Written by Rachel
"There has got to be something really, really wrong about this," Tim said
as he snuggled under the flannel-covered down comforter.
"You think?" his companion answered.
"Well, I don't usually use funerals as pick-up places," Tim responded.
"Well, I use them all the time," Bernie replied, pulling Tim closer.
Tim chuckled and pressed his lips to Bernie's, sliding his tongue deeper
It had started innocently enough. Tim had gone with Munch to pick out a
coffin for Crosetti. The instant he had entered the room filled with
coffins, he knew. There was a magnetism between him and Bernie Munch that
was not to be denied. He had managed to hold it in while John and Bernie
dickered over price, but as soon as he had a chance that afternoon he snuck
back to the mortuary under the pretense of checking on the coffin liner.
"John asked me to make sure you were using the silk and linen liner," Tim
said as he sidled up along the mahogany box. Tim managed to keep away any
thoughts of the drowned, bloated Crosetti residing in the box.
"Of course I'm using the linen. What does that schmuck take me for?"
Bernie asked as he cocked his head toward Tim. "So, John never mentioned me?"
"Well, we don't work together much, but we are buying the bar together..."
"Ah yes, the bar. John's little side enterprise. Did he tell you that he
borrowed that money from our mother? Took it right from her retirement
nest egg. Typical. John has never taken care of himself, always willing
to let others shoulder the burden. The wives...I don't need to say any
more," Bernie responded.
"And you? A string of ex-wives as well?" Tim asked, leaning back on the
coffin. The box wobbled slightly on its frame. He jumped away.
"Sorry, I don't usually have people leaning on them," Bernie said as Tim
turned to make sure he had not knocked the coffin over. "Perhaps we should
adjourn to the parlor."
Bernie led Tim into a softly lit parlor. There was a closed coffin at the
far end of the room.
"You expecting company?" Tim asked.
"We'll lay Mrs. Horowitz out this evening. The mourners won't show for a
couple of hours," Bernie replied, leering at Tim.
"So, we're alone?" Tim asked.
Bernie nodded, pushing Tim down onto a love seat.
"So, you were telling me about your wives," Tim said, watching Bernie as he
loosened his tie.
"I was going to tell you that I never married. Unlike my more unfortunate
older brother I've never had much use for women. I prefer to find my
pleasure in...other venues. You get?"
Tim nodded. Bernie leaned in and began kissing him.
Tim sat up slightly as Bernie pulled away. "You ever, do it...you know, in
"I don't mix business and pleasure, Detective Bayliss," the mortician
"Huh, well, I just wondered what it might be like..." His response cut-off
as Bernie reached in his pants and throttled his prostate.
"After I make the cemetery run, you got plans?" Bernie asked under his
breath as Tim reached for another cookie.
"My place. That funeral home creeps me out...sorry," Tim responded.
Bernie nodded. "Give me about an hour."
Tim groaned slightly as he dropped onto the bed.
"Something wrong?" Bernie asked.
"Oh, it's my back. I hurt it once rappelling, but today...you got a guy in
the water for a few hours and he weighs a ton in the coffin. I don't know
how Howard held her end of it up," Tim responded. "I don't suppose you
would mind rubbing a little Bengay in?"
Bernie shot him a glance.
"That's okay, I'm sure it'll be fine. Oh well...you want top or bottom
this time?" Tim asked reaching into the drawer next to his bed.
Bernie grabbed the tube of Astroglide and pulled the cap off. "You ready
for a little one finger, two, three, go?"
Tim rolled over, looking first at Bernie, then the lube. "All that
grieving, I'm pretty tight. I think I'm going to need a little more prep
work tonight, ole Bernie boy." He quickly shucked off his pants, tossing
the latest in a long line of tasteless ties over in the corner. He moved
up against the head board, his legs splayed wide. "C'mon Bernie, eat me out!"
"Like mother's milk!" Bernie called as he moved his head between Tim's
legs. Pulling Tim's legs up over his shoulders, Bernie moved closer,
smacking his lips.
Tim started to giggle, then panted slightly. He reached up and started to
play with Bernie's nipples, quickly bringing them to attention. He moved
his hands lower as Bernie continued to work him over.
Tim began bucking as the warmth began to fill him, his hips moving up and
down. Suddenly Bernie began to choke. Tim tried to move away as Bernie
tried to extract himself. He continued to spasm as the essence of Tim ran
from his mouth...along with about three dozen of those cookies from the wake.
"Dammit!" Tim shouted as he jumped up. The vomit hung fetid in the air
like a Pigtown rowhouse.
"You deep-throated me!" Bernie responded.
"Get out," Tim replied.
"John warned me about you...said you had moods. I should have known
better," Bernie answered as he picked his clothes up from the floor.
"Moods?" Tim asked. "He said I had moods?!?"
Bernie didn't respond, racing from the bedroom and into the night.
Tim sighed as he started pulling the sheets from the bed. Man, he hated
vomit. At least all Thormann had ever done was shit his pants.