18. Cato
Cato
Morning light spills across my face, and as I stir awake, I feel more rested than I have in days. Gods, I needed that sleep. Something tickles my nose, and as I crack my eyes open, I take a second to process what I’m seeing.
Aryn is curled against my chest, his head tucked into the crook of my neck, while my arm loops around his waist. And thank fuck for these thick sleeping bags, because I could drive a nail straight between the worlds with this morning wood.
I search my memory, trying to figure out how the hell I ended up here.
Cuddling.
I’d taken an extra-long watch last night and was dead on my feet by the time I crawled into my bag. Sure, I was lying next to Aryn, but I wasn’t… groping him. We must’ve gotten cold during the night and gravitated toward each other for warmth.
That has to be it.
We were both freezing our asses off, and yeah, I was a little worried about him after yesterday. My body took over and kept him close while keeping me warm, too.
It makes perfect sense.
What doesn’t make sense is why my hand has found its way into his hair, or why I’m fighting the sudden urge to tilt those pretty lips up to mine.
Aryn draws in a deep breath, and I freeze, terrified he’s about to wake up and catch me holding him like he’s my personal damn pillow.
He settles, and I glance past him to check on the others.
Everyone’s asleep except Lillith, who’s keeping watch at the mouth of the cave.
She must feel my attention, because she glances over her shoulder, smirks, and nods at the way we’re tangled together like a pair of shoelaces.
I scowl as her shoulders shake with silent laughter, but she turns back to the terrain.
Aryn inhales as I carefully roll him onto his back, trying not to wake him.
His lips part on a soft sigh, and I catch myself staring, wondering what they’d taste like and whether he’d make that same sound if I kissed him.
Hell, maybe I got hit with some of that venom yesterday, too.
I don’t daydream about kissing people like some sappy, love-struck idiot. Physical release is just that—release. It’s fun while it lasts, then it’s over.
Just like this overnight cuddle session needs to be over.
Whatever weirdness is messing with my head needs to find another outlet. My dick is still very much interested as I wriggle out of my sleeping bag, but the thick pants hide the worst of the evidence. Thank fuck for small mercies.
I tiptoe and quietly dig through my pack, feeling like I’m sneaking away from a one-night stand. Once I find my toothbrush and bundle up, I slip toward the exit.
“Morning,” Lillith chirps as I approach. “Sleep well?”
I glare at her sunny smile. “It was cold.”
“Mmm, was it? Didn’t look too cold from here. In fact, it looked downright cozy.”
I flip her off as I climb down from the cave, her deep chuckle trailing after me while I find a spot to piss. Icy water flows out of the hillside in a clear, steady stream, and the cold knocks some sense back into me as I brush my teeth and drink my fill.
For a few minutes, I scout the area for anything off. The landscape still looks strange as hell, but I’m surprised how quickly the orange days and red nights have become normal. Everything is quiet, and when I have no more excuses for delaying, I head back.
Everyone is stirring. Ronan and Cameron are tangled together, while Taryn is rolling up her sleeping bag.
Aryn’s wrapped in his, but he’s sitting up with his back leaning on the cave wall.
His eyes find mine, and my gaze drifts down his frame, remembering exactly how good he’d felt pressed against me.
Fuck.
I should’ve taken a few minutes to jerk off while I was outside. It might’ve cleared my head enough to get my shit together.
Aryn tilts his head in silent question, and I realize I’m staring.
I look away, but there’s no avoiding him when my stuff is right beside him.
I kneel to pack my sleeping bag, hyper-aware of him watching me.
My heart beats a little faster as I wonder if he woke up at any point last night and noticed our snuggle session.
There’s no way he did. He was out cold and recovering.
Besides, Aryn’s never been one to hold back. If he had noticed, he would've called me on it already.
My eyes flick up to his. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“A lot better,” he says, stretching his arms overhead. “If that’s your roundabout way of asking whether I’m going to slow us down today, the answer is no. I’m mostly back to full strength.”
Relieved by the easy conversation, I relax a little as I finish packing. “Good. I don’t want to end up carrying your ass again.”
He chuckles as he climbs out of his bag. “No carrying required, but I’m going to remember this the next time I get injured saving your life.”
“Ah, that was a one-time thing, darlin’,” I tease with a wink. “A fluke. No one gets the jump on me twice.”
“So next time a wild animal launches itself at you, I should just let it happen?”
“We don’t know it was actually going to hurt me,” I argue. His brows shoot up, pure indignation written across his face as he gestures at his bandaged shoulder. I let out a low, rumbling laugh despite myself. “Come on, man. That thing wouldn’t have done shit to me. My spine’s too thick—”
“Oh, my gods,” he mutters.
“—and my muscles are too dense. It would’ve shattered its fangs trying to bite through all this.” I thump my chest once, the impact solid. “It probably would’ve chipped a tooth and gone looking for something softer.”
Aryn stares at me like I’ve completely lost my mind. “You cannot be serious right now.”
“Dead serious,” I say, grinning. “That cat would’ve had a worse night than I would’ve.”
He stares at me, bewildered, then breaks into a loud, rolling laugh. I’ve never heard him laugh like that before—nothing beyond those soft, controlled chuckles. Seeing him like this, loose and unguarded in a way I didn’t know he could be, makes my stomach tighten.
Thankfully, before he can notice me staring, Taryn comes over to check his wounds.
It’s cold as fuck in the cave without a fire, so instead of stripping his shirts off, she simply moves them aside far enough to replace the bandage.
Underneath the poultice, his skin looks far more healed than it has any right to be.
The jagged bite marks are visible, but they’ve closed up with deep red scabs.
Taryn spreads fresh poultice over the area and wraps a clean bandage in place. “How’s your appetite?” she asks.
Traces of laughter linger on Aryn’s face as he flashes her a wide, almost dorky smile. “I’m ravenous, actually.”
“Good,” she says, sitting back on her heels to examine her work. “Think it’ll be safe to burn a small fire at the entrance? Just enough to boil some oats before we head out?”
Aryn nods, then glances at Ronan, who dips his chin in agreement.
My gear is already packed, so I pace around the cave with restless energy.
Lillith yells at me to pack her stuff if I’m that desperate to stay busy.
I flip her off for the second time this morning but head over anyway, rolling her sleeping bag and securing it to her pack.
Cameron sits against the wall with his arms crossed, looking like grumpiness incarnate. Mornings are the only time he doesn’t have a snarky comment ready, though he scowls when he catches me smirking at him.
Taryn serves breakfast after killing the fire, but I have a better idea than letting the embers go to waste. After I eat, I dig out one of the small lightweight pans from my pack, set it over the coals, and fill it with water from my canteen.
“What are you doing?” Cameron asks.
I dust my hands off and gesture dramatically at the pot before tossing a washcloth into the warming water. “Taking an FPB bath.”
“FP… B?” Cameron repeats, clearly trying to puzzle it out.
I grin as I unzip my jacket. “Face, pits, and balls. Always in that order.”
Lillith chortles as she cleans her bowl. “Hey honey, that’s not a bad idea. Ours would have to be FPUP… face, pits, underboob, and—”
“Do not finish that thought,” Taryn begs.
The rest of us burst out laughing, and soon enough, the others are setting their own pots beside mine, stealing the chance to wash while we have a bit of privacy.
Seeing Aryn in better shape this morning has killed some of yesterday’s worry, and the solid sleep has everyone in lighter spirits than we’ve managed in days.
I soak in the easy laughter and banter as I pull the cloth from the steaming water, and as I glance around at the group, it strikes me how comfortable everything feels.
My personality usually makes people keep their distance, and I usually let them.
Having others edge into my small circle of trust is a strange feeling.
Steam curls around me in a faint cloud while I scrub my face, and I can’t help my low groan.
In my line of work, I’m no stranger to getting dirty, but I usually don’t have to wait this long to clean up.
I close my eyes for a moment and pretend I’m standing under a real shower instead of in a dingy cave.
For a few decadent seconds, my whole body feels warmer.
The frigid air sucks the heat from the cloth far too quickly, so I dunk it back into the water and scrub my face again, paying extra attention to my neck and ears.
It’s too cold and nowhere near private enough to strip, so I settle for untucking my shirt and reaching up to wash my armpits.
I drag the cloth across my chest and stomach before dunking it.
I turn my back to the others as I undo my pants and take care of business down south.
A soft, pleased groan drifts from my right, and I glance over to see Aryn cleaning himself.
His pants are undone, exposing a toned strip of his lower abdomen.
I can’t look away as his hand moves beneath the fabric of his shirt.
My traitorous dick jerks back to full attention, far too interested in the memory of being pressed against his body.
His eyes slip closed as he washes his stomach, pants riding low enough on his hips that I catch a glimpse of the thick, deeper red root of his cock.
My cheeks burn as I jerk my gaze away and keep washing, pretending I’m not hard as granite. Too many filthy images flood my head.
Aryn on his knees taking me down his throat.
Aryn on his back while I choke myself on him.
Those perfect fucking lips painted with my cum.
God’s fucking tits, I should’ve jerked off when I had the chance. I’m too pent-up, and it’s making me lose what little sanity I have left.
He lets out another long, satisfied sigh that drags on far too long, and I swear if he does it again, I’m going to be cleaning up an even bigger mess. Water splashes, and he makes one of those gods-forsaken noises that has me wondering exactly what he sounds like when he’s stuffed full of cock.
“Aryn!” I snap.
He jolts, eyes flying wide, as I glare at him over my shoulder. “For fuck’s—what, Cato? You scared the shit out of me!”
“Stop sounding like…” I trail off, flinging the cloth back into the pot and buttoning my pants with extra care to hide my struggle.
“Like what?” he challenges, hands settling on his hips. His pants are still undone, that flash of skin pulling my eyes like a magnet.
I let my gaze linger for a beat before dragging it back up to his face. “Like I know what you sound like bent over with that pretty spine arched.”
Aryn’s pupils flare. He tilts his head, eyes locked on mine as he slowly buttons his pants. “Awfully bold of you to assume I’d be the one bent over.”
Heat rushes all the way to the tips of my ears as another pulse of this brutal fucking want tightens low in my gut. “Well, it sure as shit wouldn’t be me.”
He hums low in his throat, the sound annoyingly confident, and steps closer. “Sure about that?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
His lips twitch in the smallest smirk as he rests his fingers on my forearm and squeezes. It’s a soft touch, gentle enough that I should barely feel it through my layers, but it hits me like a live wire.
“Are you finished?” he asks.
“Oh, darlin’, I’m just getting started,” I retort.
Amusement crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he nods toward my discarded pot and cloth. “Bathing. Are you finished?”
I shake my head to clear the fog, brows pinching. “Yes?”
“Good boy,” he murmurs.
My head swims with something fuzzy and dangerously potent. He squeezes my arm, but when he starts to pull away, I catch his wrist and hold him there. His eyes lift to mine, and my lips part, but for the first time in my fucking life, I can’t find a single thing to say.
He makes that low humming sound again. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” I demand, though it comes out breathy instead of sharp like it should. I know exactly what he’s implying, and how he’s trying to get under my skin.
But the anger doesn’t come the way I expect.
When he smiles, it’s softer. He gives my arm one last squeeze before letting go. “Finish cleaning up. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” He walks away, leaving me standing there trying to figure out what the fuck just happened—and why I already want more of it.