Sunday, December 9, 2012

Frosty Fiction: Sam/Gus

“What’s your position on the Nutcracker Suite?”

Sam’s head swiveled to look at him, the low growl barely audible. “Why?”

Gus grinned, slow and lazy. God, they hadn’t fought in so long. “Come on, Puss. You’re a dancer. Were you the mouse?”

“I was a choreographer, you animal, not a ballet dancer.”

He pouted, making sure it was as dramatic as possible. “No tutu?”

This time the growl was louder. “No?”

“Not even for me, Puss?”

The toe of a pair of boots whipped toward him, just barely touching his balls. “Let’s discuss nut cracking, Sweet.”

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