50. Chapter 50 #3
Colt nodded and closed his eyes as Beau hurried toward the hall.
The door clicked open, and Colt was alone.
He was shaky—loose-limbed, melty, the kind of feeling he'd heard about and given to other people, but had never really felt himself.
More, actually. Kind of floaty and distant.
Like his body was here but his brain was somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.
His thoughts moved slowly, like honey. Everything was soft. Warm. The sheets against his skin, the faint smell of Beau on the pillow, the weight of his own limbs.
For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—his mind was silent. No spiraling thoughts about Charlotte. No anxiety loop about failing. Just... nothing. Peaceful nothing.
He should probably be concerned about that. Should probably wonder what Beau had just done to him.
But he couldn't quite grab hold of the worry. It slipped away like water.
The bed dipped, and Colt cracked an eye open as Toast flicked his tail. He wandered up and crawled into Colt's lap, where he twisted in a circle and flopped onto his side to start purring against Colt's thigh.
"Hi, baby boy," Colt rasped. He scratched behind Toast's ears with clumsy fingers.
Missed Beau. Which was stupid, because he was just in the other room.
But Colt's chest was tight with it anyway. He wanted him back. Needed—
What did he need?
He didn't know. Couldn't think through the haze.
***
Beau dropped the laundry into the machine and shook out his hands, which were shaking.
Fuck.
What had he done? Colt was crying, not talking, and he said he was good, but—
But Beau had never made anyone cry before. Not like that. Like he'd—had he hurt him? He'd been rough. Rougher than he'd ever really been with anyone else, definitely.
He put the soap and softener into the machine and flipped it on.
Colt would have told him, right? He wasn't afraid to tell Beau what he'd done wrong.
Shit. What should he do?
Water. Colt needed to hydrate, right? Just like after a workout or track time. Hydration and food. It was four in the morning. Colt needed to eat before he slept.
Beau hurried into the kitchen and pulled a bottle out of the cabinet, filled it with cold water and Colt’s favorite electrolyte flavor. Then he looked in the fridge while he shook the drink up.
What did you feed someone you'd just fucked into tears?
Not helpful.
Yogurt was good. Sugar, fat, protein. He had some cut strawberries in a container, and he dumped those on top.
What else?
More protein. Nuts? He had some pistachios, which would have to do because Colt didn't like pecans, and that was all he had otherwise.
Half of him wanted to linger and give Colt space, and the other half screamed to get the hell back in there and fix whatever he broke. The second half won, of course, because this was Colt. And he didn't just want to fix it. Needed to, more like. An itch beneath his skin.
He carried the bottle and bowl back into his bedroom and stood for just a moment in the doorway to look. Colt was still sitting where Beau had left him, tear tracks on his cheeks, rubbing behind Toast's ears. He was smiling a sort of small, dreamy smile like he'd been drugged.
But he was smiling. So. Small mercies, maybe.
Beau sat down on his side of the bed. Not that he had a side, since the whole bed was his. But over the past week, they'd fallen into a lot of routines. One of them was that Beau slept closest to the door and windows.
He pushed the bottle into Colt's hands. “Drink some of that. Sip slow like you do after a race.”
Colt made a face, and another piece of that worried, tight thing in Beau’s stomach unclenched. Two sips later, Beau took the bottle and handed Colt the bowl instead.
“I'm…not really hungry.” Colt cleared his throat and looked up at Beau.
For what?
“Eat anyway.”
Colt picked up the spoon like Beau had pressed a button that made him.
One bite, small, hesitant. Then he made a soft, groaning noise and shoveled the rest into his face like he'd been starving.
Which he had been, probably. It had been a hell of a task keeping this boy fed the past week.
He'd had luck at the shop, even enlisting Joyce to force food on him at the diner, but at home, Colt was on the sim or falling asleep at the kitchen counter.
“Good,” Beau murmured as Colt finished. He took the bowl and handed him the bottle again. “Drink.”
“M’tired.” Colt’s jaw cracked with the force of his yawn, but he took a drink anyway before setting the bottle on the nightstand.
“Alright.” The bowl clinked when Beau set it on the nightstand, too. He picked Toast up and ignored his indignant meow. “Lay down.”
Colt wiggled into the sheets, and Beau released Toast, who crawled over Colt and pressed against his side. He kneaded against Colt's hip and glared at Beau, and Colt chuckled as Beau got under the covers, too.
Sheets swished as Beau reached over and tugged Colt until he was lying with his head on Beau's chest, and Colt melted against him with a relieved sigh.
“Are you alright?” Beau asked. He ran his fingers through Colt's hair.
“So good,” Colt mumbled against Beau’s chest. He tapped his own temple. “Real quiet up here. Think you broke me.”
Beau froze. “Broke you?”
“No, not—” Colt lifted his head and blinked up at Beau with heavy eyes. “Good broken. Head isn't so busy.”
Good broken. Beau had no idea what the hell that meant. But as Colt settled against him again and sighed a relaxed sigh, he figured whatever he had done had worked.
Which had been the point. He'd been watching Colt spiral all week.
Obsessing like that time he'd lost his first race.
Drowning in his own expectations. Nothing Beau had done had helped except when he told Colt exactly what to do and when to do it.
He'd tried not to. Didn't like what it said about him that he was that controlling even all these years later.
But when he'd woken up at three in the morning to find Colt gone already, he'd decided enough was enough. Colt responded to control, and Colt responded to sex. Seemed like simple math.
He'd meant to exhaust him until he had to sleep. Wear him out so thoroughly he wouldn't move for a few hours.
Colt nuzzled against Beau’s chest, sleepy and soft, and Beau listened to his breathing even out as he drifted off. Realized it had worked. Maybe not exactly as he'd intended, but…well. A win was a win.
And Beau couldn’t deny that he'd liked it. That he felt…not quiet, like Colt. But peaceful. Like something he hadn't known was out of place had clicked right, or like a background hum he hadn't noticed had cut off and he could hear the peace now.
He pulled Colt closer and buried his nose in those curls. Closed his own eyes, even though he knew he wouldn't be sleeping, that he was going to be awake for hours listening to Colt breathe.