You’re not coming here.

Logan was in for a rude surprise if he thought Tate was going to let him in, and an even ruder one if he thought he was going to come in any way, shape, or form near him until he apologized.

Logan: Be ready.

“Unbelievable,” Tate sputtered, reaching down for the tequila.

Fuck you.

Not ten seconds later, there was a loud pounding on the door that startled him as his phone lit up. Looking down at it, Tate read a reply that made his buzzed brain take notice and his traitorous cock stiffen.

Logan: No, Tate. I’m gonna fuck you.

“Open the door!” Logan called out.

Tate stood, making his way—one foot in front of the other—to the door. “Go away, Logan. I don’t wanna talk to you,” Tate called out, leaning against the wood as he raised the bottle back to his lips.

“That’s too damn bad because I have a lot to say to you.”

Bringing the bottle down by his leg, Tate closed his eyes. “Then, say it.”

There was a long pause, and then Logan’s voice, softer this time, vibrated through the door. “This morning at my office—”

“Yes, Lo-gan—” Tate half-sang through the door.

“Are you drinking?”

Again, Tate repeated, “Yes, Lo-gan.”

“Open the door, and say that to me,” Logan demanded, calmer this time around.

Tate rolled his shoulders along the door until he was resting his left side up against it. “And why would I do that?”

He heard a thump and wondered if Logan had used his fist or his head to hit the door. “Open the fucking door, Tate.”

“Apologize,” Tate countered, determined to hear the words.

“Open the door, and I will,” Logan argued back.

Sighing, Tate knew they were at an impasse. He unlatched the dead bolt, turned the lock, and opened the door. Logan was standing there, with his arms stretched out, bracing him against the door frame, with his jacket parted and his tie falling forward.

Guy’s all fucking sex, Tate thought as he stared at the eyes behind the glasses.

Being this close to Logan with only his jeans—oh shit, they’re Logan’s jeans—between them, was not going to help him resist the man in front of him. So, as soon as Logan dropped his hands off the frame, Tate raised the bottle to his lips and downed more of the smooth, warm alcohol, trying to keep some distance between them.

“You going to let me in?” Logan asked.

Tate had a feeling that statement meant a lot more than permission into his apartment.

“You going to apologize?”

Logan ran a hand along his jaw. “You want me to do this here?”

Taking another drink as he thought about it, Tate scratched a hand over his naked chest, and then he moved it down to the button on his jeans. “Yeah, I think I do,” he agreed, and then blamed the alcohol when he added, “Down on your knees. That’s where most people grovel.”

* * *

 Logan managed to keep his mouth from falling open—barely—as the words Tate had just spoken made it to his brain.

Glancing at the bottle of tequila in Tate’s hand, Logan questioned much more calmly than he felt, “How full was that?”

Tate lifted the quarter-empty bottle and shrugged. “Unopened. Why?”

“I’m just thinking about how brave you’re being,” Logan drawled out suggestively.

“Maybe I should always be drinking around you then.”

Logan reached up to loosen his tie. “No doubt. Now, what exactly is the criteria for me to get into your place? Me on my knees, apologizing, right?”

Tate dipped his head forward and gave Logan a confident leer. “That’s right.”

Looking up and down the narrow hall he was standing in, Logan lowered down to his knees in the doorway and had to admit that the game, which was most definitely on, was making him horny as hell.

Tate took a step back from the door and then another before he stopped, widened his legs, and unbuttoned the top of his jeans. Logan’s mouth practically watered as he remembered exactly what Tate did not have on under the denim he’d borrowed this morning.

“Tate…”

Tate focused his eyes on him and unzipped his jeans. The cocky shit is going to tease me to death. When I finally get my hands on him, he is in so much trouble.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?” Tate urged as he slowly pushed his hand into his jeans.

Logan was finding it difficult to concentrate, as he remained kneeling in place. “For being an ass.”

Tate moved his hand around behind the material, and then he pulled his erection up straight with a relieved groan. It was visible through the open zipper, and Logan wanted it. He wanted it so bad that he was close to crawling across the floor and begging for it, but why crawl when—

“And…”

And? There’s supposed to be more? Logan thought and then decided, Enough is enough. Moving to his feet, he took a step inside, and he was satisfied when Tate did nothing to stop him.

Shutting the door with a loud slam, Logan loosened his tie further and pulled it over his head before throwing it to the floor. Game on. It was his turn to hunt.

This time, it was he who was stalking Tate, and if Tate knows what is good for him, he’ll run and hide. Or at least, he would run if he didn’t want to be caught and attacked because that was exactly what was about to happen.

Something must have triggered Tate’s flight response because he started to slowly back up, and that only made this all the more fun in Logan’s opinion.

“Where are you going? I thought you wanted me to elaborate.” Logan shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the ground.

“Not going anywhere,” Tate told him stubbornly, the alcohol making him slightly less aware of the calculation in Logan’s eyes.

“You sure look like you’re going somewhere,” he pointed out as he pulled his shirt from his pants and started to undo the buttons one by one.

Tate stopped by his kitchen table and placed the bottle on it. “I’m still angry at you. It’s going to take more than that half-assed apology before you’re forgiven.”

Logan yanked his shirt open after becoming impatient with the small buttons, and removed it as he stopped in front of Tate and threw it on the table, next to the bottle of tequila. Swiftly, he took Tate’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, I figured as much since you’re pretty much buzzing and still drinking.”

“Yeah, well, you’re enough to make anyone drink,” Tate fired back, surly as hell.

“Is that right?” Logan asked with a curl to his lip.

He didn’t know what this said about him, but this was the attitude he loved on Tate, and he hadn’t seen it for a while. It was pissed-off, it was confident, and as his eyes remained locked with Logan’s, it was arrogant as fuck.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not going to give in until you really mean it.”

Logan couldn’t help the taunting laugh that escaped him as he took Tate’s bottom lip between his teeth. Pulling it out and then letting it go, he ran his tongue over it and tasted the tequila as he promised, “Well, we’ll just have to see who gives in first, won’t we?”

He covered Tate’s mouth in a furious mating of lips as he pushed his free hand down into Tate’s open jeans. As Logan’s fingers curled around Tate’s hard cock, Logan felt him shudder, and he smirked against his mouth.

“I’m going to make you tremble so fucking bad, your knees are gonna give way.”

Tate breathed heavily against his mouth and challenged, “Bet you can’t.”

Letting go of Tate’s chin, Logan cupped the back of his head and twisted strong fingers into his hair. Pulling Tate’s head back, Logan sucked on his neck and throat and then licked over Tate’s Adam’s apple where he promised, “I will, or I’ll die trying.”

A harsh moan left Tate as Logan worked the responsive flesh in his hand and then kissed Tate’s jaw. He bit it gently, and then with a tinge of desperation, he pleaded with the man, “Say you forgive me, say we’re fine.”

“No,” Tate refused.

Logan could see how this was going to play out. He just wondered who would win.

“Okay, if you won’t forgive me, then at least let me taste you.”

Logan released both hands from Tate’s body as he dropped down onto his knees and quickly pulled the jeans to Tate’s thighs. As soon as the denim revealed what he wanted, Logan went for it.

Wrapping his arms around Tate’s legs, Logan kneaded his ass cheeks and nuzzled into Tate’s groin, reveling in the scent that hit his nose. Exhaling slowly, Logan looked up to see Tate staring down at him.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Oh, are you? Logan thought as he circled the base of Tate’s erection and dragged his tongue from the root of the shaft to the tip.

When he got to the head of the thick erection, Logan licked the slit, and Tate’s fingers found his hair and grabbed on as he tongued the sensitive glans.

“Come on, Logan. Suck it. You know you’re dying to,” Tate ordered.

Logan would be damned if that demand didn’t ramp up his urge to take Tate, that much more. But first—first, he was going to drive Tate fucking crazy.

Running his hand down Tate’s ass cheek, he brought it around the front of his thigh and up between to cup his full and heavy balls. As soon as he was cradling them, he squeezed and glanced up to see Tate fixated on him. Feeling a smirk cross his lips, Logan rose up on his knees and bent his head over him.