Chapter 18
Liam
Istand on the deck, unable to move, frozen in place by more than just the cold-ass temperature.
What the fuck just happened?
And who does Damon think he is, doing something like that and then tucking tail so we don’t even have a chance to talk about it?
Once the shock wears off, I finally convince my feet to move and go after him.
Approaching his room, I hear the shower running, but his bedroom door is locked.
“Damon!” I yell, banging my fist on the door. When he doesn’t answer, I pound harder, making sure he can hear me over the running water. “Dammit, Damon, open the door!”
Still nothing.
The cabin is older, and the locks on the doors are the ones that use those little keys that are above every doorframe. Reaching overhead, I come up empty, but find one a few seconds later above the door to my room. Hastily, I shove it in the lock and wiggle it around until the knob turns.
“Damon?” I call again, still getting no response as I race toward the bathroom door.
Thankfully, this one isn’t locked. Turning the knob, I push the door open, ready to tear him a new asshole.
I’m about to utter the phrase what the fuck for what feels like the thousandth time on this trip, but the sentence dies on my tongue when I find Damon sitting on the floor of the tile shower, still in his boxers, while the water rains down on him.
His knees are pulled into his chest, and his forehead is resting on them.
I rip the glass door open, shut the water off, and step inside. My fingers land on his icy skin, and I’m convinced he’s lost it because the shower water isn’t even warm. Maybe he’s having a psychotic break or something.
“You’re fucking freezing, dude. What? The ambient air temp wasn’t enough to satisfy whatever this is? You decided an ice shower was the better route for stopping your heart? Come on, we’re getting out.”
I’m a big guy, and the shower is a tight fit for me by myself.
Trying to get Damon out of here is awkward, and he’s not being much help, so finally, I yank his arm to pull him toward me, grip him by the torso, and haul him to his feet.
Afraid he’s going to go wet-noodle on me, I bend down and pick him up.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
“For scaring the shit out of me just now? Yeah, you should be sorry.”
He shakes his head but stays quiet. We’re going to talk about that kiss, but not until he’s in dry clothes and his body temperature is normal again.
I set him on his feet at the end of the bed in his room.
“Can you stand on your own, or are you going to be an asshole and fall down?” I gripe.
He says nothing, so I take that to mean he’ll remain standing.
I grab a towel and dig around his dresser until I find dry boxers before I start drying him off.
Once his hair has stopped dripping, and his torso and arms are mostly dry, I drop to my knees to start on his legs, but I quickly realize I won’t make much progress while his saturated boxers remain in place.
I drop the towel, hook my fingers in his waistband, trying to get them off so I can dress him and treat him like the fucking baby he’s being, when suddenly, he’s brought back to life. He clamps down on my wrists with more force than he’s ever used on me before.
In fact, it kind of hurts.
“Don’t,” he says in a pained whisper.
I can’t tell whether he’s pissed or grossed out, or thinks something weird is going on that isn’t actually going on at all.
“Fuck you, Damon. I’ve seen your dick as much as I’ve seen my own over the years. I’m just trying to get you out of these wet clothes. So, either help me or shut the fuck up.”
“I-I’m s-sorry,” he says again, which explains nothing. And now his fucking lips are turning blue, and his teeth are chattering.
Oh, fuck this.
Damon and Taylor have black belts in jiu-jitsu, but I’m bigger, and right now, I have to hope that’s enough because I roll my wrists to break his hold, rip his boxers down, and push him backward onto the bed so I can slide them off his ankles before replacing them with dry ones.
I must move faster than his brain is processing what’s happening because I complete my mission without getting clocked in the face—or put in a rear-naked choke.
Once I’ve finished drying his legs, I move him to his bed and pull the covers over him. I remember very little from my time as a Boy Scout, but I do remember that body heat is one of the best ways to warm a person up.
Ripping my T-shirt over my head, I shed my pants next. Fuck, this is going to be cold.
“What are you doing?!” Damon screeches.
“Oh, so you do realize I’m in the room with you,” I say sarcastically before climbing into the sheets next to him.
“Of c-c-course I d-do! Now g-get out!” he stammers through chattering teeth.
“No!” I yell back. “You’re fucking freezing to death, you’re shutting me out, and ten minutes ago your tongue was in my mouth! I’m not going anywhere until you’re not at risk of hypothermia and you start talking! Enough is fucking enough, Damon.”
I pull him into me so it’s easier to share my body heat, and I try like hell not to shudder when his cold skin hits mine.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually, he either begins to relax in my hold or he loses the will to fight. My thigh is draped across one of his, interlocking our legs. Wrapping my arms around him, I pull his chest tighter against me.
“D, for the love of God, man, what is going on? Please don’t make me ask again. I’m fucking tired of begging.”
He’s silent for a minute, but the air is electric, like he’s gearing up to finally admit what’s been bothering him.
“I…” He trails off, and for a second, I think he’s not going to answer me, but he starts again a few seconds later. “Vox…I didn’t like it when he kissed you.”
I laugh at Damon’s protectiveness because that’s what this is about? “Oh man, that was nothing. Actually, it’s pretty cool to be able to say I’m hot enough for Vox Montgomery, you know?” Then another thought occurs to me. “Wait, you kissed me because you were, what? Reclaiming your territory?”
After my thoughts about what it would be like if Damon started seriously dating someone, I guess I can understand that.
“No,” he grits out.
“Then what?” I press, rubbing a hand up and down his thigh, trying to warm his skin faster.
“Please stop doing that,” he says instead of giving me an explanation.
“WHY?” I finally bellow.
“I LOVE YOU, OKAY?” he shouts, matching my tone.
Confused as hell, I say it back because, well, duh.
“I love you, too. Why are we being weird about it all of a sudden?”
“Jesus Christ, Liam,” he says in an exasperated tone, scrubbing both hands down his face. “I’m in love with you,” he clarifies, shocking the ever-loving shit out of me before trying to push me away and climb out of his bed.
But I don’t let him. He’s a danger to himself right now.
“Hey, shhh. Calm the fuck down, D.”
Still, he wiggles and writhes in my arms, so I do the only thing I can think of to incapacitate him.
I roll him onto his back and smother him with my body, using my mass to keep him in place.
I pin his arms above his head because that’s the hardest position for his shoulders to gain leverage—a little fact he taught me long ago—and I bear down on him with my hips so he can’t gain any momentum to buck me off.
He lets out a groan that almost has my dick reacting.
“Fucking hell, D. Relax.”
It’s like the floodgates of his mouth open as his eyes slam shut.
“I can’t. Not when you’re so close to me, and definitely not when you’re on top of me like this.
I want you so fucking much, it hurts,” he whines as he rolls his hips up into mine.
“It’s been torture pretending like every touch doesn’t light me on fire, and when I saw Vox kiss you, I almost tore his soul from his body for taking what should have been mine. ”
His admission has me looking at him, like really looking at him for the first time.
Honestly? He’s a hot mess.
But he is hot. Something I’ve noticed more recently.
“How long have you felt like this?” I ask, unsure if knowing the answer will make the current situation better or worse.
“Thirteen years,” he answers immediately, finally done keeping things from me. Thank fuck. All the stress lines on his forehead have disappeared with his admission, as have the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He’s too young for those kinds of wrinkles anyway.
“That feels oddly specific,” I joke lightheartedly. “Was there something I did that made you realize what was going on?” I ask, curious about how anyone knows they’re in love with someone, but definitely curious about how Damon knows.
“When we were freshmen, we went on that field trip to that stupid ropes course, and they wouldn’t let me sit it out even though they knew about my fear of heights,” he says, reminding me of the team building excursion.
I thought Damon was going to shit himself.
“Yeah, I remember,” I finally answer.
“Well, you switched our places in line, so you went first. As soon as you got to the other side, you pretended to get sick. You knew if you were hurt, I’d focus on getting to you and not look down. It worked, and I flew across that course in record time.”
Huh, I’d forgotten that part.
“When I reached you, you stood up, declared your emergency miraculously over, and hugged me. That’s when I knew for sure.”
Well, I’ll be damned.
“But we have a lifetime of those experiences,” I point out, needing to know more. “Why was that one so different from all the other shit we did for each other?”
“It was the first time it happened after I realized I’m attracted to guys.” Dropping his voice, he adds, “attracted to you. I knew in that moment that as long as you were happy and safe, I could survive anything.”
Now that he’s stopped fighting me, I roll off him, but drape my thigh over both of his, wanting him to take comfort, as well as body heat, from me. He’s finally stopped shivering, so that’s a good sign.
“Say something,” he says when a few minutes have gone by without my reply.
“You could’ve told me sooner, but I’m kind of glad it didn’t happen until now.”
Damon turns his head to look at me when he asks, “Why?”
“I just feel like I needed to go through some shit before learning that. Not like I would’ve judged you or disowned you or anything,” I add hastily. But because maybe it’s not as weird as I would have believed, once upon a time. Perhaps I should, but I don’t say that last part out loud.
“Li?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for being here.”
“I told you, whatever it was, we were going to get through it together.”
As our conversation winds down, a thought slams into me. “When I heard you jerking off in the shower the other night, why did you say Julie’s name if you’re gay…and in love with me?”
Damon bristles.
“I didn’t,” he finally whispers in the dark.
“I could have sworn I heard you say—”
“Li,” he says, cutting me off. “You heard me say Li and assumed it was the end of her name, but I was thinking of you. I’m always thinking of you. Is that weird?”
Maybe. Maybe not. I’m getting better at processing, but it’s too much for two-thirty in the morning.
So, instead, I answer with, “Not to me. Now, can I trust you to stay in this bed and go to sleep, or am I going to wake up in an hour and find you standing on the roof, trying to catch hypothermia again?”
His soft, sleepy chuckle punches me in the chest as he rolls onto his side, out of my embrace.
“I’ll stay right here. I promise.”
Just to be sure, I throw my arm around his waist and drag him back against my body. His ass instantly connects with my crotch, but I pay it no mind. This is where Damon belongs.
“Hey, Li?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum.
“I don’t know if you know this about gay guys, but when they’re plastered against the body of the man they find sexier than anyone else in the world, it’s generally not conducive to sleeping.”
“Sexier than anyone else in the world, huh? I knew you thought I was hot.” I kiss the back of his head, elated that the burden of his secret has finally been lifted.
He laughs. “Oh, I think you’re hot, alright. But if you don’t let me put some space between our bodies, my dick is going to ensure I’m up all night.”
“Oh, uh, right.” Reluctantly, I pull my arm back and let him scoot forward, putting a couple of inches between us.
Why does that feel so much worse?
“Goodnight, Li.”
“G’night.”