Notes: Set sometime in the future. Lucy, Garcia, and Wyatt are in a polyfidelitous relationship. Translation: the three of them are romantically involved and are faithful to each other. They also live together. It's Wyatt's turn to make dinner. What could go wrong?

Warning: Nothing graphic, but don't read if you object to the idea of three adults being romantically involved.

Your Hands Can Heal; Your Hands Can Bruise

Thunder boomed. Startled, Wyatt missed the carrot he'd been slicing. The knife bit into the tip of his index finger. "Shit!" He dropped the knife on the cutting board with a clatter and brought his finger to his mouth.

A chair scraped. Garcia set his reading glasses on the dining table, then approached Wyatt. "Stop sucking it," he said. "You're not a vampire."

"Screw you, Flynn."

With a long-suffering sigh, he grasped Wyatt's hand. "I'm sure you will," he muttered. The grooves bracketing his mouth deepened as he squinted at the cut. "It's deep," he said, nodding, and flashed Wyatt a serious look belied by the glimmer of laughter in his eyes, "but I think you will live." His lips twitched at the edges. If that crooked half-smile filled Wyatt's chest with a hazy sense of contentment, well, no one had to know - least of all the too-tall, too-obnoxious, and definitely too-handsome man who was the bane of his existence.

Wyatt stuck out his tongue. "Buddy, you need to work on your bedside manner."

Garcia smirked and passed him a kitchen towel. "Keep pressure on it; I'll get a bandage and ointment."

Wyatt did as directed, groaning as the towel made contact with his cut. "Lucy's going to kill me for bleeding all over the fancy towel she just bought last weekend." "Boys, this is why we can't have nice things," he pictured her saying.

Shrugging, Garcia took the stairs two at a time. "We'll buy her a new one," he called over his shoulder.

When he returned, Garcia washed the wound, applied ointment, and bandaged it neatly. "Sit."

"No." Wyatt huffed. "I'm not a dog."

Holding Wyatt's hand in both of his own, Garcia pressed a kiss to his palm. "I know...moj štene."

Wyatt ignored the flutter of heat in his belly and narrowed his eyes at Flynn. "What did you just call me?"

"Puppy," Garcia said, green eyes dancing with mirth. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips. "My puppy."

"Like that makes it any better," Wyatt shot back, trying his best to sound aggrieved. He flicked Garcia with the discarded towel. "Asshole."

Laughing, Garcia held up his hands and danced away, then waltzed back, all long legs, sharp edges, and swagger, drawing Wyatt into his arms before skimming a barely-there, wholly unsatisfying kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Yes, but your asshole, no?"

"Yeah, yeah, my asshole," he grumbled, turning his face for a real kiss. "Lucy's, too."

Flynn hummed in agreement against Wyatt's mouth.

"We need to order dinner. Lucy'll be home soon." A sigh escaped Wyatt as Flynn's breath whispered near his ear. "So much for my beef stew," he muttered, trying to hold onto the thoughts that threatened to scatter as Flynn gently scraped his nails against his scalp.

Rain lashed the windows, but Wyatt stood safe and warm in the kitchen that was the heart of the house the three of them were learning to make their home.

"Dinner can wait," Garcia murmured. "Shhh." He nipped at Wyatt's lips, then took away any resulting pain with a stroke of his tongue. He walked Wyatt backward until he was pressed against the kitchen island, trapped between the proverbial rock and a very hard place. "Talk. Talk. Talk." He peppered Wyatt's face with kisses. "Too much talking. Be quiet. Can't you see I'm soothing your wounded pride, moj štene?"

Wyatt couldn't help the shiver that arced up his spine. His hands fisted in the butter-soft cotton of the old black t-shirt Flynn wore. "OK," he finally whispered, surrendering to the feel of Garcia's warm, long-fingered hands on his face and his soft lips teasing anything he could reach. "...Asshole."

Garcia's quiet laugh rumbled in his chest, and Wyatt grinned in triumph. He'd clearly gotten the last word - this time.