Fire & Ice (Extended Edition)

Chapter 8

It’s a wonder what a little food and some affection from Tripp does to turn Leander’s mood around, though the bad energy lingers. The inside of his head is still a bit of a jumbled mess, riddled with guilt and the shadows of things that he knows better than to believe in, though they haunt him nonetheless.

It’s been years since Leander has experienced a drop like that, not since he first began experimenting in the scene and tried some casual submitting, just to learn what it was like to be “on the other side.” While he didn’t particularly enjoy the experience of being dominated, it was useful to understand the spectrum of things his potential subs might go through, the emotional highs and lows. For that, Leander is glad that he did it.

Still, he encountered some real assholes in the process, predators branding themselves “Doms” who were really just horny bullies with consent issues wanting to be called “Daddy.” These were people who didn’t seem to understand that submission is a gift, a privilege, and that all subs deserve both respect and something in return for the things they offer up freely.

Thankfully, and perhaps by pure luck, Leander never found himself in a situation where he was in danger, never had an encounter violate his boundaries or escalate further than he was willing to go. He would be lying, though, if he said that his early experiences weren’t a significant factor in not wanting Tripp dipping his toes anywhere near the local scene. Not on his own, anyway.

Yes, Leander’s initial offer to act as Tripp’s Dom was partially selfish, but on the other hand, he’s always been open with Tripp and their mutual friends about the scene and his involvement in it. He’s had plenty of conversations with Tripp in the past—both with and without others present—to notice Tripp’s interest, to see where it was leading. Especially now, Leander truly believes that if he hadn’t offered to take him under his wing, it would only have been a matter of time before Tripp sought a Dom for himself.

All of those things came back to bite Leander in the ass today. Never particularly experiencing drop as a Dom (though, now, he’s wondering whether some was happening at the beginning of his and Tripp’s relationship and he was too focused on Tripp to realize it), the intense wave of emotion took him by surprise, to say the least. The feelings themselves were recognizable, sure, but they were also intertwined with guilt and self-recrimination in a way he had no reason to feel back when he was a sub. Thus, it was a lot harder for him to cope.

This crash was centered around Tripp, because what isn’t when it comes to Leander, these days? More specifically, the drop flooded his brain with all of the times Leander perceived he failed Tripp, the ways he let him down—whether logical or not.

From the very start, Leander promised to keep Tripp safe. That was his base reasoning, the concept that pushed him into offering himself up, into looking past the threat of having his secret feelings exposed. It was all for Tripp’s sake, Tripp’s well-being. Leander: Experienced Dom and Caring Best Friend, was supposed to be the better choice, the safe option, the one who would always put Tripp and his best interests first: purely, reliably, and without hesitation.

After today’s events, it’s clear to Leander that the trust Tripp placed in him to do that very thing has been blown to smithereens. Not once, but twice, at that . Firstly when he didn’t recognize that Tripp was dropping, or pick up on what Tripp needed to not feel that way, and secondly when he didn’t trust his gut on always creating space and time to give those things to both of them.

The hard truth is, they played with fire this morning. Whether Tripp did or didn’t actually drop after he left the apartment is irrelevant. That is what Leander has ultimately decided, after copious hours agonizing over the matter, folding laundry and brooding angstily while waiting for Tripp to show up. Facts are facts—regardless of things working out, Tripp could have dropped, and if he had, it would have happened because Leander relaxed the strict boundaries for the affection and reassurance he knows Tripp needs after a scene.

All in the name of, what? Getting off?

Sure, Tripp wanted something this morning, perhaps even needed it. That’s not in dispute. But Tripp always wants things, always needs them, and it’s not just Leander’s job to deliver, it’s his damn obligation to do so safely. And if it can’t be done safely, it shouldn’t be done at all. That’s supposed to be rule number one in his own damn playbook.

Admittedly, Leander got caught up this morning. Tripp does that to him, but it’s not an excuse.

Around four a.m., Tripp had woken up anxious and flailing around in the bed, very unlike his usual motionless sleep of the dead. Usually, he knocks out like a rock after they scene, hardly rolling over until morning, especially when Leander is curled around him, or vice versa.

Not today.

Most assuredly, Tripp hadn’t meant to wake Leander up, but with all of the huffing and flopping he was doing, that was probably inevitable. Some minor coaxing convinced a reluctant Tripp to admit that he was stressed about the day ahead—mostly regarding his leadership role in the fire training scenarios, especially when it came to the new recruits. But that wasn’t all—those worries were also piled on top of the self-inflicted stress that comes with being the best brotherly support system he can possibly be, while simultaneously tiptoeing around the two assholes Beau insists on calling his best friends.

At the time, the solution to all of this had seemed obvious to Leander. And to Tripp, of course. Expending stress and anxiety is what he and Tripp do together, it’s the major purpose their altered relationship serves in Tripp’s life. It’s what keeps Tripp coming back to Leander’s home and his bed, night after night.

And so what if they were pushing the window for decent aftercare? It wasn’t the first time. They’d risked a few casual scenes before this, times when one of them had plans to be somewhere else soon after. Although, when Leander reflects back, he does realize that none of those scenes ended with zero cuddling, and maybe he overlooked that, just a little, because it wasn’t convenient to his in-the-moment desires.

Selfish.

The bottom line is, Leander truly believes that he put Tripp at risk (again), whether Tripp agrees with his assessment or not. That knowledge makes him feel terrible, like the worst person in the world, especially because of how much he loves Tripp. Especially because of how he made the man specific promises to never take advantage, to never do this very thing.

The enormity of what he had done overwhelmed Leander. The feelings compounded and dragged him down into a shame spiral, one that made his need to see Tripp—to feel with his own hands that he was alive and okay, to hear with his own ears that Tripp still wanted him, regardless of whether that was right, or smart, whether he should or shouldn’t—impossible to ignore.

But once he was there , the whole concept of invading Tripp’s space at work, of showing up uninvited, of adding to the burden already on his shoulders, of embarrassing Tripp and humiliating himself, and everything else —

It wasn’t good.

Hence, the folding and the isolation. Channeling his anxiety and rage at himself into something mundane and rote, away from other people but as close to Tripp as he could get for the time being. It worked, enough to get Leander through the fraught and endless hours until Tripp showed up, anyway.

And Tripp—sweet, intuitive, forgiving Tripp—was perfect. Leander is entirely certain that he can never repay him for this. One thing is for sure: if he didn’t already love Tripp with every fiber of his being , today would surely have sent him tumbling headfirst over the cliff.

Whether Tripp agrees or not doesn’t matter, because Leander knows with absolute certainty that he does not deserve this man. While he may get to keep him regardless of that fact, it doesn’t make it any less true, and Leander will spend the rest of the time Tripp gifts him with making that (and everything else) up to him.

As he crumples the empty cheeseburger wrapper in his hands, making sure there are no stray crumbs littering the otherwise pristine seats of Tripp’s vehicle, Leander can’t help but glance over at his friend. His heart races in his chest to find Tripp already smiling back, the lines at the corners of his eyes giving away that he’s truly happy. He’s not playing for Leander’s sake, not simply acting because he thinks it’s what Leander needs right now (although, that’s not incorrect).

All too soon, Tripp has to turn his gaze back to the road, but Leander can’t stop looking, can’t stop marveling at how unbelievably lucky he is to have someone like Tripp in his life. Something twists in his gut, enough that he physically has to put a hand on his stomach. From the moment Tripp walked into the bathroom, to the sweet dancing moment they shared in the shower, to Tripp’s kisses and their unexpected exchange of “ I need yous ” back in the bunkroom—Leander might be crazy, might be dreaming, might be straight up seeing what he wants to see, but something feels different.

It doesn’t help him sort out that question to know that Tripp was quite obviously giving everything he thought Leander needed to pull him out of a major drop. That is definitely true, and it could explain away the entirety of Tripp’s behavior and all of their affectionate interactions. On the other hand, following his gut is something Leander has always regretted not doing when it comes to Tripp, both today and any other time that he’s resisted or second-guessed himself.

And his gut says something is shifting between them. Something good. Something Leander wants more than he can put words to and is afraid beyond measure to name, at least where it concerns Tripp, and how Tripp feels about him.

If it is true, then Leander needs to tread carefully, slowly. Much of his relationship with Tripp, even before they added the BDSM and the sex, was one step forward, two steps back. That’s just how Tripp is, and it’s taken Leander years to learn how to handle him. This—this change in whatever’s happening between them—can’t be treated any differently.

One agonizingly slow minute at a time, then onto the next.

On a lighter note, Tripp looks positively stunning right now, behind the wheel of his car. Despite his impossibly long day and evident exhaustion, he’s beautiful. He’s also surprisingly bright, his five o’clock shadow looking intentional and roguish, the tight fit of his button down perfectly accentuating his lovely body, even under his ( not weather-appropriate) leather jacket.

Of course, Tripp always looks beautiful, but tonight, Leander can’t pry his eyes away from him. So much so that he’s nearly gawking as Tripp exits their vehicle, stepping out into the evening chill and the dim light of a nearly-set sun looking like a model at a photoshoot.

They’re parked at the curb in front of the ornate church where Bri and Beau are tying the knot tomorrow afternoon, and—likely due in part to the near-freezing temperatures—no one is waiting outside to greet them. In fact, the street itself is oddly quiet, traffic low and slow and no one walking on the sidewalks. Perhaps it’s the negligent risk that makes Leander brave, but reason aside, when the urge strikes him to reach out and slip one hand into Tripp’s, he doesn’t think twice.

The residual static in Leander’s head, the whispering ghosts repeating that he’s not good enough, not worthy, poof and evaporate like dust in the wind when Tripp turns his face towards him and smiles.

Blinding, absolute sunshine, and the light at the end of Leander’s sometimes very dark tunnel, he finds himself barely able to breathe with that look directed his way. Whistling and happy as a clam, Tripp fails to notice anything off in his demeanor, and plows ahead. Dragging Leander determinedly up the stone steps of the church, Tripp pulls open one of the very heavy wooden double doors and sweeps him inside ahead of himself without pause.

On the other side of the door, Beau, Bri, and their squads of bridesmaids and groomsmen are gathered in the lobby. Leander scans faces and accounts for all of their friends plus Bri's parents. The elder Baileys are lingering off to the side of the main group, standing with Mickey Miller and Reina Harrington. The latter pair are standing in for father and mother of the groom, respectively, and Leander knows personally that Beau is both grateful and proud to have them do so.

Still holding Leander’s hand, Tripp waves and grins at everyone, echoing greetings and one-arming hugs, first with Bri and then Beau, angling his body so that he doesn’t have to let go. Watching that happen and feeling Tripp’s grip only tighten around his palm nearly has Leander losing it all over again. He truly does not deserve someone so good, so considerate and constantly giving of himself.

Tripp isn’t even wearing his collar, nor did they negotiate anything like this ahead of time. He’s just… Tripp, holding Leander’s hand, because he wants to.

“‘Bout time,” Christian scoffs when Beau and Tripp separate, despite Beau being nothing but smiles and good cheer at the arrival of his brother. Leander can almost feel the room drop twenty degrees just from the icy sneer in his voice, the chilling disdain in his tone. “You two are really making a habit out of being late, huh? No respect for your brother and his wife, always getting up to some bullshit together that’s more important than your commitments, aren’t you? Wonder whose turn it was this time?”

He’s openly mocking, and even Brett puts a hand on his shoulder, mumbling something under his breath that Leander can’t hear but makes Christian roll his eyes. Before things can escalate, and they’re close—Leander feels Tripp’s entire body tensing and radiating anger beside him, so it’s just a matter of time—Beau and Bri's officiant sweeps in from the sanctuary and unwittingly saves the couple’s rehearsal from devolving into a bloodbath. At least, for the time being.

“Good evening to my happy couple, welcome to all of their beloved family and friends!” The priest is an older man with gray hair and kind eyes, casually dressed in his black clerical shirt, pants, and collar. Seemingly grateful for the distraction, everyone pivots physically to hear what he has to say, budding spat forgotten.

Everyone, that is, except for Tripp, Christian, and Leander. And Mickey, actually, Leander notices—the fire chief is eyeing up Christian with a furious expression that suggests he might actually be more of a danger to the guy than Tripp is, should shit actually hit the proverbial fan. It’s only Reina’s insistent tugging at his elbow that seemingly keeps him where he is, but Leander’s fairly certain that if Christian doesn’t knock it off, they all might be attending a funeral tomorrow instead of a wedding.

Even as the priest talks, reviewing the procedures for the next day, the relevant parts of the ceremony, and what each of their roles will be, Tripp and Christian continue shooting daggers at each other with their eyes. Tripp is eventually required to let go of his hand when they pair off to walk down the aisle, but he’s escorting Ro, who touches Leander’s arm and quietly assures him that she’ll have Tripp’s back, and that she “has a knife in her boot,” a statement that Leander isn’t sure whether or not he’s supposed to be comforted by.

For his part, Leander’s paired with one of Bri's nursing friends, Avery, and the way she eyes him up is the last thing he needs to deal with right now. Doing his best to politely blow her off, Leander genially offers his arm and then hums quiet, noncommittal acknowledgment to any comments or flirtations directed his way. The two of them are following directly behind Tripp and Ro in the procession, and Leander goes through the motions of thoughtfully practicing their part, all without dragging his eyes away from his best friend.

“Really gone on him, huh?” Avery murmurs, when they’re halfway down the aisle.

Up ahead, Bri's wedding coordinator is hollering at Tripp to, “slow down, take your time, it isn’t a race!” from the front of the church.

“What? Oh,” Leander replies distractedly. “No, I—” He lifts his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Just hoping to avoid this whole thing turning into a bad tribute to a Game of Thrones episode.” Avery laughs and leans into his side, very clearly turning on the charm. She’s conventionally attractive, and maybe in another time and place, Leander could be interested in getting to know her, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Tripp on her best day, and today is not that.

At the foot of the altar, he and Avery separate, and Leander takes his place beside Tripp, very intentionally keeping his back turned to the two troublemakers behind him. The rest of the rehearsal flows flawlessly. Tripp producing ring pops from his pocket in place of the real thing, which makes everyone laugh and lightens the lingering tension significantly.

Beau and Bri are adorable. They can’t stop touching each other, or smiling and laughing stupidly, the way two people who are madly in love tend to do. Their priest is charismatic and has a good sense of humor, everyone seems relaxed and confident in their roles, and by the time they’re all walking out the front door of the church, things actually seem like they might work out. Most importantly, Christian keeps his damn mouth shut.

“You’re doing fine,” Leander reassures Tripp, as they descend the steps back to his car. The group has temporarily split with the goal of relocating to a restaurant several streets over, and Leander’s not unhappy to have a moment alone.

“You can’t let him bait you,” he continues as they both slide into the car and Tripp turns it around. “Had we not both been through so much today, I’d suggest a bit of ‘stress relief’ in the back seat before heading inside to eat, but honestly, I think that might be tempting the Gods at this point. If it were up to me, we’d certainly be in bed together right now, but sleeping, not fucking.”

That makes Tripp laugh, loud and unexpected, and after he’s parked, he reaches out to cup the side of Leander’s head, firmly holding his gaze. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, his expression sobering. “Dunno how I’d get through this without you. Beau deserves better than me losing my cool over some douchenozzle and his badly-dealt-with internalized homophobia.”

Leander just smiles and peels Tripp’s hand from his head, threading their fingers together once they’re settled in his lap. “I hope you know that I feel the same,” he says, and then rolls his eyes. “About you, not regarding the self-hating asshole. Though, I do agree with your assessment.”

Something outside the window distracts Tripp before he can reply, catching his attention and making him growl under his breath. Unsurprisingly, it’s Christian, flipping them two middle fingers as he passes by the car on his way towards the restaurant.

“Down, Tripp,” Leander says immediately, kind but firm as Tripp bristles. He squeezes Tripp’s hand. “Be my good boy.”

Next to him, Tripp visibly struggles before relenting, relaxing slightly as Christian and Brett head inside and out of sight. “Good boy,” Leander reiterates, and Tripp blows out a breath, nodding like he’s psyching himself up.

“Yeah,” he says, still staring at the restaurant door, and Leander can almost see his mindset shifting, watch the gears turning. Is he— really? “Alright. I can be good for you, Sir. That’s what Beau would want.”

Leander’s floored. Tripp’s slipping into sub-mode by mere suggestion, just to get himself through a difficult moment where he feels as if he may lose control. If the two of them hadn’t been blurring lines left and right all night, Leander might stop him, might drag him out of it, but this—this is something new. This has nothing to do with sex, and it isn’t even about Leander at all. It’s a risk, for sure, but it wasn’t his suggestion, and maybe it’s not his choice to make. If this is what Tripp wants, Leander can support him through it, can look out for and protect him while he works the problem.

After all, that’s what he’s meant to have been doing all along.

“Let’s go inside, Tripp. You can show me how good you can be.”

Dinner proceeds smoothly, and Leander is both surprised and impressed at Tripp’s motivated demonstration of self-control. Beau and Bri are completely wrapped up in each other, too immersed in their own vibe to be any kind of in tune with what Tripp is doing way across the table, but Tripp is fine. Great, even. He’s calm, collected, polite, charming. He lets Christian’s occasional snide comments roll over his shoulders and off of his back without giving even the slightest indication he’s heard them.

Christian hates it. In fact, by the time their salad plates are cleared away, he’s seething openly and becoming restless. Still, Tripp doesn’t react.

In fact, right before the entrees come out, Tripp actually stands up and gives a lovely, touching toast to the almost-newlyweds, one that brings his future sister-in-law to the brink of tears, and has Beau jumping out of his seat to drag him into a fierce, back-clapping hug. After that and throughout the remainder of both dinner and desert, Tripp continues to be stunning. He makes appropriate jokes, drinks sparingly, and eats politely.

He’s perfect, he’s a vision, and Leander has never been prouder.

Behind the scenes, Tripp is relying heavily on Leander to help him through every move he’s publicly executing, but there’s no shame in a submissive leaning on their Dom for support. It’s support that Leander is more than happy to provide, at that. The truth is, Tripp’s doing a lot more via his own sheer willpower than he’s likely giving himself credit for.

Every so often, though, he’ll turn to Leander, meet his gaze, and something unspoken will pass between them. In return, Leander will hold his hand beneath the table. He’ll squeeze his thigh in warning, or lean in to whisper a soft word of encouragement (or reprimand) in his ear, whatever he feels Tripp needs to hear at the time.

It works. They make it through the entire meal and all of the socializing, and the only fight that erupts is a good-natured one over the bill. In the end, Mickey and Reina emerge victorious, and the only threats exchanged are very clearly jokes between family, banter fueled by love as the driving force behind it.

For a minute, Leander thinks they’re actually going to pull this off.

And then Christian drops his whiskey on the floor.

It’s not an accident—that much Leander understands immediately. Christian is sloshed, so drunk that he’s unsteady on his feet, which leaves Leander hard-pressed to believe the guy wasn’t already half in the bag during the rehearsal. When it happens, everyone is chatting, pulling their coats on, discussing sleeping arrangements for tonight and plans for the next day. Bri and Beau are over in a corner of the restaurant’s private room they’re all currently occupying, exchanging an extended, sappy goodbye.

On the other side of the table from him and Tripp, Christian raises his tumbler in the air, making brief but pointed eye contact with Leander before slamming it down onto the ground, glass and watered-down whiskey spraying in every direction. Several of Bri's bridesmaids screech and jump away, everyone collectively creating space to avoid both the mess and becoming the target of Christian’s sudden, uncontainable wrath.

“No, fuck that,” Christian is slurring at Brett, who appears to be trying to talk him into simply putting his coat on and leaving (or perhaps just leaving, fuck the coat). On their side of the table, Tripp pushes his chair back to get to his feet, but keeps hold of Leander’s hand. He watches the proceedings with interest but resists jumping in head-first the way that he normally would.

“Tripp,” Leander says urgently, standing and leaning in close to Tripp’s ear. “You have to trust me, please. Don’t react. No matter what happens, I think it’s best that you stay out of it. In your current state—”

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Christian interrupts loudly, coming to face-off directly opposite them. Slamming his hand against the table, his fist makes it—and all the glassware on it—rattle and shake. Very slowly, Leander puts a bit of distance between his and Tripp’s face, but he doesn’t drop his hand. Why should he?

“These two fuckin’ faggots ,” Christian continues, gesturing wildly, like everyone in the room obviously agrees with and supports his assessment. “Flaunting their disgusting relationship all goddamn night. In a church, at that.” Christian pauses to make a face and spit on the floor, and Leander marvels at the irony, unable to stop himself from cracking a smile. “Oh, you think that’s funny, faggot?”

At his side, Tripp is palpably about to lose it. Leander can tell, and he’s not under any delusions—the only reason he has yet to rearrange Christian’s face is because Leander asked him not to, but he’s barely holding on.

A good boy, but not one with endless patience, nor should he be.

“Nothing I am is any of your business,” Leander replies evenly, a lot calmer than he feels, even as Mickey takes a menacing step forward.

“Pretty clear you’ve had too much to drink, son. I think it’s time you clear out before I have to go and get ugly, you hear me?” Mickey’s tone brooks no argument, but Christian doesn’t even acknowledge him, doesn’t tear his eyes away from Leander and Tripp—specifically, their joined hands—for one fleeting second.

“You’re right,” he says, presumably to Leander, since his eyes are still locked on their target. “Don’t give a shit about you, ambulance driver. It’s this weak , candy-ass bitch giving this family and Beau a bad name—”

Except for the short time Tripp was standing to give his toast, Leander has steadfastly held onto his hand since they exited the car. He’s terribly remiss to drop it for the first time now, but needs absolutely must. Before anyone else can react, Leander leans across the table, snatches Christian by the tie, and lands a wicked right hook to the side of his face that drops the man cold.

“Talk about me all you like, but don’t come for Tripp,” he says flatly, watching curiously and with his head tilted to the side as Christian flops bonelessly to the floor, apparently unconscious.

“Holy shit,” Beau exclaims from somewhere across the room. He’s still hovering in front of Briana, shielding her from the theoretical fight Leander just ended in one fell swoop. Brett has stepped back to cower over by the wall, and the fact that he doesn’t even try to come to Christian’s defense is enough for Leander not to go out of his way to engage with him.

“Damn, boy,” Mickey says with an appreciative whistle, stepping forward to peer down at where Christian continues to be out for the count. “Someone should probably check on him. Or call a bus.” He stares for another second before turning on his heel and cheerfully looping an arm through Reina’s. “Well, we’ll see you all in the morning. Beau, I expect you’ll need someone to fill a space at the altar—I’d be honored to stand up for you, boy.”

A visibly overwhelmed Beau is nodding, opening his mouth to presumably thank Mickey, but whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by Ro bursting breathlessly into the room, back from wherever she’s been.

“Lee,” she says urgently, “The restaurant is calling the cops.”

Beau makes a noise, turning towards where Leander and Tripp are still standing together uncertainly and waving them off. “Go,” he says. “I’ll talk to you both at home. Go, before they get here.”

“I’ll handle it,” Mickey assures them. “He’s right, though. Better that you’re not here when they show up.”

Leander nods, having full confidence that the beat officers will defer to whatever account Mickey gives them regarding what happened. As City Fire Chief, Mickey holds a lot of clout in this town, a lot of pull with the rank and file in every emergency services department, should he choose to use it. He doesn’t throw that influence around lightly, which should make him even more believable today. While it’s unlikely that what Leander did will have any lasting impact beyond this room—besides, perhaps, for Beau—he’s not about to roll the dice, not when he’s being offered a clean exit.

“Thank you,” he says gratefully, as he and Tripp toss their jackets quickly over their shoulders.

“Don’t thank me,” Mickey says gruffly. “You’re family. And not just because of that idjit,” he adds, nodding towards Tripp, who rolls his eyes. Tripp’s been inordinately quiet through this whole thing, and looks surprisingly calm, but as Leander grabs his hand and yanks him towards the restaurant’s rear employee exit, Tripp turns a heated expression on him that Leander would recognize anywhere.

They tumble through the back door to the sound of sirens already filling the air, approaching swiftly.

“Car’s parked at the front,” Tripp points out. “They’ll see us, maybe stop us from leaving.” He’s right, and Leander hesitates, glancing around furtively as the cold wind slips in under his dressy trench coat, making him shiver.

Where can they go?

Behind the building, there’s not much. The usual tiny parking lot, dumpsters, some crates for employees to sit on during breaks. The restaurant itself is situated back-to-back with another eatery that faces a city street on the other side, and as such, there’s an alleyway in-between, and several more running perpendicular in both directions. Flipping a mental coin, Leander takes his pick, dragging Tripp down one and then another—lather, rinse, and repeat until it feels like they’re finally a safe distance away.

He brings them to a stop just below a steam vent, one that happens to be exhaling warm, laundry-scented air. Feeling like a fugitive, Leander turns to look at his friend, to check-in with him and see how he’s really doing, now that they’re alone. But when he makes eye contact with Tripp, not a single word is needed.

Before Leander even really knows what’s happening, he has Tripp pressed up against the cold brick of the alleyway wall and is kissing him soundly. This press of lips is a revelation, so chock-full of relief and desire and every other emotion that Tripp provokes in him regularly, and Leander is amped from what went down inside the restaurant.

His knuckles hurt, his heart races, his blood hums hotly in his veins. He’s worried and maybe a little scared, angry about the things Christian said, and jazzed that he was finally able to honor the promise he made to Tripp when all of this began. He protected him. Not solely by defending his honor, but by doing the dirty work so that Tripp didn’t have to. Tripp deserves that and so much more, and finally, Leander did something right.

If the way that Tripp is kissing him back is any indication, he agrees. “So fuckin’ hot, Sir,” he mumbles as Leander’s mouth leaves his to bite at his jaw and suck on the tender skin of his neck. “God, Lee— Sir, that was so—” He growls and shivers, grabbing Leander’s hand and pressing it tight against his groin, where he’s rock- hard in his pants.

“ Yes, ” Leander murmurs back, unable to come up with anything more articulate, and truly, ‘ yes’ really does cover the spread.

“Fuck me, Sir, right here, please,” Tripp pleads. “Lee, I want you so fuckin’ bad.”

Too caught up and aroused to correct Tripp’s bullshit—aside from a sharp tug to his hair—Leander fumbles with his belt and the closures on his own pants while Tripp yelps in excitement and does the same. Within seconds, both of their cocks are out and sliding together between their bodies, Leander yanking Tripp’s thigh up around his own as much as their ( stupid, useless) pants will allow.

“Lick,” he commands, holding up his right hand in front of Tripp’s face, having to drop Tripp’s thigh so he can use the other to brace his weight against the wall. Tripp complies enthusiastically, drooling spit onto Leander’s hand in a way that leaves his mouth shiny-wet and tempting. Gorgeous.

“You’re a work of art,” Leander says softly, and Tripp blushes, shy expression turning wrecked as Leander closes his hand around both of them and strokes.

This is what he loves most about being with Tripp—watching him fall apart. Even out here, in this cold, dark, nasty alley, he’s like something that tumbled off of a cloud and fell straight from Heaven into Leander’s lap. So bright, so wonderful, so perfect, his pretty mouth falling open as his eyes drift closed, head dropping back against the wall with a quiet thud.

I love you, Leander thinks, and so badly wants to say. I love you endlessly, ferociously, would lay down my life for you in an instant and not think twice.

To stop himself from blurting such things out loud, he leans forward and nips at Tripp’s lower lip, sucking it into his own mouth before letting go.

“Kiss me, please,” Tripp pants, his eyes cracking open hazy and lovely, and how— how could that make Leander love him more?

They rock together, somehow both rushed and desperate, clinging to each other and chasing a high that’s rooted in violence and discord, but also exceedingly gentle and soft. Tripp comes moaning and sighing with Leander’s tongue in his mouth and then drops to his knees, swallowing him down and carrying him over the edge in under a minute.

When it’s over, the two of them stand in the cold with foreheads pressed together for entirely too long. Their pants are still unbuttoned, and both of them are beginning to shiver and freeze in the unforgiving night air. Tripp is the first to look up, meeting Leander’s gaze with one that’s so full of varying emotions, Leander doubts he could trust himself to list them. What he says, though, is the real surprise.

“I’m so fuckin’ tired,” Tripp declares with a bitten-off laugh, which makes Leander laugh, which breaks whatever weird tension might have been hanging between them.

“I’ve never agreed with you more,” he says mildly. “I’m sure the cops have gone by now, and if not—we’ll cross the street and come from that direction, I doubt anyone will pay us any mind.”

“Thank God,” Tripp groans as he does up his pants, and Leander follows suit. “I can’t wait to get into bed.”

They begin their walk down the alleyway towards the main street, slightly apart. “I can’t wait to get into bed with you ,” Leander says softly, reaching out his hand. Tripp pauses, glancing from Leander’s face to his fingers and back again, wearing an expression that can’t easily be deciphered. Just as Leander’s about to worry, he not only accepts the offer, he uses Leander’s hand to yank him bodily into his side and kiss him soundly.

“I needed that,” is what Tripp tells him when they part, all soft eyes and a tired smile, so Leander simply nods, somewhat dazed. More to the point, though, Tripp doesn’t let go of his hand.

New, Leander finds himself thinking. This is new.

“Tripp,” he says carefully, after a minute, as they continue making their way towards the street and the car. “What…what are we doing here? You and I?”

Next to him, Tripp licks his lips and shrugs, but to his credit, he doesn’t rattle off some bullshit answer about ‘stress relief’. “I don’t know, Lee,” he replies, tone revealing nothing. “You got any ideas?”

“No,” Leander readily admits. “But, I…I’m not unhappy with it. I like…” He trails off, searching, not wanting to say something he regrets and can’t take back. This day has been a lot for both of them, and the worst thing Leander could do right now would be to push Tripp into confronting something that he isn’t ready to deal with.

But Tripp just nods and brings Leander closer to his side by way of their joined hands. “Alright,” he says easily. “I’m good with that.”

Leander supposes that for now, he’ll have to be good with that too. Surprisingly, he is.