antics. “We’re on our way to see the puppies if anybody needs me,” he pulled Jake along before they got pulled into another conversation.

Harvard called out to them as they turned the corner, ”Pick out a docile one for Yale - ouch!”

”I warned you, didn’t I.”

“There really are puppies, B,” Jake breathed, his eyes alight like stars as he quickened his pace to the little holding pin and the adorable yipping pups within it.

Bradley let him go, just so he could watch those faded Levi’s bounce. He licked his lips, his fingers clenched, itching to grab handfuls of it. Jake’s ass should have come with a warning label. May cause excessive salivation, muscle spasms, heart palpitations, difficulty concentrating, and erections lasting more than four hours.

Jake had launched himself over the hip-high gate moments before Bradley got there. “B!” he cooed happily, already on his knees with two armfuls of wiggily, waggily puppies, “Baby, look! There’s so many!”

This was a good idea, Bradley thought to himself as he looked on, wistful and fond. He watched Jake run around the pin, giddy and giggly. He watched the pack of tiny pups chase after him as he ran around the perimeter of the enclosure, dodging toys and food bowls and the small plastic pool filled with water, their little ears flapping as they pounced and played. His husband sorely needed this little moment of joy, him more than most. In Jake’s line of work he usually saw the worst people had to offer, the worst life had to offer, so any outlet that brought that beaming smile to his face was worth it to Bradley.

They both ignored the people around them, the animal shelter volunteers let them be, let them babysit for the time being. There was no such thing as privacy in the parking lot of a public building, but for the most part they had this little corner of it to themselves.

“Bradley, look!” He was pulled from his thoughts by Jake’s gasp. His husband was standing in the middle of the pin with a tiny orange and white puppy in his hands, held close to his face. The puppy was nipping and licking at Jake’s chin with that blind sort of enthusiasm all puppies seemed to naturally possess, and Jake was absolutely beside himself with sheer, unadulterated glee. “Oh no, B, look, he’s gettin’ all my kisses!” Jake cooed, and smooshed his face into the puppy’s pristine white fur. “Yes you are, aren’t you! Stealin’ all my kisses, huh! Won’t be any left for Uncle B!” He laughed, and Bradley thought angels probably wept at the sound. “You’re precious, aren’t you, buddy? You are! Ain’t he precious, babe?”

Bradley couldn’t stop the wistful, dopey grin stretching across his face if he tried. He looked at his husband, took in his boyish joy, the years and the stress melting off his face, and beaming like sunshine right there in the shade of the awning. And he was helpless to it, the feelings bubbling up into his chest and throat that had his heart and lungs stuttering.

”He sure is, sweetheart,” he sighed as he watched, and fell in love again. “Most precious thing I ever saw.”

Bradley felt a presence sidle up beside him a moment before a feminine voice jolted him from his sweet thoughts. “See one you like, handsome?”

His eyes widened. He shot a glance over to Jake, who thankfully was still fawning over the puppies and hadn’t overheard. He looked down to his right shoulder, to the attractive young brunette standing there smiling up at him. And down at him, and back up again, obviously checking him out in his state of undress. He suddenly no longer felt sexy, just much too exposed. This lady had the sharp, hooded eyes and the biting, toothy grin of a predator, and he didn’t like it one bit.

He scooted over a bit to make more room between them.

She scooted over a bit, as well, and closed the distance.

She was wearing the gray polo shirt all the animal shelter volunteers wore, though hers was tailored to hug every substantial, man-made curve of her body. The collar had been altered to plunge into and show off her ample cleavage, which she was hellbent to shove as close to Rooster’s face as she could manage with their almost comical height difference.

He took another step to the left and quietly cleared his dry throat. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being flirted with, it came with the territory of being an LA firefighter. He just usually had at least a shirt on when people made their inevitable advances, and often had an entire barrier of turnout gear to hide within.

Plus, Jake wasn’t usually with him when he was in uniform or turnout gear, and didn’t get to witness most of the flirting he had to endure. Sure brave people sometimes came up to him when they were out and about off duty. It was something both he and Jake had to put up with almost daily, they were both subjectively good looking so of course they garnered all sorts of attention. They were often mistaken for friends out running errands together until they linked hands and showed off their matching wedding bands.

But on duty it was different. People chased after the uniform more than the man. And without the uniform acting as armor, Rooster felt naked. Exposed. And Jake was too observant, and too in-tune with him, and frankly he didn’t want to be the reason Jake needed to be bailed out of jail today.

He kept Jake in his peripheral - he was on the other side of the pin now chatting with a sweet-looking elderly volunteer and bouncing the little orange and white puppy on his shoulder like a baby. “Um, no ma’am. I’m not on the market - in, I’m not in the market. For a dog. Thanks.”

He took another half-step. She did, too.

She giggled, and tossed her long hair over her shoulder, and then wiggled them to show off her…her assets. “You’re silly. I’m Millie.”

“I’m married,” he blurted, and then for some reason, he couldn’t stop the word vomit if he wanted to. And he really, really wanted to. “And I’m gay. Actually, I’m bi but I’m married to a man, so I think that makes me as gay as I can be without actually being all the way gay. I think. I’m not sure how it works, but the point is I’m married and my husband is…he’s over there-” he pointed to Jake “-and he’s beautiful, but he’s a little crazy and-“

”-That guy over there is your husband?” Millie asked, the genuine incredulity evident in her vocal fry. “He looks like an Abercrombie model.” She turned back to him with a renewed fire in her eyes. “I’m bi, too,” she grinned, sharklike and dreadful. “In fact, I’m pretty much into anything with anybody. You two ever had a threesome? I’d sure as fuck be up to it. Paris, here I come.”

Bradley…didn’t know what that meant. But with the way she winked at him and threw her head back with a sultry little laugh, he knew he probably wouldn’t like it.

”No.” He said with an assertive finality, and took another step, “we’re not interested.”

She didn’t take the hint. She took another step, too. And then she put a small hand on his bare chest, her long pink nails shaped like claws, and Bradley found it ironic, seeing as how he felt like a six-foot-two mouse under a cat’s paw.

And Jake…Bradley’s gaze flicked across the pin…Jake must have felt a disturbance in the Force. He gently set the puppy down and excused himself from the nice lady he was still chatting with, and turned to lock eyes with Bradley.

“Oh come on,” she breathed next to him, “you could at least ask him, let him make his own decision. You’re way too sexy for monogamy.”

Jake was walking toward them, stalking, calm and unassuming, like a fucking tiger deciding whether or not he was hungry enough to kill something.

Bradley breathed out a defeated oh, no, but Millie lit up beside him. “Looks like I can ask him myself.”

”Oh, don’t do that.” Bradley shook his head, not a plea but a warning.

”Ask me what?” Jake inquired pleasantly, opening the puppy pin gate and letting it swing back without a glance.

He didn’t stop moving until he’d muscled his way fully between them. Bradley’s arms stole around his waist and cinched tight - soot and oil be damned. He’d happily pay to have Jake’s sweater dry-cleaned if it meant avoiding having to fork out bail money.

He couldn’t see it, but apparently the look in Jake’s eyes made Millie pause, her ample confidence suddenly draining from her posture. “I just… I mean, I was wondering if you…and your husband…wanted to-“

She trailed off, and Jake dipped down a bit to catch her wandering eyes. “To fucking what?” He asked, low and much too calm. Bradley’s arms tightened.

Millie huffed, and her eyes rolled. “I just-“

”You want me to share,” Jake guessed, a little amusement coloring his voice, and he sweetly linked his fingers into Bradley’s and leaned back into him. “That it?”

”…I mean-“

”Sweetheart,” Jake leaned close to her then, and Bradley prayed he had the grip strength to contain him, “you ever put your fucking hands on what’s mine again, and I’ll rip every one of those cheap-ass acrylics off at the knuckles.”

Millie blinked and took a step, away this time. And then she took another. “You’re fucking crazy.”

”Told you,” Bradley breathed toward her as she hastily retreated. Jake huffed out a fond little laugh and reached up to pull him down into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss - a claim - and he felt Jake’s tongue swipe in almost to his tonsils, and every muscle in Bradley’s body spasmed.

”That pup didn’t steal all your kisses, I see,” he murmured as he pulled back a little. He desperately wanted to tuck his face into Jake’s neck, but he was smudged enough as it was. Jake was going to kill him when he saw the state of his pretty white sweater.

”You think I’m crazy, baby?” Jake breathed into his mouth.

He smacked a couple more kisses to Jake’s grinning lips and finally let go of his trim waist. “You know I do,” he chuckled, fond and besotted. “I think you’re a damn brat,” he smacked Jake’s ass and smiled at the bright flush that stole across Jake’s cheekbones.

”She was making you uncomfortable,” he explained, not the least bit contrite. “I know you don’t like to go all SEAL Team Six on civilians, but I don’t mind pulling the bitch card, you know that. And she had the fucking audacity to put her hands-“

“-I know, honey,” Bradley interrupted Jake’s quiet tirade with an easy grin, “and I appreciate you coming to my rescue. Just, let's try not to traumatize anybody else or threaten bodily harm anymore today, okay, angel?”

Jake smiled up at him, but the gleam in his eye didn’t seem very cooperative.

Bradley hummed, deep in his throat, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re usually not this crazy. What’s gotten into you?”

Jake shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, raking fingers down his sides. “I just…you’re just so-“ he squeezed Bradley’s hips, his eyes wandering again. Bradley hated the feeling of that woman’s eyes on him, but watching Jake look at him with such heat and intensity made his blood sizzle and boil in his skin.

”You like me lookin’ like this, huh?” He guessed, he knew, and Jake just nodded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

”You know I-“

”The puppies!” Someone shrieked, and startled them both out of their shared reverie.

Jake swung around and gasped, wide-eyed. “Oh, shit.” The gate to the puppy pin was wide open, not a single puppy in sight within it.

People began moving around them in frenzied chaos, whistling and calling and clapping for the missing pack of pups. Jake saw a little dachshund bounding across the lot on tiny legs and he set off behind it at a desperate lope.

Rooster moved into action, already in first responder mode. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. The puppies didn’t magically appear but most of the 86 did, immediately and without question.

Well, with one question.

”What the fuck, Rooster?” Javy shouted as they all looked around at the mayhem.

“The puppies escaped-” he gestured to the empty pin and the open gate with one hand and hiked up his falling turnout pants with the other, “-fan out and find’em before they get to the highway!”

Jake came running back with the dachshund in his arms, and dropped him gently into the pin before slamming the gate shut, jiggling it to make sure it latched this time. “That’s one! There’s eleven more, go-go-go!”

“Where the hell were all the volunteers?” Bradley hollered, tearing across the asphalt toward the edge of the lot.

”They were watching Cap and Hollywood’s shoot,” Nat replied, and then she dove under one of the picnic tables to grab a little spotted mop of fur. “Gotcha!,” she scooped the fuzzy pup up with one hand and made a vague, sweeping gesture with it. “Yeah the geezers drew quite a crowd. It was awful.”

“Jake’ll hate that he missed it,” Bob said with a cheeky grin as he bounded past them.

“You’re an asshole, Bobby!”

The search continued, growing more and more distraught with each passing minute. Volunteers were continuously squeezing the dog toys in an effort to draw the pups out of hiding, the chorus of obnoxious squeaking interspersed with the frantic calls and cries of panicking firefighters. Rooster watched Fanboy shimmy up onto the roof of the office for a bird’s eye view. He scanned the area and then pointed madly toward the dumpsters. Jake must have been watching Fanboy too, because before Rooster could bound across the lot his husband had nearly beat him there.

“What the hell is going on here?” Mav, Cougar and Hollywood came running toward them out of the fake smoke, their jackets, of course, billowing dramatically around their bare, rugged torsos.

Jake tripped over his own feet at the sight, and almost careened headfirst into the side of the dumpster he was still running toward.

”Dammit, honey, quit lusting after my godfather!” Rooster hollered indignantly, knowing exactly what had happened to Jake’s coordination when the rest of the fucking DILF Squad showed up. “The puppies!”

Mav paused and blinked, a blush crawling up his naked chest into his face. ”What?” He asked, confused, his thick brows furrowed. “Was that Jake?”

But Rooster just huffed, disgusted, and Jake was already hiding behind the dumpster he’d almost crashed into.

”Nothin’,” he glared at Mav, “just…zip up your damn coat, jeez.”

Jake sprung up suddenly, red-faced, and held a squirming, flop-eared beagle aloft like a trophy. “I wasn’t fucking lusting, baby, I was catching this guy!”

Rooster’s eyes rolled skyward.

“This is a fiasco!” Bernard Sinclair shrieked, positively apoplectic. He waved his hands in the air hysterically and stomped his massive boots as Javy chased a little pit puppy through his viewfinder, and then between Yale’s legs.

Yale screamed, and jumped up onto the prop ladder beside him to get out of the way, and knocked down an entire screen in the process.

The makeup girls were beside themselves in helpless giggles by that point. Marta, the handsy one, was on the ground holding her sides, mouth open wide in silent, breathless laughter.

“This is the last time I work with the working class!” Sinclair cried as he flailed to catch the flapping screen before it got tangled up with the softbox lights. One of the softboxes lurched on its tall tripod, wobbled precariously, and then fell to the ground with a dull flumphf. Bernard screeched and, in a fit of rage, attempted to kick it across the parking lot, but the bedazzled heel of his boot caught in the wires and he tripped, lost his balance, and toppled over in a heap of leather and lavender. There he sat on the asphalt, stunned into silence, the broken box still stuck to his foot, his sheer blouse coming loose from its delicate ties.

The silence did not last very long. “Common hoodlums,” he screamed, loud and shrill enough to scare Yale back up the ladder he’d just cautiously descended from, “all of you are just- just common hoodlums!”

The animal shelter workers frantically counted each puppy as they were found and gently dropped into the pin, and examined each and every one from snout to waggily tail to ensure none had been injured during their brief escapade. Many were now covered in fake soot from being snuggled by desperately relieved firefighters as they were found and caught and returned to safety, but quite fortunately none had been damaged at all.

”-six, seven-“ one of the volunteers counted with a pointed finger, “-nine, ten, elev…- we're missing one!” She belted, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Spread out, he’s probably hiding under something!”

Rooster sprang into action with the rest of the 86 and the shelter volunteers to find the lone little pup somewhere within the labyrinth of the station’s parking lot. Mav tagged along with him, ducking down for quick glances under vehicles before heading to the next one. “Heeeeere, puppy-puppy!” His godfather called, and whistled shrilly. “C’meeeere puppy!” Then he whacked Rooster on the arm, “how did this happen? They’ll never let us do this again, I’m sure of it,” he lamented.

Rooster already felt guilty for his part in this chaotic mess, he didn’t need Mav’s judgement. “It was an accident, Cap. We just…got distracted, and the gate didn’t close all the way.”

Mav stopped and studied him for a moment. “Distracted,” he repeated, suspicious and skeptical, and turned over a discarded five-gallon bucket with his foot in their path to the outer edges of the lot. “Uh-huh. Which one of your tongues was down the other’s throat when you were distracted and didn’t notice an entire horde of very loud animals escaping containment and running amok?”

”I mean…” What could he say to that? It was Jake’s tongue, Cap. Absolutely not. So he didn’t acknowledge Mav at all, and instead yelled to Payback and Harvard over by the big bay doors at the front of the station. “You guys seen it yet?”

Mav snorted at the blatant dodge, but frowned when Payback called back, “nah, man, nobody’s found it yet!”

Rooster’s worry grew tenfold. If a tiny puppy met a dismal end on his watch because he and his husband had been making out, he’d never forgive himself. He didn’t even know where Jake was, he hadn’t seen him since he’d almost hurled himself face-first into the side of the trash bin and then loped off with a conveniently discovered pup. He knew his soft-hearted husband would be inconsolable if that happened.

Mav must have sensed his worry because he reached up to grip the back of his neck. “We’ll find it, don’t worry.”

Guilt and shame surged through him then, and he wilted. “Cap, I’m so sor-“

His broken-hearted apology was interrupted by a joyous cheer, and then another. They wheeled around and immediately ran toward the sounds of elation. Volunteers were smiling, palpably relieved, and applauding with so much enthusiasm Rooster was smiling with his own relief before they reached the growing crowd.

He saw a familiar head of now disheveled blond hair in the open bay doors. Jake’s sweater was all but ruined, it looked like he’d laid in a puddle of grease and dirt. But the smile on his face was pure sunshine, and he cuddled the little orange and white puppy he’d been holding earlier close to his neck, safe and sound. The puppy’s tail was wagging furiously, and his little puppy teeth were happily gnawing on Jake’s chin and jaw.

”Jake!” He shouted as he skidded up to them and embraced them both. “Thank God, honey, where the heck did you find it?”

”Him,” Jake beamed, and adjusted his grip on the squirmy little thing. “Found him hiding under the ambulance ransacking Javy’s box of beef sticks.”

”Hey!” Javy sounded relieved and indignant. “Not my stash! You mangy thievin’ rat!” He reached up and rubbed the pup’s head. Then just because he could, he reached up and ruffled Jake’s hair, too, and laughed when Jake swatted him away.

Bradley huffed, and wrapped an arm around Mav’s shoulders. It was never a dull day at Station 86, especially when Jake Seresin Bradshaw visited.

Jake was still cooing over the little orange and white pup when a couple volunteers barged into the pin for a final headcount. He’d walked back to the pin as slowly as he could, not really in any hurry to get rid of him. He was so soft, with sweet brown eyes that reminded him so much of Bradleys. His round little belly was warm in his hand and his breath smelled like kibble and something distinctly puppy. He knew he needed to put the rascal down soon or he’d never be able to let go. He didn’t know why, but he felt a bittersweet heartsickness at the thought. Perhaps one day he’d try to talk Bradley into adopting a puppy of their own. He wished it could be this one. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to let go.

Bradley had followed Jake at a close distance, giving his husband a little time with the pup he’d saved, and stood by the gate watching Jake bounce him like a baby. It was a good look on him. A damn good look.

“I think we’ve got them all!” Bradley heard the lady speak before she turned and he saw who she was. Jake obviously recognized that vocal fry, too, and his eyes narrowed wickedly. Before Bradley could utter a single word of warning, he watched Jake coolly move a foot behind Millie, the brazen flirt, as she gingerly picked her way backwards to avoid stepping on any of the rambunctious pups.

It happened in the blink of an eye, one second she was standing, and a shrill, startled screech later she tumbled ass-first into the little plastic pool, the water splashing and sloshing with her violent flailing. One of the puppies yipped excitedly and jumped in after her.

Millie gagged and spat, and then screamed like she’d been tossed into acid instead of tepid pool water.

“Oh, no,” Jake said merrily as he bounced the puppy on his shoulder once more, and then set it down gently with its packmates. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, with those two airbags on your chest, I’m sure you’ll float.”

She looked up at him, runny mascara already trailing black streaks down her face, and screamed again. The puppy happily splished and splashed around her.

Bradley sighed tiredly into his hands.

Things settled down significantly after the puppies had all been accounted for. He’d lost sight of Jake again for a terrifying moment when Bob and one of the giggly makeup girls asked him to help lift up the collapsed makeup tent so she could take stock of the damage, so he set out to locate him before something exploded or the police were called.

“Excuse me,” a new voice said behind him as he scanned the lot, “Bernard is asking for you now.”

Rooster nodded, defeated. “Asking?”

The photography assistant shrugged, obviously amused. “Demanding. And stomping. Lots of stomping. He wants his, and I’m quoting here, his masculine, mustachioed hero to go end his torment and suffering. I’m just guessing, but I’m pretty sure that’s you.”

Rooster grimaced, and his shoulders slumped.

The assistant chuckled. “It’s for charity, man.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Rooster groused. Charity.”

On his way to the main photo setup, Bradley found and forcibly collected Jake. His blushing husband was standing by the knocked-over refreshments table with Mav, Cougar and Slider, obviously explaining “what had happened” with wild abandon and graceless gestures.

He could tell Slider and Cougar were about to lose it, but Mav listened intently, nodding along with genuine concern and empathy. Rooster shook his head affectionately. Jake could tell Mav aliens abducted him and made him burn his house down and his godfather would not only believe it, but he would wrap Jake in a blanket and a hug, and would vow to protect him from any further extraterrestrial threats.

And Jake knew it, the smug jackass. He’d shmoozed Pete Maverick Mitchell from Day One.

Rooster reached up and caught a flailing hand and yanked. “Excuse us,” he muttered to their elders and pulled Jake into a fast walk, and ignored the sudden bursts of hysterical laughter in their wake.

Jake balked and dug his heels. “I was just tryin’ to-“

”-You’re coming with me and you’re gonna behave for the rest of the day, Jacob.”

”I fucking am behaving, Bradley, what the fuck?” Jake huffed behind him.

Rooster snorted incredulously and gesticulated wildly around him, at the aftermath of the chaos and mayhem Jake had inadvertently caused with his jealousy. He was honestly shocked there was nothing on fire in the parking lot, but the day was young, and Jake was still present.

They reached the kitchen stool under the awning that he’d been perched on earlier and rounded on Jake, his jaw tight in barely contained consternation.

Jake scowled meanly at him.

And that wouldn’t do at all. He just wanted - needed - to keep Jake safe, and out of trouble. Bradley hadn’t meant to truly upset him. He knew Jake hadn’t meant to cause this; it had been a freak accident caused by carelessness, and while Jake could be catty - bitchy - sometimes, he’d never intentionally cause any real harm to anyone, especially animals.

So, Bradley tried something. He’d wanted to try it for a while, but he’d never found the right opportunity. But today, dressed as he was, and with the coals already stoked red hot, might be the perfect time.

It was something new, something different, and he was suddenly nervous about how Jake would react. Still, though, he wanted to try. Wanted to introduce new things sometimes just to keep their relationship fresh and exciting. They neither one were terribly kinky people, preferring to keep things in the realm of sweet and loving and romantic, but every once in a while the bug would bite Bradley, and Jake always met his efforts with vigor and enthusiasm.

He hoped Jake would today, if only to keep him out of trouble until they could leave to go home.

He cocked his fire helmet low over his eyes and straightened up to his full height. The two inch difference between them wasn’t much to speak of but he used the slight advantage as best he could, and tilted his head back to look down his nose at him with a hooded, heated gaze.

Jake opened his mouth to continue arguing, but before he could utter more than an angry huff, Bradley - Rooster - reached up and grasped his chin with firm, gentle fingers and tugged, brought Jake’s face closer to his own, and used the brief, blessed silence that Jake was processing the sudden manhandling to look his husband in the eye with an easy smirk.

”Hey,” he said, low and raspy and coolly assertive just like he’d practiced, just for Jake’s ears to hear. “If you don’t straighten up, sweetheart, I’m gonna take you home and bend you over my knees and spank that bratty attitude right out of you.”

Any nerves he felt suddenly melted away, right along with Jake’s pout and the green in his eyes. He watched, fascinated, as his husband’s eyes dilated almost completely, the jittery oh, fuck he breathed out seemingly against his will had Rooster’s cocky smirk widening. Jake’s hands spasmed around his biceps, smearing the soot a little, but they were both beyond caring at that point.

He brought his hands to his husband’s waist and pressed his lips to Jake’s as he maneuvered him to sit on the stool behind him. Jake plopped down gracelessly and whined into his mouth, and Rooster grinned against his lips. He pulled back and breathed out a fond little chuckle at the adorably dumbstruck look on Jake’s pretty face. It wasn’t often he won the upper hand in their relationship, but when he did, Jake never failed to hand over the reins willingly and completely, and fell into his lead with such blind, implicit trust that it sometimes took Bradley’s breath away.

He raked a steady hand through Jake’s hair, and smiled at the little sigh that escaped him. “You’ve been a menace today, honey,” he said with a low, exasperated little laugh, “But that ends right now, okay? I want you to sit here quietly and watch me until I’m done. Can you do that for me, babydoll?”

The nod was small but the enthusiasm behind it was precious. He thumbed over Jake’s chin, swiped away a little soot he accidentally smeared on it, and waited for Jake to look up and meet his eyes. “You can sit here and be good for me, yeah?”

”Mhmm.”

He imagined how he looked in Jake’s point of view, rugged and handsome and confident, covered in soot and sweat and dressed like a veritable wet dream. Bradley knew Jake had a thing for this type - big and strong and capable and unapologetically virile. They had a pantry full of Brawny paper towels for a reason, and it wasn’t because of their absorption quality.

He figured he could lean into this character he was playing a little more, toe the line to see if he could get away with it, now that Jake had so ardently taken the bait. His fingers around Jake’s jaw bit into his skin a little more, not to hurt, never to hurt, just to make a point.

”Need you to use your words for me, sweet boy,” he rasped out warmly.

The green in Jake’s eyes disappeared almost completely, blown out black with lust. Bradley felt his throat spasm underneath his wandering fingers. “Fuck, baby.”

Not quite the words he was aiming for, but Bradley would take what Jake gave him. His big ol’ brain was quite obviously spiraling into a shutdown and reboot. His teeth were gnawing on that bottom lip of his again, and Rooster swiped at it with his thumb for him to let go before he drew blood. “Yeah, you’ll sit right here and be good for me, and keep those pretty eyes on me until I’m done, won’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Jake nodded again, small and sweet. “Yes. I will.”

”You’ll what?” Bradley was having a blast with this, and he appreciated Jake playing along with him.

Jake blinked up at him from his seat, eyes wide and blown and dewy. “I’ll be good for you, B.”

Bradley thought about pushing until he got a “sir”, but he knew that was likely never going to happen when Jake was in his right mind. Jake would probably sooner kick his ass than call him sir in this kind of situation, but the sentiment was there in his breathless voice, and Bradley loved him for it.

He didn’t know how couples did this kind of thing and took it seriously without falling into giggling fits all the time, but it was fun to pretend for a moment when he was dressed like a sexy firefighter.

He bent down and pressed a searing kiss to Jake’s lips once more, swallowing another whine escaping Jake’s mouth. “I know you will, angel. You’re my good boy.”

He smiled when Jake beamed up at him. “What are you gonna do if someone looks at me, or talks to me?”

Some of the jealous heat flared up behind Jake’s eyes again but he quelled it with a huff. “I’m…I’m gonna sit here and be good.”

”And quiet.”

”…and…and quiet, yes, B.”

”And what’ll happen if you don’t sit still and you don’t stay quiet?”

Jake squirmed on the stool, seemed uncomfortable, and Bradley grinned because he knew exactly why. “You’ll um… you’ll spank the attitude out of me.”

”That’s right, I’ll spank that brattiness right out of you.”

”Promise?”

”Jacob.”

Jake batted his eyelashes up at him and tried to look innocent. “I meant I promise, B. To be good.”

Jake could look innocent about as well as Bradley could pull off looking stern, which was to say, not very good at all. But they both tried their best. “Uh huh. Sure you did.”

”Where is my Harlequin Hunk?” An incensed voice shrieked somewhere behind them, startling them both. “I need my Harlequin Hunk, where is he?. Let’s get this shitshow done so I can go back to civilization! Bring me Bradie, people! Chop chop!”

Bradley watched Jake’s jaw tighten, his eyes narrow dangerously, but his hands flew down to the seat of the stool and gripped the edges like he was trying to physically hold himself down. He grinned, knowing just how much effort that took, and leaned down to plant a sweet kiss to the side of Jake’s pout. “Very good, Jake, you’re doing so well. That’s my good boy.”

Jake’s breath stuttered in his chest and his eyelids fluttered over eyes that glazed over for a moment.

“There you are, my Bradie!” Sinclair sang, and Bradley stifled a laugh when he felt Jake practically vibrating in his seat, fighting himself to keep still.

Bernard Sinclair strutted over to them, boots clomping loudly on the asphalt. “My dear Bradie, thank goodness you’ve escaped this fiasco unharmed and gorgeous still!”

Bradley’s hand came up and gently shoved Jake’s shoulder back down before he could stand up.

“I’ve saved the best for last, of course,” the photographer went on, blissfully unaware of the potential danger lurking beside him, “unfortunately my set is destroyed, so we’ll have to improvise, but fear not, I am a genius.” His arms flew out dramatically. “Come along, my beauty. Your… him,” he fluttered a dismissive hand in Jake’s direction, “can wait here.”

Rooster was having a hard time keeping a straight face. He knew Jake was about to blow a gasket, but quite shockingly, he stayed perched on the kitchen stool beside him, unnaturally still and unnaturally quiet, his hands clasped in his lap almost demurely.

He raked his fingers through Jake’s hair again, and felt him physically melt under his touch. “I’ll be back in a minute, sweet boy. Stay still and be good for me, okay?”

”I will, B.”

He couldn’t help the chuckle as he turned and followed the odd little photographer. He knew not to get used to Jake’s unquestioning, unerring compliance, but it was certainly nice while it lasted.

With the total destruction of the setup - and Sinclair’s slight obsession with him - Rooster’s shoot lasted twice as long as the others had. They’d had to search around for decent backgrounds, and the puppies were keyed-up from their little adventure across the parking lot, and most were too rambunctious and wiggly and uncooperative to hold onto, much less pose with, but they finally got a few shots in.

After twenty five minutes of arching and stretching and posing, and listening to Bernard Sinclair’s shrill instructions, Bradley was done with the entire process, and, charity or not, he wanted to abandon ship and go home.

He strutted up to his sweet husband, still perched prettily on the stool where Rooster had put him, and he couldn’t help the big goofy grin that stretched across his face when he saw him. After almost a half hour of sexy scowling, smiling felt good, and the way Jake perked up happily in his seat when he saw him had him positively beaming.

“Hey, sunshine,” he breathed into Jake’s neck, and pressed a kiss there. He pulled Jake up to his feet and he went willingly, and leaned into him quite naturally.

”Hi, handsome,” Jake replied, soft and sweet and husky. “Think you, um…” a finger trailed lightly up Rooster’s torso, and he shivered as Jake pressed his next words to his ear, “…think you need to bring that helmet home with you tonight, Lieutenant.”

Rooster felt his cheeks redden. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

“Again?”

“Mhmm. Think, um… think I might have been a little too much of a brat today, huh.”

Bradley grinned knowingly. “No, baby, you’re my sweet good boy, always.”

Jake huffed and glared at him. “No I fucking wasn’t, I was totally…completely horrible. Terrible, even. I think…I think I might need that punishment after all.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“Yeah. Yes, absolutely. You definitely need to teach me a lesson, B.”

Bradley let out a little laugh and began to walk away at a slow, easy gait. “I don’t think so, sweetheart, you didn’t do anything to deserve a punishment. I wouldn’t want to-“

“-You want a brat-” Jake rounded on him and stuck a finger into Bradley’s face, “-fine, I’ll give you a brat. You take me home and spank me like you said you would or I’m gonna go and fuckin’ find someone who will. I bet Hollywood or Cougar would be glad to show-“

In less than a second Jake was grunting and wheezing from Rooster’s naked shoulder digging into his abdomen, and he was dangling upside down in a fireman’s carry.

“Alright, doll face, now you’ve gone and done it.”

“That’s more fuckin like it,” he heard Jake grunt from behind him, and he squirmed on his shoulder to try to get more comfortable.

“Cap!” He shouted as he started for the parking lot, “I’m out!” His shift was almost over anyway, and with one big hand gripping a handful of Jake’s ass and the salacious grin stretching across his face, he made no effort to disguise what he was going home to do.

Mav slumped visibly and sighed, and waved him away like the nuisance he was. “You bring that gear back tomorrow or I’m writing your ass up, Bradley!”

Rooster threw an acknowledging wave behind him, and then pumped his fist in the air triumphantly at the whistles and catcalling from the others.

“My Jeep-“

”Nope,” Bradley said as he bypassed Jake’s Wrangler and headed for his Bronco. “Part of your punishment for being a jealous, destructive brat today is getting up early and bringing me to work in the morning.”

Jake whined and squirmed. “Baby, please.”

”You wanted a punishment, princess, I’m giving you one. Brats don’t get to choose their punishments, do they? No they don’t.”

He yanked the passenger door open, and flopped Jake into the seat with a startled oof, and bent down and kissed him soundly before he could start whining again. “But don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours, babydoll, I’m still gonna tear that sweet ass up. A couple ways, in fact.”

Jake blinked, then his nose scrunched, and his lips spasmed.

Bradley’s own lips pursed. “What?…Too much?”

Jake nodded with a wheezy little giggle. “Uh-huh, little bit, yeah.”

Bradley nodded, too. “Yeah, it didn’t sound right when I said it out loud.”

Jake grinned up at him, eyes shining happily. “I mean, the rest of it was hot as hell, though.”

”Yeah?”

”Fuck yeah,” Jake looked up at him, a bit sheepish, and reached up to run his fingers across Bradley’s sooty cheekbone. “Hey, and you know I was only kidding about the Hollywood and Cougar, thing, right? I was just caught up in the…in the thing. You know I’d never-“

Bradley silenced him with another kiss, deep and filthy this time. “That’s one thing I’ll never worry about in a billion years, honey. Besides, neither one of those geezers would know what to do with you. You’d scare the shit out of ‘em.”

Jake huffed out a laugh, his green eyes twinkling happily, and he jerked his head to the driver's seat with a wicked smirk. “Well, come on then Lieutenant Stud Muffin, this ass ain’t gonna tear itself up, is it?”

”Stop.” Bradley rolled his eyes and slammed the Bronco door to stifle Jake’s laughter.

And if he had to call Mav for a ride to work the next morning - because Jake, still boneless and sated and sore, had refused to get up early, and had said under no uncertain terms that he was driving the Bronco to the hospital for his shift - getting a chance to play Lieutenant Stud Muffin for a few hours was totally worth the awkward carpool.

Two months later

”Hey, baby, you got a package.” Jake huffed, out of breath, as he barged through the door juggling his work backpack, the mail, and the bag of takeout.

Bradley jumped from his perch at the breakfast bar and ran over to grab the food, and pressed a quick welcome-home kiss to his husband’s lips as he did. He’d just gotten home about a half hour ago, long enough for a shower and to change into his sweats, and he hadn’t even thought to check the mailbox on his mad dash into the house because he wasn’t expecting anything important.

”That’s weird,” he took the small, flat package addressed to “Rooster Bradshaw” out of Jake’s precarious grip and studied it dubiously. “I didn’t order anything, did you?”

Jake looked a bit sheepish. “Not anything that’s arriving today, no.”

Bradley huffed out an exasperated little laugh at Jake and his out-of-control online shopping habits.

He ripped open the little tab at the top and shook out the contents. A small slip of paper fell out onto the counter first. It was a handwritten note that Bradley read out loud:

Hope you don’t mind, I called your captain and got your home address to mail this to. Figured you wouldn’t want it at the firehouse haha! You two are gorgeous and hilarious. This is a little gift from all of us to you for the laughs and for not killing Bernard - he’s an ass, but as you can clearly see, he’s also a genius. (December is mine!) Hope to get to shoot you guys again someday! Xoxo - Marta (the one with the spiked collar)

Jake had taken the package from him as he read and pulled out the gift. It was a calendar, but it wasn’t the one they’d already received a copy of the week before when Cougar had handed them out at the station. That one had featured a group photo for the front cover, Rooster, the only one completely uncovered from the waist up, had still been the focal point as he leaned into a steel-faced Javy. That calendar had also featured Rooster in two different months: February, posed with Bobby and Payback, with puppies in each arm amid a stylized background of rose petals, and December, which featured only Rooster with a soft little smile, holding a tiny dachshund pup in his hands, big red photoshopped gift bows perched on both their heads.

Jake already had that one meticulously cut out and framed on their bedroom wall.

This calendar, for some reason, only had Rooster posing on the cover.

His head was down, the helmet covering the top half of his face, only his mustache and the sexy little smirk quirking his lips were visible. One of his flexed arms was up, gripping the helmet to keep it at that rakish angle, and the other was gripping a fire axe down by his hip. Smoke rippled around his toned, gorgeous torso, the scar on his abdomen prominent and so fucking sexy.

Jake’s brain bluescreened.

Bradley flipped the pages of the calendar, intrigued. Every month featured only Rooster in a different pose, some with puppies, others with nothing or with a prop, but in all of them he looked good enough to eat. At least to Jake he did.

“Holy shit,” Bradley couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “I’m hot as fuck!”

“Been tellin’ you that for years, babe.” Jake’s mouth was watering by the time they reached July.

August featured two puppies; Rooster held the two little chocolate lab mixes close to his face, and he was smiling, sweet and genuine instead of sultry posing. His big brown cow eyes crinkled happily at the corners, and knocked the actual puppy eyes on the photo out of the park.

Jake was squirming where he stood when they reached October - Rooster splayed out on display against the brick wall of the station building, his arms stretched above him and the turnout pants slung scandalously low as he thrust his hips out away from the wall and toward the camera.

Jake wanted to gnaw on those hip bones.

“Aww,” Bradley cooed sweetly as he flipped to December, and held it up to show Jake. “That’s…this is adorable, honey. This one’s goin’ on the wall, too.”

It was a photo of him, a candid he didn’t even realize had been taken. It was a close up of Jake snuggling up to the tiny orange and white puppy he’d loved so much, the smile on his face so sweet and endearing that it shocked him a little bit. He didn’t think his face was capable of such sincerity, but there it was, captured on film.

Well, digitally.

Below Jake’s face was a sticky note with a phone number to the animal shelter and the identification number for the puppy Jake held. he’s still at the shelter! was scribbled under it with a shakily drawn winking face.

“We…we can’t get a dog right now,” Jake said. “Can we?”

”We’ve got such busy schedules," Bradley replied lightly.

“Yeah,” Jake breathed out, a little wistful and bittersweet as he ran a thumb over the puppy in the photo. “It’d be crazy.”

”Absurd.”

”Really stupid.”

”Totally.”

”Yeah,” Jake sighed, shoulders drooping a little, and shook the thoughts out of his head. “I’m gonna go take a shower, and then we’re gonna eat, and then,” he drew a sultry finger down Bradley’s bare abdomen as he passed, “Lieutenant Sexy Pants is gonna make a return appearance, ‘kay?”

”T-thought he was Lieutenant Stud Muffin,” he tripped over his words stupidly, all the blood in his brain already beginning its rush south.

”Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn what his name is, long as he does that thing with his tongue again. And bring that calendar when you come up, please.”

Bradley grinned and adjusted his sweatpants, and watched Jake hop up the stairs with a newfound spring in his steps. When he was gone, he looked at the photo of Jake again, at the little puppy that had seemed so enamored with his husband.
When he heard the shower turn on he slipped out his cell phone and dialed the number on the note attached.

“Hey,” he said when the call connected, “my name’s Bradley, I’m one of the firefighters from the calendar shoot a couple months ago. I’m calling about the little white puppy, ID number six three seven seven four two. Is he still available for adoption?…He is? Can you put him on hold for me? I can pick him up tomorrow morning if that’s okay…Great!…Thanks a lot, see you then!”

They’d see. If it didn’t work, they’d find the puppy a good home - maybe with Mav and Ice since Ice was talking about retiring soon - but they’d see if they could work it out.

Besides, an adorable surprise puppy would be just the little muse Jake needed to test out the new camera Bradley had secretly stowed away at his godparent’s house until his birthday next week.

Bradley smiled, raked his hands through his damp curls and jumped up and down in place for a moment to loosen up his limbs. He shoved the takeout bag in the fridge and then bounded up the stairs, the calendar flopping in his grip.

Lieutenant Sexy Stud Muffin or whatever the hell his name is was reporting for duty early tonight.