Chapter 11 #3
Wyatt tilted his head and nodded, “Yeah. I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Relaxed.”
John scoffed playfully, “What, I’m not relaxed at the hotels?”
“It takes an orgasm or two, but yeah, eventually.”
John stepped forward and reached for the bottle of wine behind him, his arm brushing his as he leaned over, his scent engulfing him like a hit to the gut.
Wyatt dropped his forehead once more into John’s shoulder before kissing his neck and spotting the hickey he had intentionally left the last time they were together.
Heat spilled into his veins as he thumbed the spot.
John sighed, but his mouth continued to quirk up, “I considered wearing a turtleneck to work this week.”
“What? Worried you’d have to explain to Steph you’re having fun?”
John chuckled, “She thought I was interested in Samuels. That we were…”
Wyatt growled, unable to hide his irritation, “I thought the same thing for a while.”
“Really?” he asked, handing him the bread knife, the cutting board, and a fresh loaf. “Cut this for us, will ya?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, why did you think Samuels and I were—God, I can’t even say the word,” John said, shaking his head.
“Fucking? Probably because I never met two out gay men in command. I thought it made sense y'all would wanna battle dicks, too.”
“Ugh, gross.”
Wyatt enjoyed John’s reaction, the ridiculous jealousy knot in his belly released as he sliced into the soft focaccia bread. “I eventually realized you guys would never work.”
“Not that I actually want to know or have ever considered this, but why not?”
“He’s got a lot of anger, deep bottled anger that needs to be contained by someone like him. Someone not afraid of it, meeting it with something entirely more powerful.”
John glanced up from the stove curiously.
“Love,” Wyatt finished.
He arched his eyebrows, “You saying I can’t love?”
“I’m saying that Samuels needs a hard ass like him.”
“Now I’m not a hard ass?”
“Your ass is possibly the best thing I’ve seen all year, but no, John, you are not a hard ass. It’s why we work so well together.” He stilled, hand on the knife, wanting to bite off his tongue.
Fuck.
Wyatt was too afraid to turn to face him and instead, busily finished cutting the loaf.
“I’m listening,” John said quietly.
He blinked, wondering if it would be safer to make something up. Not tell him what he’d been thinking about for the last month…
“You’re a storm,” he heard himself say, knowing he was taking a big risk admitting this.
“The quiet ones that come at night. You soak the earth, give it everything it needs to grow and flourish. You crackle a bit, light up the sky, but you never hit—never strike. Sometimes you give too much and vanish. But then all of a sudden you’re back, giving again, even though a little bit of you vanishes each time. ”
John's silence forced him to turn and look at him, and he saw that his back was to him, standing by the stove, unmoving.
“And I'm the horse that chases you through the dark,” Wyatt murmured. “I wanna see everything you got, marvel at it, watch it, dance in it. And I want you to see me, too.”
John’s dark blue gaze flickered to his, raw and powerful emotion brimming beneath the surface, unspoken but there.
“I want you to remember who you do this for,” Wyatt breathed. “That you’re wanted for more than what you give.”
Tears filled John’s eyes as he turned away, jaw clenching fiercely. He always turned away when his emotions stirred, and Wyatt, in this moment, couldn’t stand it any longer. He moved, turning John in his arms and cradling his face in his hands, heart hammering in his ears.
“Whatever happens, promise me something?” Wyatt said, holding him, feeling his emotion as though it were his own. “Don’t vanish. And if you have to, find another horse—find something to anchor yourself to. Anything. Because this world is so much better with you in it than without.”
It took him some time to unpack their first night, and then their second, before Wyatt finally understood what was happening to John. He knew it because he had felt it himself briefly before in his life—after his father had rejected him, and…
His throat clenched and he leveled a steady gaze at him, wanting John to feel safe with him and wishing he did.
Tears brimmed behind John’s eyes and he tried to look away, “Lawson…”
“I ain’t gonna push you,” Wyatt reassured gently. “I’m here if you ever wanna tell me.”
John nodded, blinking away the tears, and kissed him.
Wyatt stilled.
This wasn’t John’s usual kiss, hurried, hard, and hungry.
This was achingly slow and affectionate.
There was a tenderness that left him breathless and scared.
He wanted exactly this from John. He wanted him to let go of his armor and know that he was safe to hold his emotions—that he could handle it.
And if it started with a kiss, he’d take it.
John pulled back, resting his temple on his. “You figured me out…”
He smiled lazily, kissing him again just as lazily, heart fucking glowing. “Yeah, I’m getting there.”
He searched his face, “I think I’m okay with that.”
John kissed him again, and it was so fucking affectionate that Wyatt gasped into his mouth, feeling the weight of his emotions swirling and building.
He had just broken John’s rule. Wyatt, without a doubt, was falling fast and hard for his captain—for John.
And he wasn’t surprised in the least. In fact, he marveled at how quickly it was happening and how natural it felt. But he couldn’t say any of this. Not tonight. Because tonight, he wanted nothing more than to have dinner, talk, drink wine, and make love.
He withdrew from the kiss first, trembling. John studied him, and with another light-hearted smile and deep exhale, he returned to the stove.
After dinner, Wyatt took another lazy sip of his wine, perusing John’s album collection.
“See anything you like?” John asked, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.
“A few things,” he replied, sliding his eyes over his body. “Gray, extra-tall, thin cotton.”
John chuckled, shaking his head. “Not so fast, Lawson. We have plenty of night left for that.”
“I thought we said no sleepovers.”
“There’s an exception for every rule. You had a tough day, and you’re not leaving until you feel better.”
He already did. Just being around John was enough.
He never wanted to leave. But he figured he’d keep that thought to himself. He’d already revealed enough, and the last thing he wanted was to scare John away.
“We certainly do make a lot of exceptions to your rules,” Wyatt drawled, pulling out one of the albums.
John tossed the kitchen towel onto the island, refilled his glass, and strolled over to Wyatt’s unattended glass, topping it off. “I never heard your reason for becoming a doctor.”
He hummed and then sighed.
“That doesn’t sound good,” John remarked, eyebrows arched.
“It’s not as good as yours.”
“We don’t compare in this house,” he said evenly, and took a seat on his plush couch, legs pushed out in front of him and crossing at the ankles. He sipped his wine, resting the stemless glass on his stomach, hands folded around it, patiently waiting.
“I sorta fell into it,” Wyatt admitted with a shrug.
“Fell into it?” John asked curiously, without an ounce of judgment.
“It’s a long story.”
“And as I said, we have all night.” John patted the couch, “Come here.”
He did, sliding into the firm comfy couch beside him, setting his wine glass on the wooden coffee table.
John rotated to face him but maintained the distance, clearly wanting to hear his story.
Wyatt didn’t like that they weren’t touching, so he pulled his leg up on the couch, brushing his knee against his.
It wasn’t hard to imagine a Sunday morning curled up on this couch, cuddling with him.
He let out another sigh, focusing. “I told you about the dude ranch. The men I worked with were mostly ranch hands and handymen to get through the season. Good ones would come back. Bad ones would drift onto other ranches that didn’t know them.
My dad preferred hiring the same ones. You remember that story of the man my dad found me with? ”
John nodded, “It was pretty unforgettable.”
“His name was Mateo. Strong, silent type, and really good with the horses. He had a way with them. He’d talk to them at the end of the day, his voice drifting them off to sleep most nights.
” Wyatt hesitated, flushing. “He was the first man I ever fell in love with. I was nineteen. Fuck, I’ve never told anyone that. ”
John’s fingers squeezed his knee, his soft gaze holding him.
“The first time he touched me was out on a trail that we were prepping for the new season of tourists and visitors. He kissed me right here,” he placed two fingers on the back of his neck behind his ear.
“I remember it was soft, and then his hands were on my body, everywhere, touching me as though he had every right to, and it was so…” He drifted off, remembering the smell of the dirt, sweat, musk, horses, Mateo.
“…hot. It didn’t feel wrong. I felt safe with him, and I had never been so aroused in my life. I wasn’t experienced like he was.”
“Was he older?”
“Early thirties.”
John nodded, smiling. “So, is that where your thing for older guys started?”
He considered this and shook his head. “After him, I went off to college and had sex with guys my age. It was different. It was more just to get off, and it felt a bit selfish. Don’t get me wrong, I had fun, but the sex wasn’t as exciting.
Then med school happened, and I kinda got lost for a while.
And then I came to your hospital and realized the senior resident with the gray in his beard and kind eyes was someone I desperately wanted to hear cum for me. ”
John’s cheeks flushed, and he pinched his inner thigh. “You’re getting off topic.”