40. Chapter 40 #3
“That’s bullshit.” But Colt’s voice had lost heat because Beau’s thumb was stroking his cheekbone and his eyes looked—God, they looked almost desperate. “You don’t get to make me feel like that and then not let me—”
“Colt.” Beau’s voice was rough, though his touch stayed soft. “Please. Not tonight.”
“Not tonight,” Colt repeated slowly, leaning into the pressure of the warm hand against his cheek. “So… when? When do I get to make you feel good, Beau?”
Beau’s thumb stilled on his cheekbone. “I don’t know.”
Well, that’s a bullshit nonanswer.
Colt was opening his mouth to say just that when an angry, muffled yowl cut through the night, followed by the sound of paws scrabbling against glass.
Raising both eyebrows, Colt leaned over to look around Beau’s thighs and found Toast stretched up at the front window, hitting the glass with his paws and making all sorts of pissed-off noises.
"Guess somebody's offended we left him out of the fun," Colt said, trying for lightness even though his chest felt tight. He pushed himself up off his knees with a wince—gravel had left marks he'd feel tomorrow.
“He missed you,” Beau said quietly enough that Colt turned to look at him. Beau's hand steadied him at the elbow. "Let's get you inside before he breaks through the glass."
Colt nodded and grabbed his shorts off the driveway, one shoe still on, and limped toward the house. Behind him, he heard Beau gathering the rest of their scattered clothes. The moment felt strange—post-orgasmic floaty feeling mixing with the sting of rejection, all underscored by a screaming cat.
His life was so fucking weird.
***
Toast made an ungodly noise as Beau led Colt—naked, Christ—through the front door. The taste of him was still on Beau's tongue, the front of his jeans wet from that bratty, smart mouth it had taken damn near all of his willpower to resist.
“Crispy! Wait, I have no pants on—ow, claws!”
Colt was fighting Toast off with one shoe, hand protecting his groin. Cute little shit.
“You go on to my room and find clothes before he gets you in parts you need,” Beau said as he dropped Colt’s clothes in a heap on the counter.
He balled up his own ruined shirt and tossed it in the trash.
Even if he cleaned it right this second, he'd never be able to wear it again without remembering that Colt’s cum had been on it and how it had gotten there. “Your shorts are covered in dirt.”
“Someone was careless,” Colt sing-songed, hustling down the hall with Toast on his tail—his white, perfect ass on full display because the boy had no shame.
The bedroom door shut, and Toast yowled at it before sitting down and fixing his eyes firmly on the handle.
Beau snorted. “Pathetic, Toast. Have some pride.”
Toast's ears flicked toward him, but he didn't turn.
Beau set about pulling out an electrolyte drink and a pre-made recovery meal.
He heated it up and set everything out. Poured himself whiskey.
Stood at the counter for a long moment before making his way to the living room, where he sat down in his chair and watched the trees out his back door.
The sounds Colt had made—that desperate, needy rambling, the moaning, whining.
Those were going to haunt Beau’s dreams. He pressed the glass against his forehead, unwilling to burn away the taste of Colt just yet.
In any other circumstances, he'd go to the next town over and pick someone up, bring them to a hotel, and get this restless, aching want out of his
system.
But he damn well couldn’t imagine anyone but Colt was going to quench this thirst.
And he couldn't let Colt touch him.
So, really, he was fucked.
He didn't turn when Colt came out of the bedroom, but he tracked his movement anyway. Down the hall, to the kitchen, where he stopped and took a long sip of the drink. Toast made a soft ‘mrrt’ sound, the one he made when he jumped up on the counter, and started to purr.
“Look at you,” Colt murmured around a mouthful of food. “You're such a big baby, aren't you? I missed you, too.”
Beau still hadn't taken a drink when he heard the sink running a few minutes later, dishes being rinsed and dropped in the dishwasher. Footsteps headed his way, sure and bare.
He'd expected Colt to stand in front of him or sit on the floor, or even drop onto the couch.
That was not what happened. One leg slid into the chair with him, wedged between his thigh and the arm, then the other on the other side, and Colt settled himself on Beau's thighs. Warm and heavy, smelling like Beau’s soap.
Colt plucked Beau’s glass out of his hand and set it on the table beside the chair, and Beau finally looked up.
Swimming in Beau’s Alice Cooper shirt, his curls wet and shrinking against his forehead, Colt was watching Beau like he could see right through him.
Beau’s eyes tracked down to Colt’s thighs, bare except for his bright red boxer briefs.
“There's no way in hell I'm fitting in your underwear,” Colt told him as he wiggled into a more comfortable position. “Giant.”
“What are you doing, Colt?” Beau settled his hands on the tops of Colt’s thighs.
Because he was weak. Weak and just as pathetic as his cat.
One of Colt’s hands slid onto Beau's bare chest. “Well, I've been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” Beau murmured.
“You're rude.”
Colt pinched one of Beau’s nipples, and Beau jumped. “Colt!”
Unrepentant, as always, Colt grinned at him. “Be nice, and I'll be nice back.”
Beau squeezed Colt’s thighs, digging his thumbs into the muscles there just to see Colt squirm. Sadist, Colt had called him. “I'm always nice. You sayin’ what I did out there wasn't nice?”
“Nice is not the word I'd use.” Colt shifted on Beau's legs, his muscles flexing under Beau's hands. “Now stop that unless you want me dry humping you into oblivion. I have no pride. Left it on the hood of your truck. And I'm trying to have a real talk here.”
“Alright,” Beau drawled, slow and deliberate as he gentled his hands. No part of him wanted to have this talk, and at the same time, every part did. Especially with Colt warm and alive in his lap, looking at him with those big, green eyes.
“We’re both adults here,” Colt started as he gently carded his fingers through Beau’s chest hair. “And clearly keeping our hands to ourselves is not going well. Why does it have to be complicated?”
Beau sighed. “For a million reasons, boy. Which I've listed. Multiple times.”
“I'm not asking for forever, Beau.” Colt's other hand came to Beau’s face, his thumb running across Beau’s mustache to his cheekbone. “I'm gone in four months anyway, and you're…well. Whatever you are, it's clear ‘open to commitment’ isn't in your vocabulary. But you want me.”
He paused, watching Beau’s face. Colt wanted an answer, and Beau couldn't deny him that. “Yeah.” He slid his hands up Colt’s thighs and bit down the jolt of fear that hit him with the admission. “I do.”
The smile Colt gave him, all sunshine and dimples and teeth, was almost worth it.
“Look at this. Honesty. Communication. We're so grown,” Colt teased, his cheeks turning pink.
“That's all this needs to be, right? You want me. I want you to bend me over every surface and show me a new religion.” Beau rolled his eyes, and Colt tugged on Beau's hair.
“Hush. I'm talking. Why can't we just… have that?”
“Just that, hm?” As if there was any such thing when Beau had felt that horrible, sucking fear watching Colt on the track. When he couldn't stay away, even though he knew he should.
“Yup.” Colt nodded. “A real-life situationship. No feelings, no strings. You get what you want, I get what I want, and when Liberty comes knocking, we end it. Out of our systems.”
Out of our systems. Like Colt was a fever Beau could sweat out, like four months would be enough to forget what it felt like to have all that wild, desperate want in his hands. The lie settled in his chest, heavy as a stone.
Beau rubbed circles on Colt’s thighs. “That's what you want?”
Colt moved his hand to the top of Beau’s shoulder. “That's what I want.”
“And when you're on that track, and I'm watching you take risks I know you shouldn't take?” Beau slid his hands up to the hem of Colt’s boxers. “You think I'm gonna be able to stay objective? Coach you right?”
“Think you can stay objective even if you're not fucking me, Beau?” Colt asked, the cheeky shit, and scooted further up on Beau's legs. “Whether we're in bed together or not, we're friends. You care about me. That's not a flaw, it's a feature.”
How was he supposed to argue with that? Today, he’d watched Colt pull a move he’d known he was capable of, and had been thrown immediately back into the choking, noxious smell of smoke and blood, and all but screamed at Colt to stop. He was not objective.
“There’s gonna have to be rules,” he said eventually, and Colt perked up like a goddamn puppy.
“Rules! I can do rules.” Colt shifted restlessly on his perch, his hand dragging down Beau's chest.
Dimples. Hell. Beau wanted to run his tongue over them. Both sets.
“This doesn't happen at the shop or at the track.” There. Simple, clean rule.
Colt nodded. “Yeah, okay. What else?”
“Racing comes first. Always.”
“I mean, yeah.” Colt rolled his eyes, those hands still questing, like he'd been given an inch and was damn well ready to take a mile. “More?”
“I won't touch you if you're sleepin’ with anyone else,” Beau said, his accent slipping thicker like it always did when he was feeling some type of way. “I'm not enough for you, you get your kicks elsewhere.”
Colt’s hands dragged down to Beau’s stomach and slid back up as Colt bit his bottom lip. “Possessive. That's hot.”
Beau rolled his eyes. Colt had no idea how possessive he was. “That's a rule, Colt. I mean it. Sam can fuck right off to where he came from.”