Chapter Thirteen Fire and Gasoline #2
Dev exhaled hard, gaze heavy. For a beat, Reece thought he’d brush it off again, but then he spoke.
“Trent’s parents died in a car crash.” He peered into the mug clutched in his hand. “Brother was in the back seat. While Trent and I were downing shots on a Thai beach.”
Reece sucked in a breath. Oh…fuck.
Suddenly, it all snapped into place.
The way Trent had crumpled last night, hollowed out and silent. How his hands had trembled during CPR. The car. The kids. The unbearable echoes of a past he’d clearly never outrun.
Christ.
“Shit,” Reece muttered under his breath.
“Yeah.” Dev met his gaze, unflinching. “Look, no one’s gonna blame you if you don’t want to deal with that. We all know what this is to you. A bit of fun, right? No hard feelings. Grab your stuff. I’ve got him covered.” He lifted the mug like a full stop at the end of it.
Reece reached out, palm steady. “I’ll take it to him.”
Dev arched a brow. “Don’t be a dick. ”
“Right back at you.”
They stood there, locked in a silent standoff, but Reece refused to back down, and eventually, after a long, reluctant sigh, Dev shoved the mug into his hand.
Reece nodded once, a tight, loaded gesture, then turned and headed back down the hall and into Trent’s bedroom.
He closed the door behind him, shutting out everything but the man waiting on the other side.
The pale light filtering through the thin curtains washed the room in muted grey, soft shadows pooling over the tangle of sheets where Trent lay half-buried, his face turned into the pillow.
Reece swallowed hard around the tightness coiling in his chest. It was heavy.
Possibly too much for a man who’d never learned what to do with feelings like this.
He wasn’t good at this. At staying. At being there when it counted.
He’d always been the distraction.
For his brother, when things at home turned harsh and ugly.
For his Nana, when her memories started slipping through her fingers like sand.
For Caris, his first long-term girlfriend when he’d been early twenties and she’d been late thirties with an autistic boy to care for and wanted to forget her responsibilities for a while.
Even for Ian. They’d all been the same. He was a welcome distraction.
All he’d ever known was how to take the edge off.
To make people forget the hurt for a while.
And standing here now, looking at Trent, he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s all he’d ever be good for.
He crossed the room and set the mug down on the bedside table, the quiet clink of ceramic far too loud in the stillness.
But as he straightened, he caught sight of the half-open drawer beneath.
Inside were the expected condoms and lube.
But under that, a mess of blister packs.
Tramadol. Not a strip or two tucked away for emergencies…
but piles. Stacks of them. Far more than anyone should have.
More than any doctor would hand out unless the pain was unbearable.
They weren’t for physical pain.
Reece stared, his chest hollowing as his mind spiralled back through every fractured moment with Trent. The hollow eyes. The distant touches. The times he seemed somewhere else entirely, even when Reece was right there.
Then it clicked.
Every time Trent reached for him, it wasn’t to feel something. It was to numb it. And Reece had been too caught up in wanting him to see it. Too desperate to be enough to notice the truth bleeding out right in front of him.
How long has this been going on? How often does he take them?
He closed the drawer with a careful push. If he hadn’t believed himself good enough before, it was a hell of a lot messier than he’d thought. He should walk away. Take the coffee and the truth and leave Trent to the haze he clearly wanted more than connection.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he slipped beneath the covers, heart hammering as though he’d stepped into a fire with no exit.
He lay close without touching, letting his presence fill the space Trent had long since boarded up.
Trent stirred, instinctively curling towards him, drawn by warmth the way wounded things are drawn to the dark.
Reece stared at the ceiling, heart pounding in the silence.
What the hell am I doing?
He knew better. Knew what this was. Knew how it would end .
But even as the thought formed, he stroked Trent’s arm, light enough to draw him closer without fully waking him.
No. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Trent blinked his eyes open and glanced up, meeting Reece’s small smile. An array of emotion flickered in those eyes. Surprise, sure. Perhaps a little embarrassment over his vulnerability. But there was also something else. Contentment .
“There’s a coffee there.” Reece angled his head towards the mug. “And some paracetamol if you need it.”
Trent wriggled up onto his elbow. “You made me a coffee?”
“Well, no, your flatmate made it, but I would’ve if he’d let me.”
“You met Dev?”
“Apparently not the first time.”
Trent nodded. Eyes far away. So Reece cupped a finger under his jaw, coaxing him back. “How you feeling?”
“Alright.” Trent wiped a hand over his brow. “Thanks for staying. Sorry if you had other plans.”
“None more important.” Reece wrapped his arms around him, shimmying down so they were nose to nose.
Oh, how he wished it was like this all the time.
How much he wanted to kiss those lips. Taste that mouth.
But he couldn’t overstep those rules now.
Not now he knew what Trent was really running from. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Trent trembled in his arms, as though fighting his own instincts too. Trying not to collapse and be weak. But Reece sort of wanted him to. He wanted to be his hero. Hold him through the tremors. To carry him to safety.
“Not really…” Trent swallowed whatever else he might’ve said and, instead, after a beat, he rolled on top of Reece, straddling him, thighs framing Reece’s bod y
Reece gripped Trent’s hips, circling his thumbs instinctively over the sharp jut of his hipbones.
It would be so easy to give in. So fucking easy to drown in this.
Take the heat and forget what he’d seen in that drawer.
To let Trent ride him into oblivion and drown the pain in sweat and sensation.
It’s what Trent wanted to do. He didn’t trust Reece enough to talk.
To share his past. He wanted to forget it and Reece had shown him he could do that.
But he couldn’t pretend anymore. Couldn’t pretend this was just sex.
You should stop this.
You should leave.
You should be stronger.
But he wasn’t. Not when it came to Trent. He was too weak for him.
“What are you doing there, sweetheart?”
Trent rocked back, grinding down, rolling his arse over Reece’s cock. And yeah, of course Reece was hard. He’d have been hard just looking at him, even without the friction of thin cotton against thin cotton, the unbearable tease of it.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Trent curled his lips into something that wasn’t quite a smile as he lifted onto his knees, reaching behind him to palm Reece through his underwear.
It felt so good. Too good. And that was always the problem.
A groan ripped from Reece’s throat before he could stop it, and he bucked up despite himself, tightening his hold on Trent’s waist as pleasure threatened to drag him under.
Then when Trent dipped his fingers beneath his waistband, intent and dangerous, Reece was done for.
He knew exactly how easy he was to bend, to break, to use.
And he hated himself a little more for it .
But before he lost control completely, he caught Trent’s wrist. Firmly.
A silent plea for more than just the usual cycle.
Trent widened his eyes. Surprise first, yeah.
Didn’t expect Reece to stop him. Then the vulnerability cracked through the carefully built wall of seduction.
He didn’t want Reece to make him go cold turkey.
So Reece pushed up from the bed, putting them chest to chest, mouth a breath away from his.
“If you want me,” he said, “if you want to use me to forget, fine. You know I’ll give you whatever you need.
You know I want you. I’m a fucking slave for you.
” He swept his thumbs over Trent’s hips.
“But if you’re going to fuck your bad dreams away on me… we’re doing it my way.”
Trent searched his face. “…Which is?”
Reece ghosted his lips over his, not quite a kiss but close enough to taste the promise of one. “You kiss me. You feel it.”
Trent stared at him, breath stalled, parting his lips as if the idea of that terrified him more than anything they’d done before.
And Reece felt that razor-thin line Trent was standing on because he, too, was teetering on it.
One side was need. The other surrender. And Christ, how badly Reece wanted him to fall.
Tentatively, Trent leant in.
He brushed his lips to Reece’s. So soft, barely there, as if he wasn’t sure he could do it, and how he thought the world might end if he did.
Come on, sweetheart. Fall for me. I’ll catch you.
Then Trent kissed him.
And it broke over Reece like a wave crashing over jagged cliffs.
Violent and inevitable. Hesitation gave way to hunger.
Shyness crumbled under the desperation. Trent’s mouth opened against his, those perfect lips parting to taste him fully, and suddenly the air was gone, not enough space between them, nor enough air in the room to cool the fire tearing through him.
A groan rumbled deep in Reece’s chest as he surged up into the kiss, all control shattering in the space between heartbeats.
He couldn’t stop himself. Wouldn’t even try.
Even if this was proving he was nothing more than a distraction, a way for Trent to drown out the noise, he’d be damned if Trent didn’t feel him, if only for this one perfect, reckless moment.