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Well, well, well. Looks like the Greeks and Romans weren’t the only ones who knew howto enjoythemselves in ancient times. Who knew the Egyptians were raging nymphomaniacs?

Clay angled his head and squinted at the TV, trying to get a better idea of the graphic displayed across his wide screen. He choked as the drink of beer went down the wrong tube.

Apparently, they knew how to have a very good time.

The screen showed a digital reconstruction of the Turin Erotic Papyrus, and if he was not mistaken, that was a woman fucking herself on a crude dildo. He hoped the images were not lifelike, otherwise men today had quite literally gotten the short end of the stick.

Clay flipped channels when the intellectuals started posturing about the symbolism behind the images and all that jazz. Thecolorful images on the flat screen flew by, his mind unable to settle on something to watch. He knew he stalled, awaiting Logan's arrival. Clay had the day off, but Logan's shift didn't end until eight that night.

Following Jack's recommendation to the higher-ups, Logan secured a position with the Crime Lab based out of headquarters. He’d been working for four months now, and each day, Clay saw more and more of the old Logan shining through the smoky blue eyes he loved. He heard it in the rich laugh that often echoed in the apartment. Logan hadn’t had a flashback in almost three months, the longest period yet. Maybe, just maybe, the demons were being put to rest.

Clay jumped as the front door banged open. He snatched his sidearm from the ottoman's compartment and spun to face the intruder. His jaw dropped when he spotted Logan just inside the door.

“Jesus, fuck, Logan! I could have shot you!”

Logan slammed the door shut and stormed past Clay into the spare bedroom. No words of greeting came from Logan’s lips. He hadn’t even looked Clay in the eyes. The door to the spare room closed with a heavy thud. They'd transformed the space from Logan's old bedroom to a home gym over the winter.

Something must have happened to Logan at work to make him so agitated. Clay let him burn off some steam before approaching the bear in his cave. When Logan got into these moods, the best thing was to give him some time to cool off before confronting the issue. The issue could be one of many. Had Logan had another panic attack or flashback and was angry at the loss of control? Clay didn’t think he’d had a session with Matt that day. Even if Logan had met Matt, all the psychiatrist could tell Clay was that anything Matt and Logan had discussed in session was doctor/patient confidentiality. Of course, Logan might have simply endured a shitty day at work.

Clay paced for another thirty minutes. Finally, he’d had enough of the silent treatment. He marched over to the closed door and opened it without knocking. His eyes bugged out at the sight that greeted him.

Logan worked at the bench press. His legs straddled the padded bench. His bare, sweaty chest expanded as he heaved the bar full of weights above his head over and over. Logan wore nothing except a pair of red gym shorts. Clay knew Logan wore an athletic support beneath the skimpy shorts, but the thin material left little to the imagination.

Logan’s musky scent filled the air and sent Clay into full mating mode. His fingers tingled with the need to touch all the glorious skin bare before him, and he wanted to tongue the stiff nipples peaked with the adrenaline and endorphins coursing through Logan’s body as a result of his workout. However, before they could give into their carnal desires, Clay had to find out what had set Logan off.

Clay entered the room and moved over to the equipment. He straddled Logan’s hips and lifted the bar from his lover’s grasp, then placed it in the supports.

Jesus fuck that's heavy.

He peaked at the discs attached to the bar. Logan was up to 250 pounds. No wonder Clay's arms burned. Granted, he was curling, not pressing the bar, but still. Logan made a move to push Clay back, but Clay sat, pinning Logan to the bench. He ground down on Logan’s trapped cock as he settled into a comfortable position. Logan stared at him with one eyebrow raised, but remained in a prone position on the bench.

“Fess up,” Clay said.

Logan crossed his arms and continued to stare at him. Clay realized that Logan didn’t have his processors on and felt like slapping himself on the forehead. He knew Logan always took them off when working out because of the sweat.

He pointed down at Logan, knowing the man could read his lips. “Stay.”

Scanning the room for the devices, he saw them perched in the case sitting on the dresser, where they kept their workout gear and extra towels. He snagged them and went back to the bench press. Clay placed the processors behind Logan’s ears, slid the magnets over his skull ‘til they secured to the implants and switched on the devices. When he finished, he placed a soft kiss on Logan’s pursed lips.

“Now speak.”

“What am I? A damn dog? Stay. Speak. What’s next roll over?”

Clay licked his lips and slowly let his eyes rove over Logan’s sculpted, tantalizing body. When he once again met Logan’s eyes, he saw the mirroring flare of desire within their blue depths. “We’ll get to that. For now, why don’t you tell me what has you so worked up?”

Logan rocked himself up into a sitting position. “It’s just stuff at work. Nothing major.”

Clay straddled the bench again. He sat facing Logan. “Logan, you can talk to me. You know that. It doesn’t matter if it’s big or small. I’ll listen.”

Logan leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Clay’s lips. “I know you will, baby. Sometimes, I’m afraid that I take advantage of that too often. You know I’m willing to be a sounding board for you, too, right? If you need to get something off your chest or talk about something bothering you on a case, I’d listen, you know?”

“Of course you would. I never doubted that. Now stop procrastinating.”

Logan sighed and looked down at the padded vinyl seat. “Something happened in the lab today. I was logging in a Beretta M9A1 that was seized on a drug raid. The detectives had reason to believe the weapon may have been used in a murder earlierin the week. So I was to test fire the weapon and do a striations match to the bullet collected from the victim. I stood at the microscope when some detective came up behind me. He started talking before getting my attention, and when I turned around to ask him to repeat, he got all indignant and started talking shit.”

“What kind of shit?”

“Oh you know … ‘Deafanddumb, Callen? A fifth grader watching crime shows can answer my questions better than you. You couldn’t even get a job on your own. Had to ask that cock bandit you live with to set you up, didn’t you?'”