MJ arched an eyebrow, peered over at Sonny who was sitting on the deck, baking in the sun. "Hmm?"
"The romance is gone. You haven’t tried to shoot me in well over a month."
MJ frowned, adjusted his sunglasses. "I bought you an Impala."
"Uh-huh. And that sweet cherry Thunderbird, but still…"
"I’m not ass-fucking you with my piece, Sunshine. If you’re bored, we’ll dock somewhere and buy tinsel. You can decorate the fucking boat." It was a reasonable compromise. Sonny always got a little weird around the holidays. Inherent Christian guilt or something.
"Can I tattoo a Christmas tree on your dick?"
He thought about it. "No."
"That’s me. I will let you tattoo a star."
"On your dick?"
He nodded. "Means I can’t fuck you ’til it heals."
"You can bottom. It’ll be incentive." Sonny hopped up, all grins. "I’ll get everything ready, then we’ll dock and make with the jingle bells."
MJ rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Fa la fucking la."
MJ and Sonny start their story in Racing the Moon.