Greg loved it when Dixie played dumb.
Dixie playing dumb was Dixie with a drawl thicker than molasses, and that made Greg want to devour him.
Thankfully, Dixie tasted far better than molasses.
He stood leaning against the counter of the auto parts store, listening with a barely-smothered grin as Dixie kicked the ‘I’m I dumb hick’ routine up another notch. Honestly, what did it say about his boyfriend that he liked screwing with people so much?
Personally he thought it said what it had always said – that Dixie wasn’t stupid, and that if people were going to assume he was just because he fit the image of what people considered stupid, they got exactly what they deserved.
He laughed out loud as the chattering in the shop abruptly died, and the clerk at the counter stared at Dixie with an expression that was four parts dumbfounded, three parts pissed off, and three parts reluctant admiration.
Dixie nodded his head and took the boxes of strange and mysterious car parts and garage stuff from the counter. “Y’all take now, hear?”
Greg was still laughing as he fell into step alongside his boyfriend, smiling up at him. “Hey, sexy.”
“You look an awful lot like a kitty whose been in the cream.”
“Mm, cream,” Greg said, and reached out wrap his hand around Dixie’s arm to stop him, loving the feel of muscle flexing beneath his hand. Deep drawl and built like a gladiator. Hell, yes, he wanted cream. He reached up and stole a brief but firm kiss, licking Dixie’s lips briefly as he pulled away.
“Bad kitty,” Dixie drawled, but to judge by the smirk it wasn’t a reprimand in the slightest. “What are you doing here? Didn’t think to be seeing the likes of you ’til tonight. Didn’t get beat up again, did you?” He looked Greg carefully up and down.
Greg made a face. “No, I did not get beat up. I can take care of myself, asshole. It wasn’t my side that lost the war, was it?”
Dixie rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Yankee. You obviously cruising for some sort of bruising, and I’m fixing to give it to you if you don’t quit that war crap. Y’all cheated. Mama said so, it must be true. Get my keys out.”
Laughing, Greg stole another kiss as he shoved his hands into the front pockets of Dixie’s jeans, searching thoroughly before finally grabbing the keys.
“You in for a whoopin’ when we get home, Yankee,” Dixie said, but his drawl was getting even thicker now, eight syllables where normally he only used six, and it was a good thing they were at the car because his thorough searching had the intended effect upon Dixie.
Greg unlocked the trunk, then bolted away to get in the car before Dixie could catch him.
Dixie glared as he slid into the driver’s seat. “All set for you job tomorrow, Yankee?”
“Yep,” Greg said. “Finished the last of my prep work early, even with quadruple checking. I had some free time, so I went shopping. Bought you some presents.”
“Oh?” Dixie asked.
“Mm,” Greg said, smirking. “Except you can’t have the one in it entirety for a few weeks.”
Dixie narrowed his eyes. “You up to something.”
“I’m trying to get laid,” Greg said, and snatched up one of Dixie’s hands, pressing it to his chest.
“Good Kitty,” Dixie rumbled, voice a bit on the rough side now, as he fondled Greg’s chest through his t-shirt – where he now had a second nipple ring to match the one he’d already had.
Greg took his hand away. “Yes, good kitty.” He turned around to retrieve the bag he’d put in the car earlier, and pulled out his purchase, turning back and plopping the Stetson down on Dixie’s head.
“You ain’t right, Yankee. Drunk butterflies ain’t got nothin’ on the likes of you.” Dixie shook his head and took the black hat off, looking at it.
He was smiling a bit, though, a combination of amusement and affection, and carefully set the cowboy hat aside before he leaned over to kiss Greg nice and slow and thorough. “Thanks, kitty. Ready to go home?”
“Yes,” Greg said. “I have plans involving a certain cowboy.”
“I ain’t no cowboy,” Dixie complained, but he didn’t bother to thin out his accent as they drove home.