Fish & Chips (Cut & Run 3)

McCoy had scheduled him for a “gentleman"s” treatment at a spa, where he"d been soaked and massaged, had his unruly hair cut in a more refined style so he could use this funky paste to slick it back, had his eyebrows waxed and plucked, of all things, and even had a deep-cleansing facial, where the woman had poked and prodded at his skin with a little metal tool for what had seemed like hours. It had been one of the weirdest and most painful things Zane could have imagined. It would be, he figured, a great interrogation tool.

And the ear piercing had stung like a bitch.

Now he was sleek. Polished. He"d had a manicure, so his hands looked neater, less experienced in brawling. And a pedicure, which had actually felt pretty damn good. But the biggest change wasn"t immediately visible. Zane turned around so his back was to the mirror and looked over his shoulder, lifting his shirttails and pushing down the waistband of his dress pants to expose skin.

A graceful twisted vine tattoo spread across his lower back from hip to hip, just below his waist, dipping down to the crack of his ass in an inverted triangle of stark black, simple, striking lines. It wasn"t real, of course, but the effect was still the same. He wondered what Ty would think about it. Ty seemed to love his own tattoo, but the leering Marine bulldog with its smoking guns was definitely more Ty"s style than this more graceful design.

Sighing, Zane let his shirt fall. It was already open down the front, unbuttoned, exposing his chest. He hadn"t bothered to put his undershirt back on after the massage at the spa. He"d been in the process of getting ready for bed when he"d been arrested by the strange sight of himself in the mirror. He started to pull the shirt off his shoulders, but he heard a key in the front door and moved out into the hallway on bare feet, listening as someone entered the apartment. It could only be Ty; he was the only person Zane had ever given a key, and Zane never left a door unlocked. When Zane peered around the corner, though, a stranger stood there. It took him a little too long to realize it was Ty after all, and Zane was glad he didn"t have his gun in hand.

“Don"t shoot me,” Ty said in a flat, tired voice, obviously thinking exactly the same thing Zane had been. He began to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt as he walked closer, tossing pieces of his clothing haphazardly to the floor and furniture as he approached Zane.

“Are you just getting done with the—”

“Yes,” Ty muttered as he yanked his tie off. His shirt fell open as he bent and pulled off his shoes.

Zane looked over the long, tan body before him, his brows rising slowly the more he took in. The people at the spa had done the works on his normally scruffy partner. He was Ty, but… not. He was clean-shaven for the first time in months, and his short hair had been bleached an unnatural white-blond. It stood straight up, as if offended by its new color. Ty"s entire body looked retouched, his tanned skin shinier, smoother—and likely softer—than it had ever been. His well-defined chest was devoid of its usual dusting of dark hair, and the effect made him sleeker.

Zane wasn"t sure what he thought of the hair, but the rest of Ty was a walking wet dream.

Which was… hysterical, really. Zane blinked several times and pressed his lips together hard.

“Go ahead. Get it out of your system,” Ty invited as he tossed his dress shirt at the couch. He waved his hand at his newly waxed chest.

Zane let the smile loose. “You look….” He crossed his arms and shook his head. “Different,” he settled on, trying to not laugh outright.

“Yeah? Well, you look sleazy,” Ty told him with a smirk as he looked Zane up and down critically. He took a few slow steps, circling Zane as he sized him up.

Tipping his head to one side as Ty walked around him, Zane lifted one shoulder in a defensive shrug. “It"s the gel they put in my hair.”

Ty shook his head, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he tried not to smirk. “No,” he drew out. “Something else.”

Zane waited, sure that Ty would enlighten him. “You look airbrushed,” he observed once Ty stopped in front of him. “Like in a skin mag.”

Ty lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, looking Zane in the eye as he mulled over a response. “Yeah,” he finally said slowly. His lips curved into a wicked grin. His hazel eyes seemed almost neon-green with the platinum-blond hair accenting them. “But I make this shit look good.”

Zane raised an eyebrow as he pointed at Ty and twirled his finger.

Ty clucked his tongue. He raised both arms to the sides, holding them out as he turned in a slow half-circle. The muscles of his shoulders and back were, as always, well-defined as he stood with his arms raised. The flex of Ty"s bicep drew Zane"s attention to the unblemished skin. It was odd not seeing the tattoo on Ty"s shoulder, but Zane was too distracted by the rest of him to ask about it. Ty turned his chin to look over his shoulder at Zane, and Zane could see a smirk on his lips. Ty never flaunted himself, not that Zane had ever seen anyway, but the man had a mirror. He wasn"t immune to a little cockiness, not when it was well-deserved.

“The word that comes to mind is „beefcake",” Zane drawled, looking Ty over, appreciating the view.

“Mission accomplished, then!” Ty said happily as he turned to face Zane again. He frowned suddenly. “Is beefcake one word or two?”

Zane laughed. “Who cares when you"ve got a great ass?”

Ty narrowed his eyes. “I"m not used to you being the brains of the operation,” he murmured. “You know what I think we need? I think we need some practice.”

“I wonder if I should be insulted,” Zane posed, narrowing his eyes as he set his hands on his hips. “I"m the one with a degree in statistics,” he reminded.

“You"d seriously rather argue credentials than f**k me?” Ty asked with an incredulous laugh.

“Well, if you"d said that,” Zane said as he took a couple of steps closer to Ty.

Ty took a step back and put his hand on Zane"s chest, raising one eyebrow playfully as he used the other hand to point at himself. Zane now saw that Ty"s usually callused hands and fingers were now well-manicured and relatively smooth, making the newest scar on his hand even more noticeable. “Hold your horses, Lone Star. Are you calling me stupid?”

“No way. I have a sense of self-preservation,” Zane said as he set his hands on Ty"s hips, their chests brushing.

Ty bit his lip and sucked air through his teeth, raising his chin as if considering what Zane had just said. “Since when?” he finally asked softly.