“Ay, Red!” Mickey called as his husband wandered into the kitchen. “We’re outta Twinkies,” he pouted as he finished the last Twinkie off. “Gotta go out and buy more don’t ya think?” The shirt he’s wearing barely covers the top half of his belly, and his love handles are spilling out of his jeans. Not that he minds at all, when there’s more important things to worry about. Like when the fuck Ian plans on restocking the damn Twinkies.

He looks up at his husband, eyebrow raising as he waits expectantly for a reply. And even with his new, chubbier cheeks, he still looks every bit the Southside thug Ian fell in love with and married.