Chapter Fifteen
Bryn wasn’t sure of the time when he came around the next day but light seeped around the bedroom blinds.
He extricated himself from Gunnar’s embrace then padded to the bathroom.
His reflection had improved. Less like death warmed over, more like I’m recovering from a bad dose of flu.
Progress. When he pulled it off, the bandage from his lower back where the tracker had been removed was clean, and the abrasions on his wrists had faded to dull red marks.
The cut on his arm was healing and the grazes scabbed over. Not so horrific.
When he went back into the bedroom, Gunnar was awake, propped on one elbow. “Morning,” Gunnar said, voice rough with sleep. “How long was I out?”
“What time did we get to bed? It’s eleven in the morning now.” Bryn sat on the edge of the bed. “How’s the hip?”
Gunnar shifted. “No idea and better. Healing fast.” He grimaced. “Head’s still sore.”
“You took a baton to the skull. Even your head needs time to recover from that.”
“Your bedside manner could use some work.”
“I never claimed to be Florence Nightingale. You hungry? I can make us something.”
“You? Cook?” Gunnar pulled a face. “Now I know my head got hit hard.”
“I can toast bread without burning down the kitchen,” Bryn said. “Usually.”
“Let’s not test that theory. We’ve had enough excitement for one week.” Gunnar swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll do it.”
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“So are you. We can rest while making pancakes. Doctor’s orders said nothing about avoiding the kitchen.”
“Fine, but if you collapse face-first into the batter, I’m taking pictures before I call for help.”
“Of course you are.”
In shorts and T-shirts, they made their way to the kitchen and while Gunnar gathered ingredients, Bryn made a pot of coffee then perched on a stool at the counter, content to watch his partner work.
“You’re staring,” Gunnar said without turning around.
“Just making sure you don’t fall over.”
“Bullshit. You’re staring at my ass.”
“Maybe. When I was in that cell, I kept thinking about stupid things, like how I couldn’t remember if I’d asked Emmett to order more coffee before we left for Philly.”
Gunnar paused in whisking the batter. “You did. Three times. Your coffee obsession is well known around here.”
“And now I’m…memorizing you. In case I need the memories some other time.”
Gunnar set down the bowl and crossed to Bryn to give him a hug. “It’s over and we got through it.”
Bryn hugged him back. “I know.”
“And,” Gunnar continued, “Emmett had everything restocked, including the coffee, so we’re good on that front for at least a week.”
“Excellent, because house arrest without coffee would be against the Geneva Convention, pretty sure.”
“No more brooding.” Gunnar went back to the pancake making.
“It’s my trademark. I need to brood. Angst is my religion.”
“Save it for Giles, he enjoys it.”
“I don’t want to make his life pleasurable. I want him to be miserable.”
“Bryn, from what I’ve seen, Giles Delacourt has the emotional range of an iceberg. You’re more likely to get a rise out of Warden.”
“Stop spoiling my happy thoughts and give me pancakes. I want chocolate chips in mine.”
After breakfast, they got dressed then Gunnar stretched out on the couch with a book while Bryn curled in an armchair with his tablet watching cat videos on TikTok. Every few minutes Bryn would glance at Gunnar to find him already looking, and they would exchange grins.
Lunch came and went and by afternoon, the quiet domesticity had already begun to wear thin.
“I’m going stir-crazy,” Bryn announced, setting aside his tablet. “How long has it been?”
“Including last night, approximately eighteen hours since we were placed on leave,” Gunnar replied without looking up from his book. “Only fifty-four to go.”
“Kill me now.”
“You constantly complain about not getting enough time off and now you have it…”
“It’s not the same.”
“How so?”
“This isn’t my choice.”
“And you don’t like being told to do anything, even if that anything is nothing, if that makes sense?” Gunnar chuckled.
“We could sneak downstairs to check if there are any developments. Emmett would cave if we asked him.”
“And have Warden extend our leave by another week? No thanks. You know Emmett would tell him.”
“Since when are you the voice of reason?”
“Since I nearly lost you. Again.” Gunnar set his book aside. “Come here.”
Bryn approached warily. “Why?”
“Because I’m asking.” When Bryn was within reach, Gunnar pulled him down onto the couch, arranging them so Bryn’s back was against his chest. “Now stop fidgeting and tell me what’s really bothering you.”
Bryn was silent for a moment. “Russo’s still out there,” he said. “Planning who knows what. And we’re stuck here, useless.”
“Not useless. Recovering. There’s a difference.”
“Semantics.”
“No, necessity.” Gunnar’s arms tightened around Bryn. “I saw the medical report, Bryn. You had traces of a cocktail of drugs in your system. Sex on the beach, screwdriver, mojito, the works.”
“Frost saved my life.”
“Yeah, and could have killed you in the process.” Gunnar sighed, his breath warm against Bryn’s ear. “I need you to take care of yourself for a bit. For me, if not for you.”
Bryn twisted to look at him. “That’s fighting dirty.”
“I’ll use whatever works.” Gunnar brushed a strand of hair from Bryn’s face. “Two more days. Then we go back and raise hell until they let us help find Russo.”
“Fine,” Bryn conceded. “But I don’t have to be happy about it.”
“How about I kiss you and make you happy?”
“That could work.”
They spent the rest of the day resting, snuggling and watching bad TV.
There was a lot of kissing. Gunnar’s lupine physiology worked wonders and by evening, he was walking without a limp.
The bruising on his face had faded from angry purple to yellowish green, giving him a less alarming appearance, and his headache had gone.
Bryn didn’t have the same advantage of accelerated healing, but he felt better for the stress-free day.
Gunnar made tacos for dinner and even let Bryn loose on a side salad. They ate at the dining table by the window. Though there was no view of the street, the sounds of the city filtered up to them on the wind.
“Normal life,” Bryn murmured, more to himself than to Gunnar.
“What?”
“People out there going about their lives, no idea what’s happening right under their noses.”
“That’s why we do this. So they can have those lives.”
“It wasn’t so long ago that I thought I’d have that. School, a career…normal.”
“Normal? Boring as hell, probably.”
“Says the wolf to the augur.”
Gunnar laughed. “Fair point. Would you choose that now, though, if you could have a do-over?”
“I…guess not. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the way I am, but we can do a lot of good.”
“Yeah, we can.”
After clearing away the dishes, they headed to the couch with a vague plan for watching a movie. Bryn flicked through the channels until he found one with explosions but then muted the sound.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said, his fingers already toying with the button of Gunnar’s jeans. “Now you’re fixed, I want to take my time and explore every inch of you.”
“Oh, you do, do you? And what makes you think I’m going to let you have your wicked way with me?”
Bryn grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to Gunnar’s stubbled jaw, his fingers finally popping the button open.
“Because I know you want this as much as I do.” He inched down the zipper then took his time lowering Gunnar’s jeans to reveal his toned thighs and the outline of his hard cock straining against his boxers. Bryn trailed his fingers up Gunnar’s legs, feeling the muscles tense under his touch. “Yum.”
“Such a tease,” Gunnar said, but his hips bucked, urging Bryn on.
Bryn smiled, shifting his attention to Gunnar’s shirt, pushing it up to reveal his taut stomach and the light dusting of hair that led downward.
He pressed a kiss to Gunnar’s navel, his tongue dipping in to taste him.
Gunnar’s muscles quivered and he gave a low groan.
“You know cruelty to lupines is a crime, right?”
Bryn took his own sweet time mapping every scar and every freckle. He kissed and licked his way down Gunnar’s happy trail then rolled Gunnar’s balls through the fabric of his shorts. Gunnar growled and his hips bucked.
“Bryn,” Gunnar warned. “You’re killing me here.”
Bryn’s answer was to hook his fingers into the waistband of Gunnar’s underwear and pull them down. Gunnar lifted his hips, allowing Bryn to slide them off, leaving him exposed and erect.
“Fuck, Gunnar,” Bryn murmured, his eyes roaming over Gunnar’s body. “You’re a work of art.”
“Get on with it! Less looking more touching.” Gunnar sounded amused.
Bryn started at Gunnar’s feet, planting kisses up his legs, enjoying the way his body tensed and released with each touch.
He spent extra time on Gunnar’s calves, kissing and sucking, before moving to his thighs, massaging the muscles there.
When he reached Gunnar’s hips, he paused.
“Ready for this?” He flicked out his tongue to taste the pre-cum glistening at the tip of Gunnar’s cock.
“Fuck.” Gunnar fisted Bryn’s hair, urging him on.
“Patience.” Bryn tongued Gunnar’s cock while he rolled his balls, feeling them draw up tight. He took one into his mouth, sucking while he stroked Gunnar’s shaft.
“Damn it!”
Bryn released Gunnar’s ball then trailed his tongue up his shaft before taking the head into his mouth. Gunnar swore and twitched, pulling Bryn’s hair harder.
“I’m close…” Gunnar warned, his voice strained.
Bryn increased his pace, his mouth and hand working together to bring Gunnar over the edge. With a cry, Gunnar convulsed, his release spilling onto Bryn’s tongue. Bryn continued to lick and suck, drawing out Gunnar’s pleasure until he went limp, his breath coming in ragged gasps.