Chapter 13 Past #3
Aaron sucks in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring and the dark of his eyes expanding so fast it’s like a black hole growing to tear apart more of the universe around it.
His hands turn into fists on the counter, fingers curling up like he’s getting ready to throw a punch.
Something in him shifts from controlled to barely tethered, like someone yanked on a loose thread inside him, all that cool, calm consideration unspooling into a chaotic tangle.
He tries to wind it back. “Rohan-“
“Come on,” I interrupt, feeling more than a little reckless myself and blaming him for it entirely, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You can touch me if you want. That’s why you brought me here, right? To your fucking family home. The ‘you break it you buy it’ rules apply here, yeah?”
Now he’s pissed, the line between his brows a furious scrunch. “Agent Sathe-“
“Senior Agent North,” I cut in again for the thrill of watching his jaw clench and do that tic-tic-tic thing, “just fucking touch me, ok?“
He growls, frustration evident on his face and it is glorious. “Kid-“
“Aaron,” I rasp, pleading without actually saying please, because if I do then it’ll feel too much like defeat.
Aaron pushes away from the kitchen island and walks around it until he’s standing directly in front of me.
His eyes dart down and skate over my naked upper body in a lingering assessment, catching on the mostly healed bullet wounds.
He’s silent apart from his measured inhale and exhales, purposefully slow and deep like he’s trying to breath the pain of wanting me away.
He reaches out a hand to brush his fingers over the wound in my torso.
His hands are warm and rough, just like I remember them, but his touch is achingly gentle, so careful not to hurt me.
He runs his fingers over each of places where a bullet pierced my skin, checking me over without a word.
The quiet concentration on his face, combined with the hint of rage from before tingeing the edges of his expression, rage meant for me, because of what OI did to me, is mesmerising.
Everything feels heavy, the air in the room a metal blanket around my shoulders.
It’s like I can feel gravity pushing me down.
I went diving once with my mum, one of the few days she took me away from the lab, to see the turtles.
She loved the sea, loved the creatures that live there.
The further down in the ocean you go, the worse the pressure.
It closes in from all sides, squeezing your body with its unfathomable strength.
“Aaron,” I say again, and that’s it, that’s as far as my begging goes.
I don’t put much stock in dignity, had too much of mine stripped out and set on fire right in front of me to pretend, but I need to retain some semblance of respect for myself with Aaron.
I can’t start giving everything to him, ripping myself open and tearing out the pulsing, vulnerable pieces that still reside inside me.
The parts that my dad never got the chance to ruin.
Aaron’s eyes drag back up, slowly, to land on my face.
He raises a big hand to grasp my chin between his fingers.
His other hand slides around my back and under the waistband of my jogging bottoms. He grips my arse, hard.
Outrageously possessive. I can feel myself getting hard just from the arrogance of it, the way he’s holding me like I’m his to touch like this.
“They’re dead,” he tells me. “The men who shot you.” He’s so fucking serious, from the gritty rumble of his voice to the piercing gaze, looking into me like a hawk zeroing in on prey from above.
It sends a shiver down my spine, the thrashing, wild thing that lives behind Aaron’s eyes calling out to me.
“Because you killed them?” I ask in a low murmur, as if it’s a dark secret he’s sharing.
“Yes,” Aaron says, no hesitation or apology. No regret. It stokes a fire in my gut that I don’t know how to suppress, or maybe I just don’t know how to want to suppress it.
“Did you have to?” The question comes out sounding breathless and wary, like I’m unsure if I can handle the answer.
Aaron's fingers on my chin tighten, holding me in place that little bit more firmly, as if I might bottle it and bolt at any moment. “I wanted to.”
I stare up at him, defiant. Angry. Always so fucking angry all the time. Every second. “Is this how you seduce people, North? With vengeance?” It’s supposed to be mocking but it doesn’t hit the right note. The tone is off, pitches too close to excitement.
“Didn’t realise you needed to be seduced,” Aaron says wryly, quirking an eyebrow at me like he’s curious about this development. “That’s new.”
“You know,” I say. “It’s not very polite to call someone a slag when you’re the one with your hand on their arse.”
Aaron’s mouth tugs into an amused quarter-smile.
It shouldn’t look half as attractive on him as it does, Jesus Christ. He tilts my chin up and presses that non-smile to my mouth, fitting us together like a lock sliding into place.
His hand on my arse grips harder, bruisingly hard, like he’s trying to leave marks so deep that even my accelerated healing ability won’t be able to dig them out.
Aaron’s hot tongue pushes into my mouth and takes over, staking a claim I’m sure he won’t want to keep the moment this is over. I let him take it anyway, because I’m still a selfish little rich boy at heart.
He tastes like the coffee he doesn’t like and the spearmint toothpaste he used to clean his teeth whilst I was still asleep in his bed.
He can’t have showered yet because there’s a musk to him, a day-old dirty smell.
It isn’t bad, it’s just very human, almost primal, the way someone only smells in their own home.
This close, the warmth and scent of him is overwhelming to my mutated senses.
Everything is just more and hot and loud, the roaring in my ears a deafening racket that drums through me at a frantic rhythm, and it’s too fucking much all at once.
Aaron’s holding me so tight, large fingers digging in harshly, and kissing me so fucking hard and rough, but not desperate.
It doesn’t feel like he’s scared of losing me or terrified he’ll break me.
He’s touching me like it’s an inevitable thing, like kissing me is an unbreakable fact of the universe.
In this moment, together, we are gravity.
When he pulls back, I want to snarl in protest. I want to bury my nose in his throat, in his armpit and in the crease of his thick, muscled thigh and just inhale the harsh masculine scent of him. I want it so badly, so unconditionally, that in the next second I’m tearing myself away from him.
Aaron lets me go when I get my hands between us and push on his chest. His eyes are dark with a horrible, tangible lust. More than a want.
It’s a craving. It’s the addiction taking hold, the mad, clawing despair before the hit, when the high is just out of reach, but there, right there, to be stolen or destroyed.
His hands clench into fists again to stop him from reaching, probably for my sake.
He resists the pull and I don’t know if I resent him for it.
My chest is heaving where I’m almost hyperventilating. Panic and a consuming, thought thrashing fear chewing through my stomach. I feel ripped open and exposed to him, every vein and bone and strand of DNA pinned to a board like a butterfly under glass. It’s awful and I hate everything about it.
Aaron is breathing hard too, massive chest expanding to look even bigger. He’s staring after me with a resignation on his face that I don’t respect. The muscle in his jaw jumps, his eyes narrowing slightly like he heard that thought loud and clear.
“Rohan,” he says. That’s it. Just my name. It sounds like a whole conversation coming out of his abused, kiss-slick mouth.
I take another step back from him. Then another.
“Tell me where my fucking clothes are, North,” I demand, straightening my spine and glaring at him, because it’s easier to remind myself to be untouchable when I give off that vibe in every physical way possible.
I shoot the t-shirt I discarded earlier a reproachful look.
“I’m not giving my report to Snow dressed like I belong to you. ”
Because I don’t. I can’t. Aaron made that crystal fucking clear already.
Aaron looks like he wants to fight me, to argue and push for some kind of serious discussion. Thank every lucky star in the sky that he takes the cowards way out instead.
“Ok, kid,” he says, exhaling slowly. “Ok.”