45. Chapter 45 #3
“I'm afraid this is the only chance I'll get to touch you.” Colt looked down at Beau's chest and swallowed. “I know that race was scary for you, too, and I know your walls are down. I'm afraid if we stop now, you'll put them back up and I won't be able to climb them.”
“That's—” Beau frowned, stroking Colt’s collarbone with his thumb. He sighed. “That's fair. I know I've been difficult. I know I've been…scared.”
Closing his eyes briefly, Beau looked like the confession hurt him.
But he opened his eyes again and leaned forward to kiss Colt’s lips.
“I'm not going anywhere, alright?” He pulled Colt's hand up and pressed it against his own chest, his tee soft and warm under Colt’s palm.
“I want this. But not when you can barely move without wincing.”
“But—”
“Colt.” Beau moved the hand at Colt’s throat around to the back of his neck and squeezed. “You had your hand on my cock and you didn’t even get fully hard. You're hurting. You're tired. You need rest.”
“I don't need to be hard to take care of you.” Colt knew that wasn't the point, and he knew he'd lost, too. Worth a shot still. “I could lie on the bed and you could fuck my face and I don't even have to move at all.”
Beau’s eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, and he made a soft, pained noise before looking at Colt again. “Boy, you need to rest. You can do it yourself, or I can make you. Your choice. But you're resting.”
Colt couldn't say no to Beau when he did that, when he used that voice, the one that made Colt want to get on his knees and whine ‘yes, sir, please, sir.’
He glared. “You're playing dirty.”
“Gotta get in the mud yourself when you’re dealing with a shit who always plays dirty.” Beau kissed him again, chaste this time, and somehow that made Colt melt even more than the filthy kisses had. “Now, come on. Bed.”
Colt sighed and pushed his forehead into Beau’s shoulder. “Can I sleep with you and Toast?”
It was quiet except for Beau’s breathing and Colt’s heart racing for so long Colt thought he was about to get told no for sure. Then Beau let out a puff of air and turned to kiss the side of his head, those big hands running up Colt’s bare back. “Yeah, you can.”
Victory smelled like lavender and Beau’s sheets, apparently.
Colt slipped off of Beau’s lap and pushed under the covers.
He pulled them up to his ears and watched Beau finish getting ready for bed, his eyes growing heavy as Beau brought the medical supplies to his bathroom and went to open the door for Toast.
His eyes were closed by the time Toast hopped up on the bed and sniffed Colt’s face. Colt winced. “Gross. Why’s your breath smell like tuna?”
Toast meowed at him and rubbed his cheeks against Colt’s forehead, purring that crunchy purr as he shoved under the blankets and curled against Colt’s stomach like he had the other night in the guest room.
“You’re gonna have to come to bed eventually, Beau.” Colt yawned, listening to Beau still finding stuff to do in the bathroom. He cracked one eye open and found Beau standing in the doorway holding a box of disinfectant wipes and smirked. “Come on. I swear I don’t hog the blankets.”
Toast’s purring warmth made it almost impossible to resist the pull of sleep.
When he blinked, the bathroom light was off and Beau’s heavy footfalls were coming toward the bed.
The sheets pulled back so gently it felt like they hardly moved at all, and Beau slipped into bed as quietly as a man his size possibly could.
“You falling off the edge there?” Colt smiled and hid it under the sheets he was pretending not to smell.
He was facing the middle of the bed, Beau on the side closest to the bedroom door.
When he reached over, he had to stretch his whole arm before his fingertips made contact with Beau’s shirt.
Another yawn cracked his jaw. “Doesn’t matter how far away you are.
Sleep Colt is a heat-seeking missile. Gonna find you anyway. ”
Beau laughed, and the bed dipped as he shifted closer. Not touching, but close enough that Colt was able to wrap his hand around Beau’s forearm. He fell asleep listening to Beau breathe, Toast making biscuits against his stomach.
***
When Beau woke, it was immediately clear that Colt hadn’t been lying about the heat-seeking. One of his hands was fisted into the front of Beau’s shirt, his face buried in Beau’s chest, and their legs were tangled. Goddamn octopus.
Toast was stretched across the pillow above Beau’s head like he usually was, making those soft snoring noises.
Beau shifted, pulling Colt closer. Apparently he’d been heat-seeking too, because he was in the middle of the bed with a death grip on the other man.
Hell. But Colt was warm, his breaths even and deep against Beau’s side.
Beau pressed his nose into Colt's curls.
He couldn't deny the ease inside, like having Colt against him—solid and real—soothed his restlessness.
He left his nose where it was and closed his eyes.
They had so little time, and he was done wasting it.