Chapter 7 #2
“The license plates are good but the guys in the factory are not clear enough, the lighting is just awful, and even with this kick-ass camera I just can’t...”
“So much for our tax dollars.” Travis sighed. “We need to get closer then so we can get a better shot for the team at HQ to work with.” Travis gestured for him to move. “Let’s get a better angle.”
Travis led the way along the side of the building, keeping his steps light despite the uneven ground littered with debris.
He could hear Cole’s careful footfalls just behind him, controlled in a way that was far better than Travis had expected.
If Travis was being honest. It was almost impressive. Almost.
They reached a side entrance, a door hanging crooked on its hinges.
Travis slipped in first, scanned for cover, then motioned Cole forward.
The side room was long-abandoned—dusty shelves, rusted tools, and a worn workbench.
But up ahead, there was dim light emanating from a narrow space no bigger than a closet.
It faced the factory floor, offering a closer but tighter vantage point.
Without a word, Travis slipped inside, pressing against the far wall to make space. Cole followed, then immediately stopped dead.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Travis ignored him, pressing himself into the narrow space and focusing on the crack in the wall that led to the factory.
It looked like part of the structure had collapsed.
Through it, he could see Denton and the supplier, their stiff postures and careful movements betraying the weight of their exchange.
From this angle, Cole had a perfect shot for photos, his phone camera was able to zoom in without obstruction.
Cole, however, seemed less concerned with their tactical advantage and more concerned with the fact that they were practically plastered against each other in a space the size of a closet made for a mop and a bucket.
“I’d just like to point out,” he whispered, shifting against Travis’s chest, his shoulder brushing solid muscle, “that this is objectively the worst place you’ve ever shoved me into.”
Travis could either ignore Cole completely or acknowledge how much smaller this space quickly became.
Then Cole moved again, his back pressing right up against Travis’s front, his elbow digging squarely into his ribs.
Travis gritted his teeth. Fucking hell.
“Stop moving.”
“You stop moving.”
“I’m not moving.”
Except, now that he was aware of just how much space Cole was taking up, his body felt the closeness in a way it hadn’t before. Every shift, every breath, every tiny fidget was another reminder that Cole was right there, pressed against him, too warm, too close.
Cole huffed, lifting his phone and angling for a better shot. The glow of the screen cast faint blue light against his cheek, highlighting the way his lips pressed together in focused determination. Travis looked away from Cole’s lips as fast as he could.
Through the crack, they had a better view of the figures on the factory floor.
Outside, Denton and the supplier were speaking in hushed voices, their words lost to distance.
Cole groaned under his breath. “I need audio I just can’t crack that...” He tapped at his phone screen.
“Seriously,” Travis murmured, forcing himself to focus on the op and not the way Cole’s body was still brushing up against his every damn time he moved.
“I am—” Cole stilled, a pause just long enough to be suspicious.
Then—
“Well, something is pressing against my—”
“Steele.”
“Okay, okay, Jesus.”
Silence.
Travis tensed, ignoring Cole’s warmth, the illogical rush that surged through him, and the sudden lightness in his limbs.
This was a mission, not a goddamn slumber party.
Outside, the exchange continued.
Cole was still taking photos.
Travis narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t do well in confined spaces, Captain.”
Travis was about to reply when Cole shifted too abruptly, knocking a loose metal pipe off a nearby shelf.
It hit the concrete with a sharp, echoing clang.
Travis didn’t think—his reflexes took over. His hand shot up, clamping over Cole’s mouth, the other gripping his waist as he yanked them both deeper into the shadows.
Cole stiffened against him, body going rigid as the factory went dead silent.
Outside, the voices stopped.
A long beat of silence was punctuated only by the thudding of blood coursing through Travis’s veins. Then footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Someone was checking the area. Coming closer to their position.
Travis pulled them back against the wall, every inch of Cole flush against him, the heat of his body so much worse now, so much more unbearable. The sensation of his smaller frame was so soft and tangible in Travis’s hands.
Cole squirmed. Just a little restless, involuntary shift that sent his ass pressing right up against Travis’s crotch.
Travis’s brain short-circuited. This was not supposed to happen. Not now.
His heart pounded like a steel drum, hammering against his ribs, but now it wasn’t just adrenaline. A low, unfamiliar fire burned at the base of his spine, fighting against every carefully trained instinct he had.
His grip on Cole became even firmer.
Not because he needed to—Cole wasn’t moving anymore. But because he wanted to. He was enjoying Cole’s heat.
Because holding him there, his smaller frame tense in his grasp, his breath warm and uneven against his palm, stirred raw possessiveness deep in Travis.
Cole shifted again, struggling subtly against the grip Travis had on him, and fuck—that sent a sharp, unmistakable surge of awareness straight through Travis’s body and it pooled right in his crotch.
This really wasn’t what he wanted to be feeling right now.
Not when Denton’s footsteps were getting closer, slow and cautious, pausing just outside their hiding spot. Another inch or two and he might even see them.
Travis swallowed hard, his throat felt like a vice. He should have reached for his gun, but his brain wasn’t functioning. His cock was slowly starting to pump a little bit fuller with each passing second that he stayed so close to Cole.
His chin was nearly resting against Cole’s neck now, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Close enough that if he dipped forward, even a fraction his lips would—
Don’t. Fucking. Move.
Cole seemed to sense the change in Travis’s breathing because his chest rose a little quicker like he was fighting it too.
Seconds stretched unbearably long.
Travis could barely hear Denton’s footsteps for the adrenaline. If they stayed like this any longer he wouldn’t be able to hide his arousal from Cole. He didn’t know which would be the bigger disaster.
His grip flexed against Cole’s waist, his fingers tightening without thinking. Cole let out the faintest breath against his palm, his lips moving against his skin, soft and warm.
Travis’s stomach coiled with heat.
Fuck.
This was not the time.
He forced himself to lock his focus on the sliver of light beneath the door, watching as someone’s shadow hovered, lingered… then, finally, stepped away.
The voices outside resumed.
The moment passed.
Travis moved fast.
The moment Denton’s voice picked up again, Travis shoved Cole away—fast, way too fast, like he couldn’t tolerate the closeness a second longer. Cole stumbled, catching himself against the shelf with a sharp gasp and another loud bang, but Travis wasn’t looking at him anymore.
Didn’t want to.
Didn’t trust himself to.
“Move,” Travis ordered, his voice low, clipped—more forceful than necessary. He grabbed Cole’s wrist, not gently, and hauled him out of the tight space, back into the disused room and toward the door hanging on its hinges.
Cole barely had time to tuck his phone away before he was being dragged outside, into the cold night air. The sound of voices somewhere behind them signaled that Travis’s rash move had nearly blown their cover.
They moved quickly across the lot, keeping low, shadows stretching long beneath the dim disused lights. Travis was running too fast, his grip on Cole firm, unyielding, almost dragging him.
Cole yanked his arm free the second they reached the van. “What the hell was that?”
Travis wrenched the driver’s side door open with an almighty grunt. “That was you almost compromising the mission. Get in now!”
Cole scoffed as he slipped into the passenger seat. “Oh, sure, because I’m the one who put us in a broom closet with no space.”
Travis turned sharply, keeping his face stoney and tight with control, despite still being out of breath. “You knocked over that pipe, Steele.”
Cole crossed his arms, the anger in his voice dimming into hurt. “Yeah, well, you then proceeded to push me into a shelf.” His voice wasn’t sharp now. It was quieter and more controlled. “So don’t act like this is all my fault.”
Travis stilled, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.
Cole wasn’t wrong.
And somehow, that made it worse.
He shook his head as he started the engine. “Next time, don’t move unless I tell you to.”
“You pushed me.”
Travis didn’t argue.
Cole buckled his seat belt, lips pressed together, and stared out the window as Travis drove them onto the road full pelt—the silence between them was unbearably heavy.
Travis gripped the wheel too hard, his knuckles turning white.
His emotions were a flood pressing against the dam, held back by his sheer force of will, by the control he’d spent years reinforcing.
Because tonight had hit too hard, too fast. Cole’s body had squeezed so close against his.
His breath had quivered against Travis’s palm, warm and inviting and Travis had felt it all too much, in places he shouldn’t.
He swallowed hard, trying to force the cracks to seal, forcing his mind back to anger, to frustration—anything but the dangerous pull in his chest.
Because if the dam broke, if he ever let himself sit with whatever was clawing at the edges of his control—he wasn’t sure if he would survive the flood.