#lewcest

Todd stands in the corner of the room, leaning with his back against the wall, arms crossed and frowning as he watches you. Bob stares at you with bewildered eyes, not believing the words you just said.

Bob knew he should’ve said something earlier, both him and Todd, about their feelings for you. But how do they even broach the subject without sounding like some pervs looking for a threesome instead of an actual relationship? They tried to bring it up, either one of them chickened out or said it didn’t feel like the right time, so they resolved to scare off anyone who tried to ask you out. Was it smart? No. Was it selfish? Yes. But they couldn’t fathom the alternative.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for them, they weren’t exactly subtle and you weren’t an idiot. You had an inkling they may have felt some type of way about you, especially after some guy from your Public Policy class asked you out while you were studying in the library and Todd literally growled like some kind of guard dog before telling the guy you were busy while Bob ushered you away. Yet, you hesitated. They never mentioned being open to a third and you didn’t want to assume. Plus, if they really had feelings, they had their chance to let you know.

Movie nights where you’re almost always cuddled up between them with your head on Todd's shoulder and legs across Bob's lap, that summer you vacationed with them at Todd’s summer home up in Connecticut. You fucking live with them for Christ’s sake, they could’ve asked you out over your morning coffee if they wanted. Enough was enough.

Which is what leads you to now. They came to your room dressed in their pj’s, and DVDs in hand, ready for your weekly movie night and the last thing they were expecting to hear you say was that you’re going to need to rain check because you’re going on a date. And Todd and Bob didn’t like the sound of that. Not one fucking bit.

“Wha- what did you say?”

Your eyes flicker over to Bob before you refocus on the mirror, reapplying your lip-gloss, “I have a date tonight. Sorry, I know tonight’s usually our movie night, but it just totally slipped my mind to mention it to you guys.”

Bob blinks rapidly, a look of disappointment flashing across his face. Todd's jaw clenches, his hands flexing in and out of fists as your words hit them. You… are going… on a… date?

Bob stutters, trying to form a coherent sentence as he watches you toss your lip gloss down and try and choose which jacket fits your outfit best, “Wha- what? Since when? With who?”

You freeze for a split second. You knew that once they learned who it was with, it would piss them off, but then again, isn't that why you said yes to Evans' invitation anyway?

“Since… Evan… asked me out… yesterday.” Fuck, where was that confidence you had just a minute ago?

That makes Todd finally react. He pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against and scoffs, “You are not going out with fucking Evan of all people.”

You turn around and face him, eyes widening just a little when your nose brushes against him, but your face snaps back to neutral before you think he or Bob notices. Yeah, going out with the guy who’s president of the fraternity that rivals Todds probably wasn’t a good idea.

“Okay, wow, step back there buddy.” Todd barely moves an inch when you put your hand on his chest. You cock a brow up at him. He cocks one at you. Want me to move? Make me.

“Robby, you mind coming to get your man for me?” Bob grabs a hold of his boyfriend's hand and pulls him back to give you space, ignoring the scowl on the frat president's face, “Okay, I get it, you aren't Evans biggest fan, but it’s just one date. I haven't been on one for a while, so I figured, ya know… let’s see what the dating game has to offer. Not like anyone else has asked me out or anything…” you trail off, looking at them expectantly, seeing if they would confirm your suspicions.

Bob and Todd share a look. You cross your arms as a silent conversation happens between them, before you’ve had enough waiting. You sigh in disappointment, roll your eyes and push past them for the bedroom door, “Whatever, don’t wait up.”

“W-wait!” Bob stumbles, blocking your exit by extending his arm across the door, “Just wait.”

“Bob, move. I’m going to be late.” You try to step around him, but he doesn't budge.

Todd cuts in, a slight vulnerability in his voice that you’re not used to hearing, “Don’t go out with him.”

You raise a brow at them both, ignoring how much they are crowding you despite it making your heart race, “W-why shouldn’t I?”

“Just – because – there’s a lot of reasons why!”

“Bob, that is not a good enough answer.”

“Don’t.” He’s so close now, you can feel his breath on your lips. Almost for a second, you swear you can see a shimmer of gold in his eyes before he blinks and it’s gone again, “Don’t go out with him, please.”

“Why not!? Ugh, oh my god, just tell me! You keep skirting around the issue and being all weirdly overprotective. You guys act like this every time someone asks me out or shows a little bit of interest so just tell me. Why?"

Bob looks to the frat president across the room, almost like he's asking for permission to act. Todd nods, and that's all he needs, but Bob's never good at talking about his feelings, so instead of telling you, he decides to show you.

You barely have a second to comprehend it, a surprised sound leaving you when Bob surges forward and kisses you. It was like a cord snapped in him. All those months of tension, unspoken feelings being pushed down, now coming out into the open.

Bob pulls back first, hot breath against your lips, panting like he just finished running a marathon, “That’s why…” he whispers, searching your face for any type of reaction.

You blink, face hot and flushed as you try to speak but all you can come up with is, “O-oh.”

“Oh? I-is that ‘Oh’ as in good o-or ‘Oh’ as in bad?”

“Um… good! Definitely a good ‘Oh’.”

That seems to be enough for him, because next thing you know, his lips are on you again. He's careful with you, lips never leaving you as his gentle hands come around and firmly grip your hips, pulling you across the room. Soon that sweet, tender kiss turns into a full blown make out session, hurried and full of tongue. Now that Bob’s finally got a taste of you, he’s addicted.

The bed dips beside you, and your eyes flutter open to see Todd palming himself, his hand running up and down the growing bulge in his sweats. The bulge is noticeable. Very noticeable. You feel a gush between your legs when he starts grinding against his palm, hearing his little moans as he chases his pleasure.

Todd winks, his smirk growing when he notices your staring. You snap your eyes and try to focus on Bob, like you weren't caught getting off on Todd touching himself while you’re on Bob's lap. 

Deciding to test the waters Todd toys with the hem of your shirt, and when you don't make him stop, he stuffs his hand under, cupping and fondling your breast. Your gasp makes both their cocks twitch, “You gotta learn how to share Robby.”

“Shut up,” Bob mutters against your lips, “Fuck, I could kiss you for hours and never get bored.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Bob actually whines when Todd interrupts, not wanting to let you go. You barely have a chance to register that you're on Todd's lap now before he’s on you, “My turn.” 

Todd takes his time, savoring you as he explores your mouth with his tongue. He starts moving your hips back and forth, grinding you against him. The friction of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit makes you whimper, hands coming up and tugging on his hair. Todd moans into the kiss, ready to flip you over when you suddenly pull away.

“Wait, wait –” You seem to finally remember that there was somewhere you had to be, “Before we, I mean, before I forget, um, just, just, let me text him I’m not going to make it so he’s not waiting for –”

You don’t even need to finish your sentence before Todd's grabbing your phone out of your back pocket, “Already taken care of, ‘Sorry, Evan, can’t make it, getting dicked down as we speak’.”

“Todd!” You warn him, sliding off his lap so you can be in the middle of Bob and Todd, “You better not.”

Todd snickers, typing something quickly before tossing your phone on the other end of your bed. His nose brushes against your cheek before he whispers into your ear, “It’s not exactly a lie.” Before he’s back to kissing you.

Bob gulps as he watches you and Todd, mouthwatering even more as Todd squeezes your ass, eliciting a surprised squeak from you. Should he start kissing your neck? Should he wait until Todd lets him in? Should he just cut in like Todd did?

Either sensing his dilemma or you’re just missing the other set of lips that should be on you, your hand reaches for Bob, grabbing and tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt. He seems to get the hint and start kissing up and down your neck. You shudder as you feel his teeth graze along your skin, gasping when you feel a nip. Bob smirks before he starts leaving a multitude of hickies on your pulse point.

Slowly, Bob moves closer, nipping at your jaw and kissing your cheek before it becomes as sloppy as a three-way kiss can get. Todd’s tongue is in your mouth, Bob’s saliva on your cheek, their noses bumping together as they try to keep a rhythm that was quickly disappearing into a messy frenzy of neediness and desperation of all your built-up feelings.

You don’t know who started taking their clothes off first but soon you're in nothing but your underwear, Todd’s only got his shirt on, and Bob’s in his birthday suit, leaking precum down your thigh as he humps your leg. Todd nips at your bottom lip as he stuffs his hands in your underwear, cupping you. 

Todd groans when he feels how wet you are, his dick aching to be around you, to be fully engulfed in you. “Can I touch you, pretty girl? Wanna make you feel good.”

You shudder as you feel his fingers ghost against your folds, your hand on the back of Bob's neck tightening, “Please…”

You gasp when Todd's finger enters you, stretching you wider than you were expecting, the girth and length of him surprising you. Your pussy clenches when you imagine the stretch of Todd’s cock when he’ll finally fuck you. Him and Bob. Fuck, they might break you.

It’s a tight fit but Bob finds his way in your underwear too, his thumb circling your clit at a steady rhythm. You whine, pathetically grinding against both their hands, “Oh my god! Fuck, Bob!”

“You like that pretty girl? Robby’s making you feel good playing with your clit?”

You whimper, barely keeping it together, “Y-yes! S-s’good!” Then you gasp, holding them both tighter, “Todd! Bob! Please, m’gonna -”

“Come on baby girl, cum for us, cum all over our hands.”

Your nails leave indentations from where you hold them, legs shaking, toes curling as broken gasps escape you. Your body gives out from under you, but Todd's arm that’s hooked around your waist and Bob's hand on your back keeps you upright. You whine when they keep playing with you, it’s too much. “Todd,” You weakly push his arm back, “M’sensitive.”

Todd chuckles, but nods at Bob and they both back off, “Okay, okay.” And right then, an idea flickers through his eyes. The frat president smirks and turns to Bob, holding his fingers to Bob's red, swollen lips, “Open.” Bob’s breath hitches, his pupils growing big and then he opens wide, his tongue rolling out like a dog begging for water. Todd places his slick coated fingers in his mouth, “Suck em’ clean.”

Bob doesn’t need to be told twice. He moans, using his one free hand to pull Todds closer, shoving his fingers deeper into his mouth as he tastes you. Your heart stutters as you watch them. Oh… oh you can get used to this.

Bob doesn’t take his eyes off Todd when he pulls away with a wet pop. You have half a mind to grab them both by the backs of their necks and smash their faces together, have them put on a show for you for the rest of the night. But that’ll have to wait for another night because before you know it, they’re crowding you again, hovering over you with hungry eyes. And what Todd says next makes you shiver with anticipation.

“This isn’t the end of the night pretty girl, me and Robby still haven’t cum yet and I meant it when I said you were getting dicked down tonight.”

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Rhett had taken a temporary job with a local cattle ranch, and he had been offered a generous sum of money to travel to their second operation over in Montana and fill in during a cattle drive, because the ranch was short-handed. 

It had taken him away for nearly a month, leaving Miles to hold down the fort at home. He had his own responsibilities to tend to. His quilting business kept him busy, and he’d been selling baked goods at the farmer’s market on the weekends. There were many things to occupy his time, but even as he stayed busy, he continued to think about how much he missed his Rhett. 

Usually, on market days, Rhett would be there with Miles, selling small, intricate figurines he had whittled out of wood. The Abbott-Miller booth was a popular one. Miles’ baked goods always sold out, Rhett’s wooden figures were always in high demand. And people loved the men responsible for creating the goods. The sweet, mild-mannered young man with the mysterious scars that decorated the left side of his face. The stoic cowboy who looked at that young man as if he’d hung the stars in the sky. 

The elderly ladies that frequented the booth were the sweetest. And when Rhett suddenly stopped showing up to run the booth alongside Miles, they grew concerned. 

“Where is that handsome husband of yours?” Asked Melinda, the kind old woman who was no bigger than five foot one, who always showed up early to snag Miles’ sourdough loaves before they sold out. Cranberry orange and jalapeño cheddar were her favorite. 

“Oh, Rhett had to go out of town for work. He’ll be back soon!” Miles explained, as he handed her the individually wrapped loaves, branded with a sticker that read Rodeo Royale Baked Goods. 

“Well you tell him I missed him! He needs to hurry on home, you look lost without him, you poor dear.”

Miles couldn’t help but smile softly at her, the apples of his cheeks dusting pink. “I’ll tell him. It’s definitely not the same without him here,” came his honest reply. 

Their banter continued for a moment more, before Melinda soon moved on to another booth and the next customer stepped up to browse. Miles couldn’t hide his joy. How far he’d come, in the years since he’d first met his husband. From having spent so long keeping his attraction to men a secret, for fear of judgment from both God and man, to now living without fear, proud to show off his relationship. 

Rhett had changed his life for the better. Miles would sing that from the rooftops to anyone who would listen. 

Now that he was gone, albeit just for a few weeks, Miles felt like a limb was missing. He and Rhett worked together in all things. It was just how they operated best. Around the homestead, they usually weren’t far from one another. Rhett in the stable, feeding the horses. Miles at the adjacent chicken coop, feeding the chickens. Miles tending the garden, Rhett mending the corral fence a few feet away. 

Always in each other’s orbit, gravitating toward one another, both intentionally and unintentionally. 

Of course, Miles still functioned just fine without him. He could take care of their homestead and keep up with everything that needed done, but it still wasn’t the same without his cowboy. His company as of late had been their farm animals, and his elderly cat Matilda, who followed him around meowing up a storm, as if she knew he needed some company.

Some days, Miles would drive over to the Abbott ranch, where he would enjoy a morning cup of coffee, along with a slice of homemade bread and fresh jam, on the porch with Cecilia. He had developed a sweet bond with his mother-in-law, something he’d never had with his own mother. It was incredibly healing for him. 

But even as he filled his days with activity and family visits, there was always that ache in his heart, that longing for Rhett’s return. And now, finally, he was coming home. 

Miles had been bustling around all day. Baking Rhett’s favorite apple pie, preparing a slow simmering stew, ensuring the chores were done so he wouldn’t have to worry about them when he came home. Cleaning the house from top to bottom, fluffing the pillows on the bed, anything and everything to keep his mind occupied. 

There was only so much he could do. With the pie cooling on the window sill, the floors swept, the house in tip-top shape, he was left with nothing else to distract himself with. So he curled up on the couch with a book. Matilda climbed into his lap, letting out one of her raspy little meows. 

“Hey, old bird,” Miles cooed, reaching up to scratch her head. She chirped at him, curling up on his lap, where she proceeded to begin making biscuits against his thigh. His heart warmed at the sight, book set to the side in favor of showering the kitty in attention. 

“You just as excited for Daddy to come home as I am?” He asked. She pushed her head more insistently into his hand as if to say yes. 

Matilda loved Rhett, her favorite pastime being flopping down at his feet every time he walked, nearly causing him to trip. Miles couldn’t blame the old gal, he too would drop to Rhett’s feet constantly if he could. 

Matilda had been in their lives for three years. Surrendered to Wabang’s only animal shelter because her aging owner could no longer care for her, Miles met her when he volunteered at the shelter for a special adoption event. No one wanted the scraggly looking elderly cat with health issues and missing teeth. 

The poor thing was curled into the corner of her kennel, frightened and confused. It was only natural that Miles would be drawn to her. In a way, he saw himself in her. Scared, alone, traumatized. After all, that was how Rhett found him at the El Royale, what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Miles believed himself to be a lost cause. But Rhett saw something in him. Something worth saving. And that was what Miles saw when he looked upon that scared little cat. 

He adopted her that day. It didn’t take much convincing. All he had to do was turn to Rhett and look at him with his big, wet eyes, and the cowboy was giving in with a soft sigh. 

“You and your bleedin’ heart,” he fondly murmured. 

Since then, Matilda had become a source of joy for both men. She was Miles’ partner in crime, and she had quite the affinity for Rhett. When she wasn’t flopping down at his feet, she was curling up on his shoulder when he sat on the couch. 

She had felt his absence just as much as Miles had. The household just wasn’t the same without Rhett. 

Meanwhile, not far from home, Rhett was feeling that same loneliness, and sense of anticipation. He’d just crossed the Wyoming state line, and in just sixty minutes, he would be reunited with his love. He hadn’t expected to be gone for an entire month, but that was how things unfolded. 

He’d never been apart from Miles for that long, and it was torturous. He felt like one half of a whole, a missing puzzle piece. And sleeping had been hell, because he was so used to sleeping with Miles’ head resting upon his chest. To sleep in an uncomfortable bunk, in a bunkhouse full of crude cowboys, for an entire month had been miserable. 

The guys were nice enough, and he’d made friends with most of them. But after living with a group of men, Rhett had come to deeply appreciate his Miles, even more so than he already did. Rhett wasn’t necessarily intuitive when it came to cleaning and neatness. But he had gotten much better about it since Miles had come into his life.

Miles was extremely neat and regimented. He did all the laundry, folded the clothes a specific way, made the bed exactly the way he’d been expected to make his bunk in the military. He preferred all his products to be lined up a specific way in the bathroom. That was partly a compulsive tendency, and partly military training. Everything was clean and neat and in its place.

Of course, Miles didn’t expect Rhett to be exactly like that. But he had shown him how he preferred to keep things, how to be neat and organized. It wasn’t that Rhett was careless, it was simply that he wasn’t taught. His mother hadn’t spent as much time emphasizing those things. He was clean, but he wasn’t organized. 

Miles had certainly rubbed off on him in the time that they had been together. He’d gotten so used to the neatness, the order, that living in a bunkhouse full of men who generally weren’t neat and orderly was a bit of a rude awakening. 

Oh, how eager he was to go home, and sleep in a bed of crisp linen sheets, freshly laundered, smelling of the pine scented gentle detergent that Miles used. The cottage, a cozy little fixer-upper that Rhett and Miles had worked hard to remodel, would smell earthy and sweet, thanks to the essential oil diffusers (filled with cat-safe oils, of course) that Miles kept running throughout the house. 

It was comforting. It was home. It was everything he could ever dream of having. 

And the closer he got, with each passing road sign that pointed toward Wabang, the more giddy he felt. Because he had a surprise for Miles. In his time away, Rhett had decided to let his beard grow out. Partly because he’d forgotten to pack razors, and because he just couldn’t be bothered to care. He kept it neat with an electric razor lent to him by one of the guys he worked with, but otherwise let it continue to grow.

He’d never sported a beard before, so he wasn’t sure what Miles would think. His husband had always loved his stubble, said it gave him a more rugged look. Would he like a beard just as much? There was only one way to find out. 

He’d purposely avoided video calling Miles, citing bad reception, which was actually true, as he had to drive to a spot all the way outside the ranch just to get enough bars of service for their nightly phone call. But it had worked out in his favor, because it allowed him to keep his newly grown facial hair a secret. 

In his head, he’d gone over the different ways Miles might react. Either he would love it, or he would gently tell Rhett that he needed to shave it. Rhett wasn’t attached to the beard, so he would shave it with no problem, if that was what Miles wanted.

However, he didn’t anticipate just how much his husband would love it. To the point where he would forbid him from shaving at all. 

The hour drive through Wyoming felt like days, a slow form of torture as he continued to glance at the clock on the truck dash, watching time drag on like sand in an hourglass. So close, yet so far. 

Never again would he spend so long apart from his love. The only other time they had been forced to be apart was then. The night Rhett had nearly lost Miles. A whirlwind of terror, confusion, and chaos. Forced apart by strange and impossible circumstances. Rhett had to fight tooth and nail just to get back to Miles, to save him, to keep him alive. 

This time, being apart had not been forced. They had not been taken from each other, their lives had not been threatened. Rhett willingly left to do what he felt was necessary to ensure their financial security. And Miles, though sad to see him go, had encouraged it. 

“It’ll be a good experience for you,” he’d assured Rhett. “I think you should go.”

So he did. But oh, what a relief it was to return. And he knew in his heart that no matter how much money was involved, he wouldn’t leave, not unless Miles could come with him. 

What a major step it had been for Rhett to admit that he needed someone. Not in the way of codependency, or in the way that he was incapable of being by himself. But in the way that his life wasn’t the same without Miles, that he didn’t want to imagine a world where his sweetheart with the soft blue eyes and the honey colored curls wasn’t there.

And in the way that Rhett had spent so many years on his own, thinking he was unlovable, undesirable. That no woman would ever want him, because what did he bring to the table? A couple of DUIs? A fucked up shoulder and an alcohol problem? A dangerous career that could end with him paralyzed, or worse?

He certainly couldn’t entertain the thought of being with a man, either. More so because of his own insecurity and fear than anything else. He didn’t think his family would shun him for it, but he did worry about what the townsfolk would say. What his mother’s church, who was so staunchly against homosexuality, might say. 

And then, there was that fear of being treated differently by fellow bull riders. In a more “masculine” sport, he worried about being seen as less than a man. Now, he knew how foolish he had been. But back then, as a sheltered, small town ranch boy, he didn’t know anything different. Navigating his sexuality was a scary thing. In some ways it was easier not to acknowledge it. To pretend like his attraction to men simply didn’t exist.

And then he was thrown through a black hole that brought him tumbling headfirst into the lobby of Miles’ hotel, and everything changed. It was easy to deny his sexuality when there was no man to place his affections upon.

Meeting Miles changed everything. During that time at the El Royale, no matter how short-lived it was, it felt as if they were the only two men left on earth. And what followed was an intense love story, one that Rhett still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.

Somehow, despite all the adversity they had endured together, they had been given a second chance. Since then, Rhett had promised himself he would never live ashamed of his sexuality again. 

It had taken longer for Miles to come to terms with his own identity, rooted deeply in religious guilt and trauma, not to mention his upbringing, that took place during a time in history that was so much different from Rhett’s. But Miles had come a long way, in his journey of accepting himself. After coming within a hair’s width of death, his perspective had changed greatly. 

Almost seven years after that harrowing night at the hotel, they had put all that pain behind them. They wore the proof of their love, of their commitment to one another, on their ring fingers. Rhett could hardly believe, after so many years of repressing his true self, that he was now married to another man. What a milestone he had crossed, the day he said “I do” in the middle of Wabang City Hall. 

And thus, they had become Rhett and Miles Abbott-Miller.

Now, Rhett was pulling into the driveway of the very home he shared with his husband. Their forever home. And as he took in the familiar, comforting sight of their little slice of heaven, he couldn’t help but smile, warmth spreading through his chest. 

He was where he was always meant to be. What a privilege to return to the homestead he had built with Miles. In the waning light of day, the chickens frolicked about near their coop. The horses grazed in their pasture. The goats played in their pen. 

A domestic scene, one that stole Rhett’s breath away as he pulled the old GMC Sierra to a stop. This was where he belonged. Where the other half of his heart resided. 

Inside the cozy cabin, Miles, who had managed to get into a chapter of his book, perked up at the sound of an approaching engine. With a soft gasp, his nimble fingers shoved the bookmark between the book’s yellowed pages, casting it aside on the oak coffee table beside him. 

“Daddy’s home, Tils!” Came his exclamation to his cat. 

“Mrow,” she said. 

Quick as a flash, Miles jumped up from the couch, shoving his feet into his house slippers. The orthopedic kind, so his feet wouldn’t ache from walking on the cottage’s hardwood floors all day. Matilda was hot on his heels as he made his way to the front door. 

Through the window, he could see Rhett’s truck coming to a stop, and a jolt of sheer and utter elation rippled through him. He’s home. 

Without a second thought, Miles flung the door open, uncaring that he was wearing his inside shoes outside. That was a problem he would sort out later, solved by taking a few disinfectant wipes to the soles of the slippers. 

From this angle, he couldn’t see Rhett’s face as he climbed out of the truck and went around the side to grab his duffel. Rhett kept his head down, almost as if purposely shielding it from Miles’ view. And, essentially, that was what he was doing. 

Rhett could hardly contain his smile at the sound of Miles’ rushed footsteps, coming closer and closer. “You’re home!” A sweet exclamation that hit Rhett directly in the heart, warming him from the inside out. 

Duffel slung over his shoulder, Rhett turned to face his husband, revealing what he had so sneakily been concealing for so long. 

The new addition to his face went momentarily unnoticed as Miles launched himself forward, straight into Rhett’s arms, the force so sudden it knocked the baseball cap off Rhett’s head. “Oh, I missed you so much!” 

Rhett caught him with ease, joy washing over him in waves, big arms wrapping around Miles’ smaller frame, holding him tight against his chest. He didn’t expect the wave of emotion that hit him, but it gripped him in an instant, eyes welling with tears. “Missed you too, bub,” came his whisper, fracturing around the edges. 

Miles buried his face against Rhett’s chest and breathed in deep. Earth, the peppery edge of cologne, and that natural, addicting musk that could only be described as Rhett. 

When Miles pulled back, searching for a kiss, he froze, eyes going wide as saucers as he gasped, “Oh! Oh my gosh, you grew a beard!”

Rhett couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, crow’s feet deepening around his eyes. “Yeah! What d’ya think?” He stepped back slightly to give Miles a better look.

The look in Miles’ eyes, shimmery and full of wonder, reminded Rhett so much of the way he had looked up at him on the day they got married, as Rhett slid a ring onto Miles’ slender finger. 

“Wow,” Miles breathed, hands lifting so he could tentatively run his fingers through the beard. It wasn’t too long, nor was it too short. It was just right. And oh, how it made him weak in the knees. 

The addition of facial hair made Rhett look so much more rugged. Strong and masculine, as if he had been away in the wilderness for weeks, hunting for food to bring back to his sweet little wife. Who, in this case, was Miles. 

“I’m guessing that means you like it?” Rhett asked, still smiling, though a bit uncertain.

“Like it?!” Miles’ blunt nails gently scratched at the beard. “I’m speechless! Honey, you look…just…wow!” He dove forward again, mouth connecting with Rhett’s. It only took the cowboy a moment to regain his composure, large hands coming to rest upon Miles’ narrow waist as he melted into the kiss.

Rhett’s mustache bit against Miles’ soft upper lip, not necessarily an uncomfortable feeling, but a reminder that it was there. Miles couldn’t help it. He whimpered softly against Rhett’s mouth, body pressed firmly against him, fingers clutching at the collar of his button down.

When they parted, they were both breathless. Miles’ gaze went a little unfocused. His cheeks warmed pink. “Uh, s-sorry. I kinda lost my composure there for a second,” he murmured.

A mischievous glint shone in Rhett’s eyes as he smiled again. “Shit, you really like it, huh darlin’?”

“Well, yeah. How could I not? I don’t see you for almost an entire month and then you show up looking like a mountain man? I mean, good grief! I have half a mind to just drop right here and ride you in the middle of the driveway.”

At that, Rhett sputtered out a laugh, the tips of his ears turning red. “Well damn, here I was thinkin’ I was coming home to my sweet little husband. Didn’t know I was actually coming home to a feral little beast instead.”

Miles shook his head, not at all sheepish. Why should he be ashamed of his attraction to his man? “I can’t help it, you make me feral. Especially with a beard.”

Regaining some of his composure, Rhett ducked forward, nuzzling against Miles’ cheek. At that, he giggled, shrugging away from the scratchiness. “Stop! Don’t you start terrorizing me!”

“Oh? But I thought you liked the beard?” He moved to rub his face against Miles again, but the other man slipped out of his arms. 

“I do, but first we’re putting some conditioner on it so it’s not as rough! Then you can rub it against me all you want!” 

“But I wanna rub it against you now.”

Miles dashed toward the house, quick on his feet, but Rhett was right behind him, duffel bag tossed aside as his long arms reached out to catch Miles by the waist. Laughing like school children, they stumbled over each other, landing in the grass in a heap.

“Stop! You monster! Let me go!” Miles squealed, shoving at Rhett’s broad chest. Certainly strong enough to fully push him off if he wanted, but not trying in the slightest.

Rhett grabbed onto Miles’ wrists, pinning them to the ground above his head. “What’re you gonna do now, huh li’l mouse? Can’t stop me from rubbin’ my beard all over that cute face of yours, now, can you?”

“No! Rhett!” Miles cried, despite the giggles flowing out of him.

Rhett shoved his face against Miles’, rubbing that scratchy beard all over his blushing cheeks. That drew the sound of the beautiful belly laugh that Rhett adored so much, the kind that shook through Miles’ entire body and bubbled out of him in a way that seemed almost painful, though it was the furthest thing from it. 

“Okay! Okay! You’ve made your point!”

At that, Rhett lifted his head so his face was hovering inches away from Miles’, and they both melted into another fit of laughter, bodies pressed to one another, against the warm earth of their homestead. 

As their laughter quieted, a comfortable blanket of silence settled upon them, interrupted only by the steady breeze and the sound of farm life around them. Rhett nuzzled his nose against Miles’, humming lowly. “S’good to be home.”

Miles’ hands lifted to hold Rhett’s face, palms pressed gently against the beard. “It’s good to have you home.” 

When Rhett kissed him, it was deep, loving, filled with all the minutes, hours, and days of yearning he’d experienced while he was away from his beloved. When they parted, both were breathless, warmth rushing through them like champagne fizz. 

Hands resting upon the back of Rhett’s neck, Miles opened his mouth to speak. “Honey, I—”

“Meow.”

The raspy note of Matilda’s voice, which Rhett liked to joke made her sound like she smoked ten packs of cigarettes a day, interrupted whatever Miles had been about to say. 

Rhett looked over to find the cat approaching, fluffy tail vibrating in excitement as she greeted her second dad. With the shake of his head, he reached over, scratching between her ears. “Hey, old bird. Did ya miss me?”

“She sure did. Slept on one of your flannels every night ‘cause it smelled like you.”

“Surprised you didn’t sleep on one of my flannels too,” Rhett teased. 

“I did actually sleep on your pillow because it smelled like you. Even sprayed your cologne on it after I did the laundry, hopin’ to make it smell like you again.”

“Did it work?”

“Wasn’t the same. But it’s alright, you’re back now so I can just lay my head on your chest and smell you all night long.”

Another bout of laughter followed, while Rhett absently scratched at Matilda’s head. Here, surrounded by his little family, he was exactly where he was always meant to be. “Guess we should get off the ground, huh?”

“I dunno, I’m kinda just content to lay here and pet this gorgeous beard.”

At that, Rhett shook his head, scoffing. “Gorgeous? I wouldn’t go that far.”

Miles leaned up to kiss the tip of Rhett’s nose. “I would. Beard’s gorgeous, I said what I said, no take-backs.”

With a roll of his eyes, Rhett playfully nipped at Miles’ bottom lip before he finally scrambled to his feet, reaching out to pull Miles upright. “Alright, beard monster. Let’s get inside.”

Miles giggled, watching as Rhett stooped to grab his duffel, and together, the two ambled toward the house, hips bumping as they walked, Rhett’s arm around Miles’ shoulders, Miles’ arm around his waist. 

Matilda followed eagerly after them, darting around their feet. 

“Old gal’s tryin’ to trip us,” Rhett muttered.

“I think she’s herding us into the house,” came Miles’ reply, laced with laughter. 

By some miracle, they managed to get inside without falling over top of the cat. As Miles closed the door behind them, Rhett stood in the entryway, breathing in deeply for a moment. The scent of home enveloped him like a comforting hug.

Cedar and oak from the hand cut woodwork that accented the cottage, chamomile and frankincense from the diffuser Miles kept on the entryway credenza. And then, of course, there was the scent of a slow simmering stew, onion and garlic and seared meat. 

Rhett’s stomach growled. Miles’ cooking was his favorite. After going weeks without it, he couldn’t wait to eat whatever it was that his husband had cooked up. “Smells s’damn good in here,” he murmured as he toed his boots off, careful to put them on the boot rack near the door. Miles hated when he left his shoes in the middle of the floor. 

“I’m makin’ stew!” Miles happily replied. “I also made you an apple pie.”

At that, hearts might as well have appeared in Rhett’s eyes, like a silly cartoon. His arm found its way to Miles’ waist again, pulling him into the warmth of his body. “What’d I ever do to get blessed with such a good husband? You spoil me, bub.”

Lashes fluttering, Miles shook his head. “You know me, always gotta make sure my man is fed well.”

Rhett ducked his head, kissing Miles once more. They melted into one another, in the cozy confines of their cottage, finally at ease, at peace, two halves of a whole joined together again. When Rhett’s tongue swiped at the bottom of Miles’ lip, he eagerly opened his mouth, letting Rhett inside. Tasting each other, memorizing the feel of one another’s tongues, the slick warmth of their mouths. 

It was dizzying. Intoxicating. Within his chest, Miles felt his heart rate spike, fluttering like a hummingbird. Rhett’s was the same, a caged bird trying to escape. His Miles was so soft against him, cheeks rounded and a little squishy, blushing with the glow of good health. 

What a testament to how well he was doing. Rhett remembered how, not so long ago, Miles was all gaunt cheeks and sharp angles. Now here he stood, healthy and robust. And he was whimpering into Rhett’s mouth, losing himself to the kiss. Fuck. What a pretty sound.

Miles’ hands lifted to take hold of Rhett’s collar, then, as if remembering the beard existed, his fingers began to run through it, petting the slightly coarse hair. Rhett’s hand rested upon Miles’ lower back, pulling him closer, pelvis tilting into his own. 

Rhett felt it then. The telltale hardness that was beginning to grow in Miles’ sweatpants. At that, they parted, both out of breath, eyes a little unfocused, swaying in one another’s arms. 

“Oh, um, I…got a little carried away,” came Miles’ reply, voice cracking. He glanced down, cheeks warming as he realized he was hard. 

With the shake of his head, Rhett grinned. “We’ve been apart for a whole damn month. No such thing as gettin’ carried away, not after we’ve been missin’ each other so much.”

“Uh-huh,” Miles agreed as Rhett kissed at his jaw, distracted by the scrape of his mustache. “But I wanna feed you first. Know you’re probably starvin’.”

“I am starvin’,” Rhett agreed, “but it ain’t for stew or apple pie. Got somethin’ even tastier right in front of me.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let the stew simmer for a little longer…”

The smile that spread across Rhett’s face was wolfish. “Now we’re talkin’.”

“But you have to let me soften this thing up a bit first, ‘cause I just know it’s gonna give me a rash if you don’t,” Miles mused, stroking Rhett’s beard again. 

“Alright, how ‘bout we go hop in the shower? Gotta rinse off anyway, A/C is busted in the truck and the ride home was sweaty. I probably stink to high heaven.”

Miles shook his head, eyes glimmering. “No, you smell like you, and I love it. But it wouldn’t hurt to take a shower anyway.”

“Alrighty then, let’s get to it, loverboy.” 

Together, they headed toward the staircase that led to the upper level, where their bedroom, and the bathroom resided. Giggling, stumbling slightly, hands all over each other, they managed to ascend the steps, Rhett dragging his duffel bag along with him. Once they reached the bedroom, the bag hit the floor with a thud. 

The cozy oasis instantly made Rhett feel at ease. The floor was dark wood, a large rug with shades of green covering part of it. The bed frame was fashioned out of rustic wood, built by Rhett’s own hands. Bedding in shades of green complimented the rug, bringing the room together. 

The room smelled of lavender, soothing in nature. 

This haven was their safe space. A place of solitude and comfort, surrounding the bed in which they held one another as they slept, spent hours engaging in pillow talk, and made sweet love to each other. 

Rhett no longer had to sleep on an uneven vinyl mattress in a bunkhouse full of guys. There was no doubt that he would sleep like a baby tonight, in the comfort of his own bed. But first, there were some things to attend to. Which were made clear by the insistent press of Miles against his back, cheek resting between his shoulder blades as his arms encircled Rhett’s waist from behind. 

“If you grab the towels, I’ll start the shower.”

Rhett hummed. “Sure thing, darlin’.”

And so they parted, Rhett with his job, and Miles with his own.

Steam began to rise in the bathroom, fogging up the mirror and creating a hazy atmosphere as Miles brought the water to the perfect temperature. Rhett joined him moments later, holding two neatly folded towels in one hand, and a bottle of something in his other.

“I, uh, have this beard oil here. One of the guys I was workin’ with gave it to me, but I haven’t tried it out yet. Thought now might be the perfect time.”

Miles nodded eagerly. “Yes! That’s good, we can use it when we’re done.” He took the items from Rhett, setting them down upon the bathroom counter. “Now, go ‘head and get naked, cowboy. Water’s nice and hot.”

“You just want me to strip for ya, s’that it?” Came Rhett’s teasing. 

“I mean, unless you want to take a shower fully clothed…”

With the roll of his eyes, Rhett shook his head, already moving to begin unbuttoning his shirt. But a glint of mischief flashed in Miles’ eyes, and he moved toward Rhett like a honey badger in search of sticky sweet honey. “Wait! Let me do it.”

In amusement, Rhett watched as Miles’ nimble fingers began to undo each button. Once he got to the waistline of his jeans, he gripped the belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. Something about that act made Rhett’s breath hitch in his throat, his mind flashing back to so many times like this one, in which Miles had eagerly unbuckled his belt to take his cock in his mouth.

Rhett’s blood rushed south.

“Honey.”

“Huh?”

“I said, could you step out of your jeans, please?”

Rhett glanced down, realizing Miles was waiting for him to lift each foot from the pant legs of his jeans. “Oh. Got distracted, sorry.”

Miles giggled as he tossed the now discarded jeans to the side. “Soon as I get on my knees you go all caveman brained,” he teased, pressing a kiss to Rhett’s bare thigh. 

“Can ya blame me? Got a little nymph kneelin’ at my feet, can’t help but lose my composure a bit.”

A blush darkened Miles’ cheeks. “I’m a nymph now, huh?” He asked with the raise of his brow.

“Yep. Real cute one too.”

“What kind? Dryad? Naiad? Aurae?”

It was Rhett’s turn to blush, though his was because Miles had such extensive knowledge of Greek mythology, and Rhett was totally out of his element. “I, uh…I dunno, which one do you want to be?” 

Miles giggled as he rose to stand. “I’ll go with dryad. They’re tree nymphs.”

That gave Rhett the opportunity to roll with it and return a humorous quip. “Why? ‘Cause you wanna climb me like a tree?”

They both melted into laughter, Miles shoving at Rhett’s chest. “You’re lame.”

“Ain’t that why you love me?”

“I love you in spite of your lameness.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Rhett pulled him in for another kiss, before he shrugged his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor with a barely audible whisper of fabric. 

That left him in just his underwear, and Miles still fully clothed. Something that needed to be remedied. Rhett eased Miles’ waffle knit shirt over his head, exposing his upper body. Dusky pink nipples that had hardened to stiff little peaks. Milky skin dotted with freckles. A soft tummy, with a scar directly in the middle, just above his bellybutton. 

Slightly jagged, pale around the edges. The scar that had nearly taken him from Rhett. The scar that reminded them both of everything they had overcome just to be able to live this sweet, slow life on their little homestead. 

Rhett was struck with a wave of awe as he watched Miles undress. He so vividly remembered the first time he had slept with Miles, back at the El Royale. Though Rhett had never had sex with another man before, he wasn’t half as nervous as Miles had been. Trembling hands, blushing cheeks, eyes that couldn’t meet the cowboy’s gaze.

Miles admitted that he had been with men before, but the reason he was so nervous was because he’d never connected with any of them like this. It wasn’t a quick, hurried fuck in the dark that left Miles feeling like damaged goods, dirty and used. This was intimate. And true intimacy was a very foreign thing to Miles. 

He had been shy. Uncertain. But that was okay, because Rhett was patient. He, too, was navigating something foreign and new. 

Then, Miles had been self-conscious about undressing in front of Rhett. Now, he shrugged out of his clothes without hesitancy or complaint, comfortable in his own skin, accustomed to being naked in front of his husband. 

The cherry on top? Rhett caught a glimpse of something glimmering, nestled between the soft swell of Miles’ ass, as he stepped out of his underwear. 

“You’re wearin’ a plug?” He didn’t mean for his voice to crack, but it did anyway. 

Miles paused, lashes fluttering as he smiled, not shyly, but mischievously. “Well I wanted to be ready for you, had to keep myself stretched.” He said it so matter-of-fact, and it sent a jolt of arousal through Rhett. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Such a good boy.” 

At that, Miles couldn’t help but beam with pride. Rhett’s praise always made his heart sing. He knew wearing a plug would elicit such a reaction. His husband couldn’t get enough of the sight of that pretty, purple, heart shaped jewel contrasted against Miles’ skin. 

It was clear that Miles had been banking on the fact that he was going to get fucked tonight. And Rhett would gladly oblige him. But first, there were other things to attend to. 

“C’mon, get outta those underwear and hop in, so we don’t waste any more water,” Miles said, motioning toward the shower. 

Nodding dumbly, Rhett was already moving to tug his boxers down his legs, half hard beneath them. The sight of him, naked as day, stole Miles’ breath away. It had only been a month, and yet, seeing him now, it felt as if they had spent a lifetime apart. 

He nearly dropped to his knees to take that gorgeous, thick cock into his mouth. But somehow, Miles mustered enough restraint not to do that, but to instead grab Rhett’s hand and guide him into the steam of the shower. 

Rhett followed like a lovesick puppy, which was essentially what he was. As the warm water enveloped him, his hands took hold of Miles’ hips, drawing him closer. The press of bare skin against bare skin was overwhelmingly intimate. It stole Rhett’s breath away. 

He realized how touch starved he was, as he wrapped his arms around Miles, allowing the water to cascade over them both. Going without his lover’s sweet embrace had been more torturous than he even realized. 

Funny, Rhett had always believed himself to have an aversion to touch. In reality, he had merely been so deprived of affection, that he had allowed himself to believe he had no desire for it. 

First, he had needed to come to the conclusion that he could seek out affection, that it was okay, that he wouldn’t be dismissed, turned away, scoffed at. It had helped, early on in their relationship, that Miles needed him. When Rhett first brought him home after his hospital stay following the events of the El Royale, there was a lot of physical contact involved. 

Miles needed to be held when the nightmares woke him in the night. Needed Rhett’s help to take care of himself, to bathe, to do basic tasks that required Rhett to get up close and personal with him. And through that, they had developed a very deep bond. Physical touch provided them both so much comfort during that time, and it still provided comfort now. 

“Missed holdin’ you,” Rhett murmured, voice low. “Hell, I missed everythin’ about you. Already knew I was lucky to have you, but living in a bunkhouse full of dudes reminded me just how lucky.”

At that, Miles grinned. “Oh, he finally admits it.”

That earned an eye roll from Rhett, who playfully swatted Miles’ pert ass. “Hush up, ‘ve always told you how lucky I am to have ya. Just had a good reminder this past month after bein’ away from you.”

“You just missed me for my cooking,” came Miles’ teasing reply. 

Eyes glimmering, Rhett shrugged. “That, and maybe I missed the really good head you give.”

It was Miles’ turn to shake his head in disbelief, pushing at Rhett’s chest. “Oh, unhand me, you perv. Let me condition that beard of yours.”

In reply, Rhett snickered, releasing Miles so he could grab what he needed. But Rhett couldn’t be expected to keep his hands to himself for long, not after being so deprived. 

When Miles turned back around, shampoo in hand, Rhett guided him close once again, tilting his chin back to kiss him languidly. 

“Let me take care of you for a minute,” Miles spoke against Rhett’s mouth, “wanna make you feel pampered.”

An amused hum left Rhett’s mouth. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, ‘cause I know you haven’t had much pamperin’ these last few weeks. Taking rushed showers doesn’t count. You need someone to actually take care of you.”

Something about that took Rhett’s breath away, and he couldn’t conjure up a coherent reply. Certainly not when Miles coaxed him to kneel upon the shower floor so he could properly wash Rhett’s hair. There was a tenderness that Miles brought to everything he did. Care and attention to detail. 

Rhett let himself be looked after. Miles so carefully detached the shower head and used it to dampen Rhett’s hair, allowing some water to cascade down to his beard. The shower head was returned to its cradle in favor of pouring shampoo into his palm, which he first lathered in his hands before so gently working it through Rhett’s hair.

“Your hair got longer too,” Miles observed, “I like it.” 

Rhett was too busy enjoying the sensation of Miles’ fingers massaging his scalp to reply. Eyes fluttering shut, he allowed himself to fully relax. Above him, Miles couldn’t help but admire how at peace his husband looked. The crease in his brow had smoothed out, stress melting away. Miles could only imagine the physical toll the last few weeks had taken. 

Rhett was tired. But now, he could rest. 

“Alright, I’m gonna wash your beard now.” 

At that, Rhett opened his eyes, watching Miles’ focused expression as he lathered shampoo into the beard. His lashes fluttered, eyes glimmering, mouth parting. The expression made Rhett’s heart stutter in his chest. He had never felt more beautiful than he did under his husband’s gaze.

Rhett had never had a high opinion of himself or his own looks, but with the way Miles looked at him, he may as well have been the most handsome man in the entire world. And he was, to Miles. All others paled in comparison. 

Rhett might’ve offered another teasing quip about how far gone Miles was for this beard, but he couldn’t find it in himself to muster a coherent word. Not when his face was so gently cradled in Miles’ hands, handled with the utmost care. 

When it came time to rinse the soap out, Miles was cautious not to get any in Rhett’s mouth, or his eyes. And once he was finished, he spoke, voice slightly wrecked. “You can stand now. Don’t want your knees to hurt from kneeling for too long.”

When Rhett rose to his feet, he watched Miles turn to grab the conditioner bottle, muscle rippling beneath his skin with the movement. Quiet strength, rebuilt after a long period of weakness. A time when Miles could barely walk, because of the pain he was in. Now he hauled bales of hay, carried feed sacks over one shoulder, endured more strenuous forms of labor. He still dealt with lingering aches and pains from his old injuries, at times, but it wasn’t debilitating any longer. 

“You’re staring.”

Rhett’s eyes snapped up to Miles’, and a smile tugged at his mouth. Not sheepish, but loving. “I was just admirin’ your muscles.”

A flush creeped onto Miles’ cheeks. “Oh. They ain’t anything to write home about.”

“Are you kiddin’ me? Look how strong you’ve gotten after all this time. I mean, you could barely walk when I first brought ya back to Wabang. Now look at all you can do.” Instinctively, he pulled Miles toward him, arms winding around his waist, bodies slick from the water, warm from the heat. Skin to skin, chest to chest, desire thrumming between them, where their hips met. 

“Guess I have come pretty far. But it’s because you believed in me. Couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Rhett hummed, nuzzling his nose against Miles’. “We’re a team. We work together.” One large hand came up to rest against the scarred side of Miles’ face, thumb rubbing loving circles against his cheek. The feeling of raised skin beneath his touch always reminded Rhett that Miles was very much alive and well. 

Here, in the cozy warmth of their shower, the sweet scent of coconut shampoo hanging in the damp air. A place of softness, goodness, love. 

“Love you so much.” Miles murmured, slow and relaxed. Then his mouth curved into a smile. “But you gotta let me condition the beard now. You keep distracting me.”

“Sorry, sorry, can’t help myself. Wanna hold ‘n squeeze you all the time, twenty-four-seven.” For emphasis, his hands skimmed down the expanse of Miles’ back, gripping the plushness of his ass. 

By some miracle, Miles managed to smooth conditioner into Rhett’s beard, without dropping the bottle, even with the other man grabbing at him. He even managed to ease out of Rhett’s grip and grab soap and a wash cloth.

As he let the conditioner sit, Miles began to attentively wash Rhett’s body. Careful passes of the cloth, starting at the neck and working his way down. Over Rhett’s chest, over that ridiculous faded bull and rider tattoo that he’d gotten at a sketchy tattoo shop when he was eighteen. Over the scar on his shoulder, where he’d taken a bullhorn when he was twenty-one. 

Down, down, down his torso Miles went. Washing away sweat, leaving Rhett’s skin clean and slightly pink. Then, Miles found himself kneeling, and something shifted in his expression. With reverence and tenderness, he ran the cloth between Rhett’s strong thighs, over the ever-growing hardness there.

On instinct, Miles leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the base of it, and Rhett gasped softly above him. There was an innocence to that action, a sweetness, and it increased Rhett’s desire so intensely that he had to reach a hand back against the shower wall to steady himself. 

Miles was so tempted to suck him off then and there, but he had an end goal in mind, and that involved being in the soft comfort of their bed. So he forced himself to continue cleansing Rhett’s skin, moving further down his legs, until, finally, Miles rose to stand once again. 

“Gotta, um, rinse out that conditioner now.”

“Bub.”

“Yeah?”

“Y’can have me in your mouth, if you want.”

At that, Miles shook his head. “I know, but I don’t wanna do it in the shower. I’d rather be in bed.”

Rhett couldn’t help but grin. “Anythin’ for you, princess.”

“Hush up,” Miles responded, though he couldn’t hide his own smile. He set the wash cloth aside and grabbed the shower head again, using it to quickly rinse the conditioner out of Rhett’s beard. Then, once he was satisfied, he shut the water off. 

Quick and methodical, he gave Rhett a towel to dry off with, before grabbing one for himself. Miles would take his own full shower later, because he knew he would need one after whatever mischief he and Rhett got up to in bed. 

Until then, Miles ushered Rhett to sit upon the closed toilet seat. He’d wrapped his towel around his waist, and it did little to conceal his arousal. Miles tried his best not to get distracted by it as he retrieved a clean, dry face towel from the cabinet. 

Rhett let himself once again enjoy the relaxing sensation of his husband’s hands on him. With precision, Miles towel dried the beard, and then retrieved the bottle of oil from the vanity, pausing to read the directions before he began to apply it.

Once satisfied, he took a fine tooth comb, and ran it through the beard, ensuring it looked neat and well-kept. “There. All finished.” He was beaming. Eyes shimmering. Admiring his man. 

Rhett turned, glancing over his shoulder to get a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bathroom sink. “Not half bad,” he said with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Maybe you should open a barber shop.”

“Maybe I should,” Miles jokingly agreed. 

After he put the beard oil away, Rhett guided Miles toward him, hands on his hips, over the towel he’d wrapped around his waist. Eyes hungry, Rhett gazed up at him, and admired the way his honeyed curls, damp from the shower, fell across his forehead. He looked angelic, in a way. 

“Y’know…” Rhett began, “I was thinkin’. You like my beard so much, maybe you’d like to go for a little ride on it.”

“Oh, uh, we don’t have to, if–”

“I wouldn’t offer, if I didn’t want to do it.” He lovingly squeezed the backs of Miles’ thighs through the terrycloth. “You spent all this time gettin’ it nice and soft. Should be allowed to enjoy your hard work, don’t ya think?”

“I-I guess so.” Cheeks blushing pink. Lashes fluttering. 

Rhett squared his shoulders, eyes narrowing, a cat eager to play with its little mouse. “C’mon now, pretty baby. Let’s go get in bed so you can sit your cute li’l ass on my face.”

Miles lost his ability to form a coherent sentence as Rhett stood, a full head taller than him. Towering. Broad. Oh, he’d definitely missed this. How small Rhett made him feel. Not a feeling of powerlessness, but of safety, of sanctuary, of peace.

Allowing himself to be led by the wrist, Miles followed Rhett out of the steam-dampened bathroom, the cool air of the hallway leaving goosebumps in its wake as the two made their way into the bedroom. 

Once in the tranquil confines, door shut so Matilda the cat wouldn’t try to sneak in, a blanket of comfort and ease fell upon the two men. There was no performance, no expectation. They could just…be. 

Rhett turned toward Miles, his eyes shimmering with something he could not name. In this haven, they were both exactly where they were meant to be. 

Strong, weathered hands skimmed down Miles’ abdomen, deft fingers unwrapping the towel and sending it to the floor. Rhett’s towel followed suit, leaving them bare to one another again. 

The mattress was soft beneath Miles as he e was guided onto it. Rhett held eye contact as he joined him, straddling Miles’ waist, skin warm against skin. Anticipation hung between them, thrumming through their veins.

In his lungs, Miles’ breath hitched, stalling as Rhett ducked forward, eyes narrow, mouth curved into a knowing smile. And Miles melted beneath him, contentment softening his face. Rhett couldn’t help but admire how at ease the other man appeared. Hair curling in tendrils against his forehead, softening his features and giving him a boyish glow that made Rhett’s heart flip. 

He couldn’t resist tracing Miles’ features with his fingertips. The slope of his nose, the fullness of his blushing cheeks, the thin, pink line of his lips. Instinctively, Miles parted his mouth as Rhett’s thumb brushed over it. Wordlessly, he pressed that thumb forward, allowing Miles to suckle at it.

Rhett watched in awe as Miles’ lashes fluttered, eyes hooded, unfocused. His hands came up to loosely grip Rhett’s wrist.

“Oh. You need it bad, don’t you baby?” Rhett breathed. 

“Uh-huh.” came Miles’ response, mouth still full of Rhett’s thumb.

Warmth spread through Rhett’s chest, that familiar, protective instinct swelling within him. Assuming a role of dominance. Not overbearing, not loud. Quiet, controlled, driven by the need to care for his husband. 

“Waited so long, huh?” He cooed.

At that, Miles pulled back from Rhett’s thumb to speak. “I…I didn’t touch myself the whole time you were gone.”

The admission didn’t shock Rhett. Miles didn’t prefer masturbation, at least not when he was alone. He needed physical contact, needed his partner there with him so he could stay grounded. Getting off by himself usually left him feeling unfulfilled and lonely in the comedown, yearning to be held, so his mind wouldn’t spiral too much.

With a low hum, Rhett nuzzled Miles’ nose. “Can I tell ya, I didn’t touch myself, either? I barely had two seconds of privacy some days. Not so easy to get in the mood when you got people breathin’ down your neck.”

A smile crossed Miles’ face. “So we’re both super pent-up then?”

“Guess so. Gonna have to pace ourselves so we don’t finish too fast.”

Miles reached up to run his fingers through Rhett’s beard. “With this thing on your face, I know I won’t last long.”

“We should put that to the test.” Rhett ducked forward to capture Miles’ sweet, mocking mouth in a kiss. 

It was then that Miles seemed to truly register just how bare they both were. As Rhett kissed him, tongue delving into his mouth, Miles canted his hips forward, cock dragging against Rhett’s, hard and insistent between them. 

This was what Miles had been stretching himself for all day, with that jeweled plug. He couldn’t wait to be filled, connected in the most intimate of ways. But first, there was a beard to sit on. 

Rhett knew how much Miles enjoyed foreplay. Not just leading up to the act itself, but in the hours before. A slow, steady buildup. Stolen touches throughout the day, charges glances, and various acts of service that made Miles swoon. 

Of course, Rhett had only been home for about an hour, so a long, drawn out day of foreplay wasn’t on the table. However, he could still worship his husband in this moment, bringing his mouth down his jaw, his neck. Beard brushing over sensitive flesh as he went. 

He sucked on Miles’ pulse point, which drew the most delicious little whimper, cock growing even harder from the sensation. 

Then, Rhett went lower. Over Miles’ clavicle. Between the valley of his chest. Then, ever so slightly, Rhett ran his bearded cheek over each of Miles’ nipples. That drew a choked gasp from him as he jolted beneath Rhett. 

“O-oh! That…that feels good.” A soft, breathless admission. 

A grin spread across Rhett’s face. “Yeah?” He did it again, facial hair brushing over each pebbled little nipple, enjoying the way his husband squirmed beneath him. 

Then, he continued his descent, kissing over Miles’ belly, gentle as he kissed his scar. There had been a time when Miles couldn’t stand to be touched there, but now, he welcomed it, melting into the affection Rhett left against the mark. 

When Miles lifted his head to gaze down at Rhett, he found him already looking up at him, now hovering just over the dusting of hair that led down his lower abdomen, giving way to a thatch of thicker, blondish hair that framed his cock. 

“Look at that. So hard f’me already.” Rhett’s hand wrapped around Miles’ shaft, tugging once, twice, relishing in the hiss Miles let out. “You ready to sit on my face?”

“Uh-huh.” Mouth loose around the syllables, ability to speak leaving him momentarily. 

Rhett’s brow lifted. “Words, bubba.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Good boy.” Then Rhett shifted, first grabbing a bottle of lube from the nightstand, and then moving to slide the pillows aside so he could lay flat. Once he was settled, he waved Miles over. “Now c’mon, get on up here.”

Butterflies fluttered in Miles’ tummy as he moved to join Rhett, hands resting upon the headboard to steady himself as he swung his leg over to straddle his face. From this position, Miles found himself feeling just a little vulnerable. It wasn’t often that they did this. 

“Don’t you get lost in that pretty head of yours.” Rhett’s hands came up to gently grip Miles’ thighs, squeezing the muscle. “I’m gonna take your plug out now, alright?”

“Okay.”

Rhett slid his hand back, fingers locating the jewel, before he cautiously eased it out of Miles, who sighed softly at the feeling. He’d been wearing it all day, and was struck by the sudden emptiness. An emptiness that would soon be filled. 

After the plug was set aside, Rhett slowly guided Miles forward, until he was hovering over his face. From Rhett’s vantage point, he was admiring everything in his line of sight. Miles’ cock bobbing between his thighs as he shifted, his full balls, the sensitive, pink skin that led to that cute little hole settled between the plushness of his ass.

“Mm, so pretty,” Rhett cooed, pressing a kiss to the inside of Miles’ thigh, certain to rub his beard into the sensitive skin.

That earned him a surprised “oh!”

Rhett couldn’t help but grin. This was going to be so much fun. 

Hands against Miles’ thighs, Rhett kept him steady, guiding him lower until he could mouth lovingly against the underside of his cock. Miles had to grip the headboard again to keep himself upright. The sensation of that beard was indescribable.

As Rhett licked and sucked and nuzzled, Miles found himself falling deeper and deeper into that state that could only be described as champagne fizz, or maybe fireworks, popping through his brain, through his neural receptors, through every nerve ending in his body.

If this had been his first time experiencing such intense sensations, he might’ve asked to stop. But he knew this feeling well. It was something he had begun to experience after he retired the drugs. After he regained his senses, and they weren’t dulled by another form of stimulus. 

He felt everything. 

And then Rhett guided him forward a little more, so he could swirl his tongue around Miles’ entrance, and that heightened it all. Pathetically, brokenly, Miles moaned, eyes rolling back. Fuck, they’d only just started and he was already this far gone. 

He didn’t have to hold back. Didn’t have to hide his pleasure for fear of Rhett’s judgment. Because Rhett loved how sensitive his husband was. How it was so easy to send him over the edge, how Miles was comfortable enough to allow himself to be in his most vulnerable state, because he knew that Rhett would take care of him. 

No matter how fast he fell, Rhett was always there to catch him. 

And now, Rhett held him, guided him, encouraged him to take what he needed as Miles’ hips canted against that bearded face. 

When Miles looked down, his breath caught in his chest. What a salacious sight. Rhett, between his thighs, Miles’ dick resting across his face. It earned a whimpered “oh my stars,” from Miles. 

That drew a deep groan out of Rhett. Didn’t matter how down and dirty they got. Miles rarely uttered swear words. He just wasn’t in the habit of doing so. Instead, he would say his usual clean phrases. Oh goodness. Oh my stars. Oh my gosh.

Rhett found it both adorable and incredibly hot. Perhaps it was his innocence kink running rampant. 

As if anything about what they were doing was innocent whatsoever. 

Wanting to draw more sounds out of his man, Rhett decided to offer double the stimulation. He eased Miles back just a little so he could speak. “Can ya hand me the lube, darlin’?”

Dumbly, Miles nodded, eyes blinking rapidly as he registered what Rhett was asking. Slowly, he reached over to grab the bottle, and Rhett held up his palm. Miles wasn’t sure how he was able to muster the wherewithal to pour some into Rhett’s hand, but he succeeded somehow. 

Then Rhett pulled Miles back over his face, and wrapped that lubed up hand around his cock. The moment he applied pressure, fingers wrapped firmly around the shaft, Miles jolted, gasping raggedly. 

That spurred Rhett on, and he found his rhythm. Just knowing how much enjoyment Miles was getting out of this was turning Rhett on immensely. The sounds his husband made were so sweet, so vulnerable. Whimpers, squeaks, sighs.

The most gorgeous music he’d ever had the pleasure of listening to. Far surpassing even the melodious birdsong Rhett always enjoyed when he was out in the pastures. Miles’ song was even sweeter than a meadowlark’s. 

Rhett drew more sounds of pleasure from him as he continued his onslaught, laving at the delicate skin, delving his tongue inside, nuzzling his beard against Miles just to draw even more whimpers forth, like a babbling brook. 

That, paired with Rhett’s hand steadily stroking him, was almost too much for Miles. He lost himself to the bliss, eyes fluttering shut, head lolling back. Yes, yes, yes, right there, don’t stop. 

Warmth spread through him, from head to toe. His muscles trembled, his heart flip-flopped, his entire being knew only Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

Having gone so long without stimulation, experiencing it again was a welcome assault to his senses. He couldn’t help but grind down against his husband’s handsome face, unable to keep still as one hand held the headboard, and the other tangled in the mop of brunette hair beneath him. 

Rhett grunted at the feeling of Miles tugging at the roots, and it only spurred him on, encouraging him to work with more fervor to provide the man above him with as much pleasure as possible. 

As the intensity mounted, Miles found himself instinctively reaching for Rhett’s hand to hold on to, needing the physical contact, an anchor to ground himself so he didn’t float away, up into the sky like a hot air balloon. 

With their fingers intertwined, he tried to focus, tried to be present in the moment, to enjoy being reunited with his love in such a salacious yet intimate way, after being apart for so many days. But his mind kept fixating on various discomforts. The way his thighs were beginning to burn, the way his spine was too tense because he was subconsciously afraid of resting his weight entirely on Rhett.

And then there was the lack of physical contact. Miles needed more. Needed Rhett’s arms around him, his voice in his ear, his body pressed against him. 

Miles opened his mouth to speak, to ask to change positions, but he was suddenly overcome with a wave of pleasure so electric, he realized almost too late that he was already close to falling apart. 

“Ah! W-wait, wait, wait,” he babbled, reaching down to grab Rhett’s wrist. 

Rhett stopped immediately, hand falling away as Miles pulled back, hovering just over Rhett’s chest now. 

“Y’alright, bub?” 

Miles took a steadying breath, lashes fluttering. His face was flushed, cheeks pink, eyes unfocused. “Yeah, I…I don’t wanna cum yet. Got there a little faster than I wanted.”

Rhett’s palm came to rest upon the softness of Miles’ thigh. “Do you wanna take a break?”

In the past, Miles might have let himself spiral over that, worrying that he was upsetting his partner for needing to put things on pause. But now, he found the confidence to say, “yes. I think that would help. Just…need to be close to you for a bit. Can’t get enough contact from in this position.”

A soft, pleased smile passed over Rhett’s face. If his bub wanted to be close to him, he’d give him exactly what he asked for. “Alright, get over here then.”

Miles was then guided down onto the bed, where he eagerly snuggled into the cowboy’s side, warm and safe, no pressure to continue sex until he was ready. 

An apology was on the tip of his tongue. And he would’ve uttered it, if he hadn’t spent the last few years being assured by Rhett time and time again that he didn’t need to be sorry for needing a break. Now, he believed it. He had nothing to apologize for. 

Besides, it was nice to have a moment to just…be. Here, he could exist in the arms of his spouse, in his most vulnerable state. Protected, loved, cherished. The physical contact was welcome, especially after going without for a while. 

“Mm, missed layin’ on you like this,” Miles spoke, nuzzling his face against Rhett’s chest, sparsely dusted with hair. He breathed in deep, inhaling the clean scent, settling even further into the heat of his body. 

Rhett’s arm wrapped around Miles, holding him closer still. The air between them was still charged, thrumming with anticipation of what was to come. But they were in no rush to get there. Rhett was content to hold his sweetheart for a little while longer, and enjoy the closeness. If there was one thing Miles had taught him over the years, it was to be present and enjoy the moment.

If he’d rushed things along, he wouldn’t get to experience this. The soft press of Miles’ mouth as he lifted his head to kiss Rhett’s chest. Again and again, he kissed the skin there, and the slight swell of his pectoral. Lovingly, adoringly, Rhett watched, admiring the way Miles’ lashes fluttered, the way he seemed so at peace.

“Love you so much,” he continued, words muffled as he mouthed at Rhett’s chest, so they sounded more like “luh ya s’much.” 

Rhett was overcome with something he could not name. An all-consuming need to protect, to provide, to hold and cherish. His free hand lifted, thumb gently brushing over the roundness of Miles’ cheek. 

“Love you too, bub.” There was a rawness in his voice. Sincerity burned through him. 

“I…” Miles opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. He couldn’t voice them. Couldn’t muster the wherewithal to form a single coherent sentence. But Rhett didn’t expect him to speak.

What Miles needed was for his mouth to be occupied. So Rhett gave that to him, guiding him forth until Miles wrapped his lips around one of Rhett’s peaked nipples.

That did exactly what Miles needed it to. He moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as he suckled. It drew a broken gasp from the cowboy, who soon cooed and reached up to brush Miles’ curls away from his forehead. 

“There ya go. That what you needed, baby boy?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah. Just had to have your mouth full for a bit. Bet you missed havin’ something to suck on, huh?”

Another whimpered “mhm!”

Rhett knew his partner well. Miles had always had an oral fixation, and together they had found that he loved sucking on Rhett’s fingers, or, in this case, his nipples. Something that Miles had originally been embarrassed about, but Rhett had assured him that he found it to be a major turn on. And not only that, but it had become very soothing for both of them. A way to connect with each other, to experience another form of intimacy. 

Here, in the sacred confines of their bed, they melted into one another. A sense of peace blanketed Miles, his overwhelm fading away as he nuzzled further into Rhett. This was what Miles had needed all along. The close contact. Nights spent in this bed had been so lonely without his cowboy. The emptiness of the house would press into him, too quiet, too vast. He would play soft classical music to fall asleep to, just to fill the silence. 

Now, he could listen to Rhett’s heartbeat, and the soft, rhythmic sound of his breath. Oh, how sweet it was to be reunited. 

If only for a moment, everything disappeared. All of Miles’ worries, all his uncertainty. It left his mind, and in its place, a flood of endorphins rose to the occasion.

Rhett allowed Miles to have his fill, to remain against his chest for as long as he wanted. Because it was just as soothing for Rhett, and he adored watching how peaceful his husband looked. 

And then, instinctively, Miles’ hand came up, fingers absently running through Rhett’s beard, and that quite nearly sent Rhett’s heart soaring up into the heavens. He was a source of comfort. And that privilege meant everything to him. 

He held Miles a little tighter, relishing in the closeness, and in the sound of his soft hums of contentment. 

After a few moments, Miles pulled back, lips wet and shimmering, cheeks flushed, eyes a little glassy. And he seemed to fully register the fact that Rhett was hard and aching, cock resting heavy and flushed against his abdomen. 

Switching gears, his hand skimmed down Rhett’s chest, over his stomach, and stopped right against his cock. Miles’ fingers wrapped around the shaft, thumb swiping over the blushed tip, which leaked a steady stream of molten arousal. 

Rhett’s breath hitched, a shock of pleasure rushing through him. 

“You’re so wet,” Miles murmured, an observation more than anything. But the way he said it, with this unintentional air of innocence, made Rhett’s heart rate pick up speed. 

“Can’t help it,” he grunted, “s’just what you do to me.” 

In wonder, Miles lifted his hand to admire the way the sticky substance glistened on his fingers. And then, he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked those fingers clean. 

Rhett groaned deep in his chest, unable to hold back any longer. With ease, not force, he shifted, until his body was hovering over Miles, not pinning him down, but blanketing him. 

Miles blinked up at him, lashes fluttering, curls mussed atop his head, appearing more like a halo. 

“God, I could just eat ya right up,” came Rhett’s rasped admission. “You got no idea how much you turn me on.”

“If it’s anything like the way you turn me on, I think I have some sort of idea,” Miles managed to tease back, even as his eyes drifted down between their bodies, where Rhett’s cock brushed lightly over his. 

A smile warmed Rhett’s face. “Guess we’re even, huh?” He playfully nipped at Miles’ bottom lip, and when it parted, he kissed him deeply. 

Miles’ brain went haywire once again at the feeling of that facial hair against his skin. The overwhelm he had felt earlier had melted into something much more manageable, and now, he found himself wrapping his arms around Rhett’s shoulders, pulling him closer, eager for more. 

“Whatcha want, bubba? Want my face between your legs again? Or you want me inside you?”

“I’m ready for you to be inside me.” There was no hesitancy. Miles knew what he wanted. 

With another kiss, Rhett said, “alright. Lemme just grab the lube.” The bottle had rolled toward the edge of the bed, and he rescued it from falling to its death over the edge, before moving to kneel against the bed so he could ready both himself and Miles. 

Rhett took extra care to warm the lube between his fingers before he brought them down to prep Miles. His work roughened palms were gentle as he parted Miles’ legs, hunger in his eyes as he admired that pink little hole. 

Carefully, deliberately, Rhett smoothed his slick fingers where Miles needed him most, touch teasing and light as he circled his entrance. Any other time, Rhett might have drawn things out and made Miles beg for it. But after going without for so long, that just seemed downright cruel. Especially when Miles batted his pretty lashes at Rhett, bottom lip quivering from the force of his neediness. 

Rhett ducked forward, capturing those sweet lips in a kiss as he eased two fingers inside Miles, drinking down his broken whimper like it was some sort of heavenly nectar. 

He was so pretty like this. Already fucked out. In this lust-addled state, Miles’ inhibitions essentially went out the window. He was more vocal. Unashamed of his own desperation. 

As Rhett’s fingers stretched him, Miles sank deeper and deeper into that blissful state, eyes going unfocused, mouth open to let out those precious squeaks that Rhett adored so much. 

Miles trembled against the plushness of the mattress, blindly searching for one of Rhett’s hands to hold. In the haze of his own pleasure, Miles thought briefly that it was slightly pathetic just how needy and responsive he was. But he couldn’t help it, could he? His body was reacting of its own violation. His brain was just along for the ride.

Through the haze, he heard Rhett’s voice. A low rumble in his chest. Murmured words of praise. “Look at that. Pretty li’l ass opened right up for my fingers. Like you were made to take me, huh?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Was made f’you,” Miles managed to slur, mouth loose around the syllables. Intoxicated, not off of any sort of substance, but off of pure, unbridled arousal.

Rhett spent a little more time readying the man beneath him, guiding his fingers deeper. He splayed his hand against Miles’ lower abdomen, touch warm and grounding. Wordlessly encouraging him to relax. 

And relax, he did. His legs parted further, his body sank into the comfort of the quilt beneath him. The very quilt he had sewn together with his own hands, made from various patches of fabric, many of which held sentimental value. Including pieces of Rhett’s favorite childhood blanket. 

The quilt was a wedding gift Miles had presented to Rhett the night they got married. And now, it provided a source of grounding comfort as Miles melted into it. 

Safe. Protected. Enveloped in his husband’s warmth. 

“I’m ready.” Miles surprised even himself with how quickly and decisively he said it. He needed Rhett inside him. The thought of waiting another minute was unbearable. “Please, sir. Can’t wait any longer.”

That did it. Rhett’s lashes fluttered, mouth parting as his cheeks went ruddy with warmth. “Yeah? Poor baby. Gonna give you what you need.” He brought his hand up to cup Miles’ scarred cheek, thumb swiping over his lips. Miles took the digit greedily, mouth wrapping around it, relishing in its weight against his tongue. 

When his gaze flickered up to meet Rhett’s, the cowboy’s breath caught in his throat, dick twitching between his thighs. At that point it was just cruel to make Miles wait any longer. 

Rhett eased his fingers out of the man beneath him, swallowing his soft whimper with a kiss, before he reached over to take hold of the bottle of lube once again. 

He used a generous amount, not wanting to take any chance of possibly hurting Miles. Once Rhett was certain he’d used enough lube, he finally situated himself between Miles’ parted thighs, taking a moment to admire how pretty he was like this. Pliant and needy, eager for whatever Rhett was going to give him. 

Next came what was one of Rhett’s favorite moments whenever he made love to his husband. It was the sight of that sweet, handsome face crumpling into a mask of utter bliss as he eased his hips forward. 

The head of his cock only just breached Miles’ entrance, and already, his eyes were rolling back, mouth falling open, chest heaving as he took in a trembling breath. 

Rhett carefully pushed Miles’ thighs further apart, knees up near his chest. Holding him like that, he continued to ease forward, inch by inch, gauging Miles’ face for any signs of discomfort. But there were none. 

In fact, Miles began to softly plead, “more, more, more.”

So Rhett gave it to him. He pressed his hips down until Miles had taken all that he could. And then, in a breathless whimper, he sighed out, “thank youuu.”

Rhett’s head was spinning as he stared down in awe at the man he loved. So perfect and pliant, so utterly devoted. In this moment, trembling with desire, Rhett knew Miles would do anything he asked. Anything at all. 

But Rhett had never, and would never, abuse that sacred trust. In his most vulnerable state, Miles could give himself over to his husband, and know that he would take care of him in every way he needed. 

“There ya go. That’s what you needed, huh darlin’?”

Miles’ bottom lip quivered as he nodded. “Yes, yes, it’s everythin’ I needed!”

Rhett surged forth, elbows resting on the mattress, at either side of Miles’ head, caging him in. Instinctively, Miles wrapped his legs around the narrow plane of Rhett’s waist, pulling him even closer. Chest to chest, hearts beating as one. 

“S’alright if I move, or do you need a minute?” 

With a nod of his head, Miles replied, “you can move.”

He couldn’t describe it with mere words, but the feeling of being connected like this, in the most intimate way possible, brought a sense of all consuming peace upon Miles. It was more than just physical. The connection was emotional, he might even go as far as to say it was spiritual. 

Sex wasn’t simply a means to an end. A way to get off, to let off some steam. It was special, sweet, intimate. Even when they were participating in kink scenes, there was always a level of tenderness and care just beneath the surface. A reminder that they had each other. That, together, they were safe and loved. 

“Missed this so much,” Rhett gasped, voice strained as he eased his hips back, only to thrust forward once again. “Can’t believe I went a whole month without you.” Another thrust. 

Too overcome to speak, Miles tilted his head, searching for Rhett’s lips. As they kissed, they swallowed one another’s sounds of pleasure, as if they could consume each other’s souls this way, two becoming one. 

Chest to chest, hip to hip, there was no way to tell where one began and the other ended. And that was how they preferred it. Wrapped around each other wholly and completely. 

Before Miles, Rhett’s relationship with sex was hurried, impersonal fucks that left him unfulfilled. He’d always said he wasn’t the type to settle down, but that was a bold faced lie that he told himself, because he truly believed he would never meet anyone who would want to spend the rest of their life with him. 

How wrong he’d been. Now he had a sweet husband who went weak in the knees at the mere concept of him sporting a beard. Life was good. 

Beneath him, Miles lost himself to the warm press of Rhett’s body against his own. The feeling of that gorgeous beard against his cheek, the side of his neck, the column of his throat. Rhett had essentially turned into an affectionate cat, rubbing his face all over the whining, moaning, quivering man beneath him. 

Miles welcomed it, relishing in the contact, the closeness. The sensations rippling through him were increasing, the heat of pleasure growing tenfold. All he knew was the feeling of Rhett’s cock within him, thick and unrelenting. And then, with just the right angle of his hips, he nudged into that spot that sent Miles trembling against the bed like a live wire. 

“Oh!” He yelped, one hand gripping at the sheets, the other thrown around Rhett’s shoulders as he searched for something to ground himself. 

Rhett grunted, hips stuttering, though his pace didn’t slow. “Yeah, that’s your spot, ain’t it bubba?” He gave Miles a moment to adjust to the sensation, and he could feel the way his cock twitched between them, wet and shiny, leaking steadily with each thrust. 

And it seemed to send forth even more slick as the head of Rhett’s cock bullied against that sensitive little button. If there was one thing that always turned Rhett on to no end, it was how wet Miles got. 

Rhett couldn’t resist bringing his hand between their joined bodies, fist closing around that fevered cock that smeared against the skin of their lower abdomens. At the added stimulation, Miles wailed softly, drunk from the pleasure, already in a daze. 

“Can ya talk to me, sweetie? Tell me what you’re feelin’?” Rhett cooed, strained as it was. 

“I-I-I…” Miles’ mouth started working before his brain could catch up, a response at being given a gentle command from the man above him. It took him a moment to gather enough wits to speak. “Fuh–feels…oh! Feels in-incredible, sir! Not gonna last!”

Rhett was impressed Miles was even able to get a coherent word out. “Yeah? You close already?” For emphasis, he swirled his thumb around the blushing tip of Miles’ cock, drawing a broken gasp out of him at the contact.

“Yes! Yes!”

Offering another deep, deliberate thrust, Rhett ducked forward, mouth hovering over Miles’. “Hold it f’me, just a little bit longer, alright?”

A tearful nod was all the confirmation he needed. So Rhett slowed things way down, drawing his hips back and carefully, steadily driving them forward again. Not hurried, not rough. Just a deep, prolonged connection. 

When Miles pawed at Rhett, gripping his shoulders for purchase, Rhett took the initiative to wrap his husband in his arms. With practiced ease, he guided Miles into his chest, maneuvering them both until Rhett was on his knees on the bed, and Miles was in his lap.

There, they moved in tandem. Instinctively, Miles rolled his hips against Rhett’s with each thrust he made beneath him. A rhythm was developed, a steady push and pull that had them gasping and moaning into one another’s mouths.

Their bodies were attuned to one another, a certain flow to their movements that spoke of their connection to one another. Miles might describe that connection as spiritual, in a way. Rhett, a man of fewer words, didn’t know how to describe it. All he knew was that he loved the man in his arms more than words could say. 

He held Miles a little tighter, a little closer. Sharing in one another’s warmth. Sweat dampened their bodies, skin slick against skin as their desperation mounted, growing more overwhelming still. 

Miles found himself seeking out Rhett’s mouth, but he could hardly find his faculties to initiate a kiss, his mind was too far gone, enveloped in a safe, warm blanket of bliss. Mouth hot and wet against Rhett’s, Miles whimpered, “love you, love you, love you.”

Bodies pressed tightly against one another, with each shift of his hips, Miles’ cock was pressed between the plane of his own abdomen, and Rhett’s. The combination of lube and sweat provided a deliciously wet friction. That, along with the steady push and pull of Rhett inside him was enough to send Miles’ brain into overdrive.

What followed wasn’t necessarily a black out, it was more so an all-encompassing rush of molten pleasure, sparking through his veins like firecrackers. The sounds that left his mouth were pathetic and unrestrained, loud whimpers and squeals with each thrust of Rhett’s cock. Miles had lost all sense of decorum, and he was too far gone to even care.

As he held his blissed out husband, Rhett basked in those pretty little sounds, and he knew, by the way Miles trembled, like a leaf in the wind, that he was close. 

So he decided to help him along. He knew exactly what to say to send his sweetheart over the edge.

Grinding deep inside him, Rhett murmured lowly against the shell of Miles’ ear, “you’re gonna squirt for me, ain’t you, bubba?”

Miles whimpered, mouth open, eyes watering. He tried to answer, tried to say yes, yes, yes, but all that came out was an incoherent warble. 

Rhett’s strong, but gentle, hand came up to cup Miles’ blushing cheek. He kissed him, open-mouthed, tongues sliding over each other. And then he pulled back to speak again, “let go, I’ve got ya.”

So Miles let himself fall, because he knew Rhett was there to catch him. It all came to its peak when that delicious, sizzling pleasure engulfed him, sparks igniting at the base of his spine, the constant nudge of Rhett’s cock against that sensitive spot within him sent Miles plummeting.

He cried out against Rhett’s mouth, jolting in his arms like a live wire as it overtook him. Everything that had been pent up in the time they had been apart was now released. A steady, viscous torrent that spilled from Miles, hot and pulsing, soaking himself and Rhett in the process. 

He could hear the breathless murmur of Rhett’s voice, talking him through it, but the rush of blood pounding in his ears made it impossible to make out a single word. 

“That’s it,” Rhett was saying, words strained as he fought against his own mounting pleasure. “Let it all out.” What a sight to behold, as Miles fell apart. He was gorgeous. Perfect. Ethereal. A heavenly being sent from above.

Rhett cradled him close, hips still rolling upward, even as that tight ring of muscle spasmed around him, sending him dangerously close to the edge. He would hold Miles through his first, and only then would Rhett let himself cum. 

But for Miles, it seemingly had no end. Tears sprang to his eyes, spilling down the warmth of his flushed cheeks, meeting at the apex of his chin. And Rhett leaned back to lick those tears away, cooing at his beloved as he wept. 

“Ca-can’t stop!” Miles squeaked, “th- ah! - there’s so much!”

“Shh, s’alright,” came Rhett’s groan. He allowed himself a glance between their joined bodies, eyes hazy and heavy-lidded as he took in the sight of the mess. “Good boy. Such a good boy.”

Finally, finally, Miles slumped forward, still shivering with the aftershocks as the intensity began to ebb. Whimpering, gasping, he babbled repeatedly, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“I’m right there, bub,” Rhett gritted, muscular thighs trembling beneath Miles. “Can ya take a little more?”

Barely able to form a reply, Miles managed a “mhm!”

So Rhett’s large, warm hands came down to grip Miles’ hips, holding him in place as he rocked his own upward. Several deliberate strokes soon brought Rhett to his own end, and he all but crushed Miles to his chest as he let go.

Nose buried into the softness of Miles’ hair, Rhett breathed in as his orgasm washed over him. Deep inside his husband, his release spilled forth, marking him, claiming him. A primal act that only heightened Rhett’s pleasure, and reignited Miles’. 

Miles couldn’t help the broken moan that tore itself from the depths of his throat as that sinful, slick warmth filled him to the brim. There was something so primal about it. His heart skipped a beat at the feeling. 

Chest heaving, pulse thundering, Rhett slowly came down, still twitching inside Miles. A blanket of calming quiet settled over the two, save for their labored breathing. They needed a moment to gather themselves, to enjoy the closeness before it was time to part. 

Rhett tightened his arms around Miles, nuzzling the side of his neck. It was then that Miles began to giggle, a soft, musical sound that made Rhett laugh. 

“Whatcha laughin’ at?”

“Your beard tickles.”

That brought a grin to Rhett’s face. “Yeah?”

Too late, Miles realized his error. “Wait!”

But Rhett had already buried his face into Miles’ neck again, purposely rubbing his beard into the sensitive skin until Miles was laughing openly, shoving at Rhett’s chest. However, the full body tremor that ran through Miles as he laughed was instant, unintentional payback for Rhett teasing him with the beard, because the movement caused him to clench around Rhett’s softening, sensitive cock.

He hissed softly, shuddering at the feeling.

“Sorry, sorry,” Miles apologized, trying to still his laughter.

Rhett shook his head, eyes glimmering with amusement. “S’alright, I’m the one who got you all giggly.” He lovingly bumped noses with Miles. When their lips met, it wasn’t hungry or desperate. Instead, it was tender, sweet, gentle. 

When they parted, Miles seemed to finally register the aftermath of their passion. He glanced down, lashes fluttering as he took in the sight of his pearlescent release, sticky against his abdomen. “Made a mess.”

“Yeah you did,” Rhett said with a knowing smile. “Guess we need another shower, huh?”

“I’ll say.”

Although they both wished to linger a little longer, Rhett knew that Miles hated the feeling of cum drying on his skin, and he wanted to prioritize his comfort by getting him cleaned up first before they did anything else.

“Want your plug back in?” Rhett asked.

Cheeks warming, Miles nodded. “Please.”

What followed was careful maneuvering as Rhett lowered Miles onto the bed, kissing him sweetly to swallow his whine as he eased his cock out. Rhett moved quickly, quick to locate the previously discarded plug. Retrieving a pack of wet wipes from the bedside table, he wiped the plug clean, and then returned to ease it back inside Miles. 

It slid inside with ease, and the moment it was in place, Miles let out a soft sigh of relief. Then, Rhett hovered over him, moving to kiss his nose before he said, “let’s go rinse off, okay bubba?”

They found themselves in the shower once again, and this time, it was Rhett who reverently washed his husband. Few words were spoken as they engaged in aftercare. There was no urgency, no hurriedness. Just the two of them relishing in the intimacy of being together. All was right with the world now that they were reunited, here in their cozy little home. 

Once they were finished rinsing off, they were quick to change into pajamas. Rhett into a pair of lounge pants, sans shirt, and Miles into one of Rhett’s ratty old rodeo t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts. 

Sleepy eyed, they made their way downstairs, where Miles dished up bowls of slowly simmered stew. They enjoyed their meal at the kitchen table they had built together when they were newly married. 

Matilda the cat decided to curl up on Rhett’s lap as he ate. 

“Look at her. She missed Daddy so much,” Miles pointed out in amusement, leaning back in his chair, stew long since finished as.

Rhett hummed, lovingly scratching her little velveteen head. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he said, “not as much as you missed Daddy though, huh?”

Miles rolled his eyes playfully, leaning toward Rhett. “Oh, I definitely missed you more than she did, Daddy.” Throwing the name right back in Rhett’s face seemed to spark a fresh wave of desire through him, and with a smirk, he reached out to tug Miles closer, but he was too quick for the cowboy, darting just out of reach. 

“Get back here!”

“Can’t catch me, you’ll disturb Matilda’s nap.”

“You evil li’l thang.”

A triumphant smile warmed Miles’ face as he waltzed over to the kitchen window to retrieve the apple pie. “Will you accept pie as a peace offering?”

Rhett relented, leaning back against his chair. “Maybe.”

“With a nice big scoop of vanilla ice cream?”

“Fine.”

That was exactly what Rhett got. A generous slice of pie with a hefty scoop of vanilla bean-flecked ice cream. A comforting warmth spread through Rhett’s chest as he took the first bite. Sweet, cinnamon-y goodness, balanced by the slight tartness of the perfectly cooked apples. 

“Fuck me, this is incredible as usual, bub,” he murmured around a mouthful of pie. 

Miles beamed over his own slice of pie. He found great joy in watching Rhett enjoy the food he made. “Glad you like it.”

With fondness softening his features, Rhett leaned forward, hand coming up to rest over Miles’ own. “You take such good care of me. S’good to be home with you, where I belong.”

Miles turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with Rhett’s. “You better not leave again, you hear me, cowboy?”

Rhett grinned, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Don’t think I could stand another month without ya.”

A serious look settled onto Miles’ face. “In all seriousness, I love how hard you work to make sure our little family is taken care of. Always know I can depend on you.”

Rhett’s eyes glimmered, heart growing warm in his chest. “Lookin’ out for you is important to me.”

“I know. And I love you for it.” Leaning across the table, Miles kissed Rhett sweetly, hand lifting to run his fingers through that beard. “By the way, you better keep this gorgeous beard.”

A grin spread across Rhett’s face. “Anythin’ for you, bubba.”

-

tagging those who interacted with the post i made about this:

@aratheegreat @fairyheart @hi-res-tm @live-love-be-unique @abbottsdarling

@rhettled @lalalunascope @peachystenbrough @lostglassguitars @spencers-stardust

@em1i2a3 @mywinterivy @good-vibes-and-glitter @lookitsgrim @monkeydoll5

@abbotslamb @fanboyswhore9 @lilmisslexapro @fandomxo @fridamoss

"Happy to take your money, Garcia. My money's on the mobster," he quipped, throwing down a ten of his own and gesturing at an alpha with slicked back hair on the inside of the booth a few from the group had taken up residence in. He had his arm around the only female in the pack and was quietly chatting with a very animated man with an obnoxious gold chain and the kind of showy muscles that come not from hard labor like the ones under the sleeves of the alpha they'd deemed the Cowboy. This one that Bob quietly referred to as the Greaser had a small, barely perceivable smile and watched his mate with a fondness that made Bob's own heart ache. As much as he hated to, Bob had to admit Jake might just be right. And Bob wasn't even sure the cowboy was an alpha despite the rest of the group readily agreeing.

Mickey seemed to be having some doubts as well. He smiled at Hangman, but it came off as put on, the kind of confidence his erstwhile teammate never had to fake. After all, Jake Seresin was a neverending well of self-regard.

"What makes you think that? Yeah, the mobster is definitely an alpha, but he's not commanding the space the way the cowboy is." Nat, an alpha herself, turned to Bob and rolled her eyes.

Hangman grinned. It looked less inviting and charming the way it did when he flashed it at the single betas and omegas who came to the bar and more the smile of someone who knew they'd won the game before it even began. Fanboy's cheery grin visibly faltered.

"I tried to chat up the female," Jake admitted, much to everyone but his chagrin. Even Nat raised her eyebrows, but Hangman was too busy being smug to pay their surprised reactions any mind.

"That's a level of ballsy I didn't think even you were capable of, Seresin," Rooster shot at him, taking a lazy sip of his beer, face nonplussed even when Jake turned his Cheshire grin to the squad's only omega.

"What? You jealous, Bradshaw?"

Before Rooster could bite back, Payback cut him off.

"Get to the point, Bagman. At least give Mickey the courtesy of knowing why he's losing money tonight." When Mickey shot him a fake hurt look, Reuben just shrugged and grinned. They all knew that Fanboy's proverbial goose was cooked.

"Right, so where was I?" Jake drawled. He hadn't taken his eyes off Rooster, who was doing his best to ignore the obnoxiously cocky alpha who was blatantly peacocking for his attention. Again.

"They need to fuck and get it over with," Nat muttered into Bob's ear right as he took a sip of his (non-alcoholic) drink. He should've known to brace himself the second she leaned in conspiratorially, but her little asides routinely caught the WSO off guard. It took a kind of effort Bob had practiced as long as he'd known Phoenix, but he was able to swallow his mouthful of Sprite without sputtering or choking. His glass, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.

Fortunately, Phoenix was on top of it, instantly mopping up the spilled drink with the kind of speed and efficiency that meant she'd already carefully weighed the pros and cons of her snide remark before it even left her lips. When the others turned towards them, concerned, Bob waved them off, wiping his mouth with a clean napkin Natasha handed him with a smirk.

"Anyway," Hangman said, finally turning to face Fanboy, "I was talking to the female of the group - definitely an alpha, by the way - and the greaseball glared at me like he wanted to blow my damn head off. He stormed over, put his arm around her shoulders, and told me in no uncertain terms to get lost."

"What did he actually say? The exact words used?" Coyote spoke up.

Jake only grinned more. "He told me to get my goddamn hands off his girl and fuck off."

Most alphas would be at least repentant about treading on another's territory as laughably outdated as that notion was, but Jake just laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Typical.

The squabbling only got louder, so Bob used his empty glass as an excuse to get away. His call for refill requests fortunately was ignored just like it normally was, so he didn't have to haul half a dozen various beers across the crowded bar. And he didn't have the voice of his mom in his ear, scolding him for not being a gentleman like he did when he didn't ask at all. It was a win-win all around.

That was one thing about being the quiet beta of the group. When he was younger, Bob resented how easily overlooked he was. 'A wallflower,' his sisters called him when he told them about how he was always passed over by his peers at school. 'A sweet, upstanding young gentleman,' his grandma declared him to be as she pinched his cheeks until they hurt. 'A late bloomer,' his pa deemed him when Bob didn't get the same growth spurt at the same time all the other boys did. 'Just like your dad,' his mom would say with a wistful smile, no doubt thinking about their younger years. He didn't like any of it.

But, grudgingly, Bob Floyd learned the benefits of being generally overlooked. Anything he did well always shocked and impressed the others around him. The few moments he'd let his wit out to cut like a fresh rapier, his opponents were always thrown off. And the few people who did notice him, like Natasha Trace and, eventually the entire Dagger Squad, were the kind of friends you made for life, the ones who saw Bob for who he was and liked him for it.

Which is why it surprised him when one of the omegas from this new pack looked straight at him from across the bar and gave him a faint smile. Bob had to fight the immediate urge to turn around, to see who else this man was looking at. But he saw the eye contact and the way the omega appeared briefly hesitant at Bob's lack of response. And his blatant staring. So quickly, Bob smiled back. It was perfunctory but natural. Not one of those he'd give in the hallway while passing any number of faceless, nameless officers he'd most likely never see again. It was genuine. And even across the room, the omega seemingly sensed the sincerity, and his face relaxed.

Whatever little moment was or wasn't happening got abruptly interrupted when another bar patron accidentally walked right into Bob, who barely avoided the man's drink spilling on him. He'd been in this situation more times than he could recall. Fortunately, this man that Bob quickly clocked as another beta, one with long brown hair and a gentle face, acted more concerned with Bob's state of being than the condition of his now half-spilled glass of white wine.

"I'm so sorry," the beta said, grabbing some napkins from a nearby table and checking Bob over for errant stains. "Don't know how I didn't see you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Bob assured him with a smile. Fortunately, his dress shirt was just as clean and crisp as when he'd put it on after drills that afternoon. "No harm done. It happens all the time."

Their interaction was fairly short: the stranger apologized a few more times, tried to start mopping up the spill with his handful of napkins until Penny threw Bob a spare rag to use instead, and even turning down a free refill (a first that he could remember from Penny), declaring that the incident must be God telling him that he's cut off for the night. It didn't surprise Bob when the handsome beta walked back to the corner with that strange pack, right into the arms of a different small omega who immediately inspected him like he'd been in a serious accident as opposed to the human equivalent of a fender bender. Bob watched as the beta reassured his mate, nuzzling his forehead against the omega's cheek until the latter visibly relaxed.

"Weird evening, isn't it?" Penny asked when Bob finally stepped up to the counter, placing his empty glass there for a refill.

"Yeah, there's something about that pack," Bob admitted, watching as the bartender swept his old glass away in a motion as easy as breathing. "The squad's been taking bets about them all night."

"I meant the two spills in less than five minutes, both of which you were involved with," Penny said with a grin. Bob had the decency to blush, something that only made Penny laugh mirthfully. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I won't charge you a clean up fee."

Quick as a blink, the bartender turned to the soda fountain, filling up a brand new glass. She turned and set it down on the counter in front of Bob and popped a new straw in it in one fluid motion with the kind of easy grace that always secretly astounded the pilot.

"By the way, you left your jacket," Penny added, nodding over to a black lump of fabric in one of the bar chairs.

Confused, Bob picked up what appeared to be a much-loved but clean hoodie with the name of some band he didn't recognize splashed on the front. Bob Floyd didn't wear hoodies, preferring zip up sweaters instead. And he certainly didn't listen to the kind of music where the band spelled their name in letters so jagged and stylized that he could barely make out the words. But he could see why Penny thought it was his. Written on the label in bold, sharp script were three familiar letters - B O B.

Before he could do more than process the name, a voice came from behind him.

"Um…that's mine, actually."

It was a nice voice: low, quiet, and so soft around the edges that it was almost a hum. It was the kind of voice that was more used to rounding the ends of sentences into a question even when stating an objective fact. The kind of voice Bob could easily imagine murmured into his ear late at night, one he could feel through a rumble in a lover's chest pressed against his back.

Maybe it should've been a surprise when Bob turned around to see that omega from the new pack, the one who smiled at him from across the room. But for some reason? It wasn't.

His voice fit his appearance. Whether it was the mop of brown curls, the cozy and clearly well-loved sweater, or the openness in his face, one word came to Bob's mind: soft.

But there was more to this omega than that. There was some steel there. Even mated omegas tended to avoid being alone with someone unmated that they didn't know. Even a fairly harmless beta like Bob could prove a threat in a room full of liquored up and rowdy patrons. But this omega didn't even seem nervous about Bob himself, just about interrupting his conversation with Penny.

And when Bob spent too long staring at this handsome stranger, those eyes went from warm and friendly to flinty and hard. The tentative smile on his face stretched taut, as if putting on a gruesome mask of the kindness that was previously on his face.

Before the omega could ask, Bob quickly blurted out, "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to stare. It's just…" He gestured down at the tag and the faded name in Sharpie, his words failing him.

"Surprised someone still writes their name on the inside of their clothes as an adult?"

And a sharp sense of humor to boot. Bob added that to his mental tally of this omega who was becoming more fascinating by the minute.

"No," Bob said with an awkward little laugh. "No, it's not that. That makes sense if you're living with other people. Keeps you from getting your clothes stolen."

The stranger nodded, his stance becoming slightly less defensive even as he crossed his arms in front of him.

"I was just surprised is all," Bob continued, pointing at the tag. "Penny, the owner, thought this was mine."

The man across from him paused, blinking rapidly, a cute little crease of confusion forming between his eyebrows.

"Wait, but…" He pointed at the name tag on Bob's shirt, the one that said "FLOYD" in all capital letters.

"Last name," Bob explained. He extended his hand to shake before introducing himself. "Lieutenant Bob Floyd."

The other man paused, eyeing his outstretched hand hesitantly. This wasn't exactly a typical greeting to a mated omega, but Bob wagered this wasn't your typical mated omega anyway.

After a moment of hesitation, he took Bob's hand, giving him a firm but friendly shake. "Bob Reynolds. No fancy title. Just Bob."

Their hands lingered perhaps a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, and Bob had to ignore the way his heart pounded just a hair faster.

They talked for what felt like minutes but stretched out to over an hour. On the surface, the two Bobs had little in common beside their names. After all, what would a straight A student turned decorated Navy lieutenant have in common with a middle school drop out who spent most of his adult life struggling with addiction and housing insecurity even have to say to each other? Yet they continually found common ground.

"Vodka soda?" the Other Bob asked as Bob took a new glass of Sprite from Penny. At Bob's frown of confusion, Bob Reynolds gestured at the drink. "Drinking a vodka soda?"

"Oh!" Bob Floyd exclaimed, chuckling a little nervously under his breath. He was used to the teasing from his heavy-drinking friends, but experience didn't make the sobriety talk any easier. "No, just a Sprite." Pointing at the dark cola on the bar next to the other man, he added, "Rum and Coke?"

"Close," Bob R. said with a little laugh of his own. "Just hold the rum and replace the Coke with a Dr. Pepper. I've been clean for two years this coming February. Not breaking that for a shitty cocktail."

"Oh." Bob knew from the way the other man's face tightened just a fraction that he'd made the situation awkward just that much weirder from his reaction. So clearing his throat, he added, "Congratulations. That's a huge accomplishment."

When Bob R. waved away the compliment, Bob F. doubled down.

"No, seriously. That's impressive. I don't drink because I don't like the way it makes me feel and it tastes gross. But you're here at a bar, addiction ground zero. That must take a lot more self-control than it seems. You make it look easy." He spoke with such sincerity that it seemed to strike the omega speechless for a moment. The other man blinked a few times, eyes darting around like he was trying to process the words.

Bob gave him that space, let him sit in the compliment and figure out if he even wanted to respond to it. Unfortunately, he took a sip of his drink when the Other Bob found his words. And even though he'd learned how to keep it together with Phoenix, he had no defenses against this new Bob.

"Bars aren't that tempting to me. Now a crack den? That would be a problem. I'd be like a kid in a candy shop."

A few minutes later, Bob Reynolds apologized for making the lieutenant choke on his drink, but to Bob Floyd? It was worth it to make the other man laugh so hard tears pricked his eyes.

Naturally, conversation shifted towards their respective groups. The Other Bob was the first to offer up details about his pack.

"So, the beta that bumped into you? That's William," Bob R said, pointing out the man with the long, brown hair and friendly face. "And the omega in his lap? That's Miles. They're bonded. Joined the us together a few months ago."

All of the pack were introduced in turn, so Bob was able to put an actual name to the unofficial titles the Dagger Squad had dubbed them.

Bob R agreed that "Cowboy" was an appropriate nickname for the one called Rhett, not just because he wore a cowboy hat and boots. Finding out he was a former pro bull rider was a shock but nowhere near as much as finding out the cowboy was an omega.

"I thought he was maybe a beta," Bob admitted, trying not to stare at the man out of sheer curiosity. If the cowboy noticed how closely both of the men at the bar were watching him, Rhett gave no indication of it. "I've never seen an omega who's built like that."

When the other man's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of bright pink, Bob tactfully said nothing. But he found himself glancing at the seat of the tall omega's pants, idly wondering just how built this cowboy really was.

The well-dressed alpha sitting nearby was introduced as Todd, an unlikely pairing for a rough and tumble country boy like Rhett. But, according to Bob R, they joined the pack as a mated pair.

The three in the corner booth were all directly mated to the Other Bob, a revelation that didn't come as too much of a surprise from the casual way he'd noticed them touching the omega all night. Nothing untoward, of course. Just leaning against him, holding his hand, draping an arm across his shoulders. Little careless gestures that spoke of quiet companionship and a deep affection.

The muscular beta with the gold chain who was now visibly playing footsie under the table with his two alphas was Jordan. The only female in the pack was indeed an alpha like Hangman had claimed with a pretty name that suited her well. And the one with the slicked back hair, the alpha who'd confronted Hangman earlier, was introduced as Rocco.

"He's the head alpha," Bob R added, popping the de-shelled peanut the WSO offered him into his mouth.

Bob didn't mean to laugh. It just bubbled out of him, fast and sharp enough that he covered his mouth and glanced around to make sure he hadn't disturbed any other patrons. The Other Bob didn't question him, just watched patiently with a raised eyebrow and an amused quirk of the mouth. It hit Bob that the other man knew that he didn't have to ask, that Bob would explain himself. Phoenix had given him the same look innumerable times in the past few years they'd been partners. That thought was quickly brushed under the proverbial rug. He wasn't quite ready to ponder the meaning of that revelation and how it made the tightness in his chest that had been there since this mysterious pack entered the bar loosen just a fraction.

"Hangman was right," Bob said, gesturing at the preening alpha still at the center of attention of the Dagger Squad.

A few of his teammates caught his eye, shooting curious looks at him, some of them even openly gesturing at Bob R then back to him in silent question.

He ignored them.

Bob Reynolds gave a nervous wave and a bashful grimace in an approximation of a friendly smile. When he turned in his chair a bit to subtly put his back to the group, Bob Floyd didn't blame him.

"I'm guessing 'Hangman' is that blond alpha who looks like he thinks he's a king holding court in front of his subjects?" the Other Bob asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Bob muttered, tossing an errant peanut shell in an empty Budweiser glass he'd designated for such a task. No need to get Penny on his ass for making another mess for her to clean. "He's more a court jester who thinks he's king. If we had a leader other than Mav, it wouldn't be him." Tilting his head, Bob gestured at lone omega in the squad who was sitting by the wall, too distracted by the temptation of the bar's piano to pay Hangman any mind. "More likely, it'd be Rooster. Or maybe Phoenix, but I don't think she'd be too pleased with me for saying so."

The Other Bob risked a look at the Dagger Squad, just long enough for him to register their faces, most of which were still eyeing the two Bobs at the bar with unabashed curiosity. Bob Floyd turned and looked himself, briefly catching Phoenix's eye and blatantly ignoring her raised eyebrows.

"Do they always stare like that?" Bob Reynolds asked with a wince, his voice slightly higher and creaking from embarrassment.

Catching Payback's eye, Bob Floyd's unamused stare was met with an impish grin and a wink. When Fanboy wolf whistled, Bob turned back to the Other Bob with an audible sigh, fighting down the urge to roll his eyes.

"Unfortunately," he deadpanned, taking another sip of his Sprite, for once wishing it was something a little stronger.

After a few moments of the kind of awkward silence that only comes when two people know their every move is being heavily scrutinized, Bob R spoke up.

"Are they always this…" He glanced around the room, blinking rapidly like he was searching for his next words which had suddenly taken flight from his brain. Bob returned the same polite patience the omega had given him just minutes before, letting him figure out what he wanted to say and not interrupting or pressing him.

When he found the word, the Other Bob wrinkled his nose as if dissatisfied with the results of his searching.

"This…nosy?"

"Absolutely," Bob said with zero hesitation. That awkward expression bled from Bob R's face, replaced by the kind of genuine amusement Bob F wasn't used to receiving from something he'd said. Hangman had once declared he had no sense of humor, but it wasn't Bob's fault he didn't like being unnecessarily mean for the sake of a joke. But if everyone responded to jokes as beautifully as Bob Reynolds, maybe he'd need to start making more.

"Makes sense why you guys were nicknaming some of us. Have you been watching us all night?" There was a twinkle in the omega's eyes that made Bob's stomach flip in the same kind of way as when Becky Wilson in 5th grade held his hand for three precious minutes during recess. The same one as when Melinda Davis kissed him after junior prom.

Bob Floyd was many things but a stuttering fool wasn't one of them. Usually. So he cleared his throat, composing himself before he answered.

"A little bit," he admitted. Even if his voice was steady, the tips of his ears burned hotter than an overheating F/A-18 engine.

The impish grin that spread across Bob Reynolds' face should've been classified as a military-grade weapon suitable only for use in active combat. Definitely not something to be used in the middle of a bar against an unarmed combatant. Bob Floyd's stomach wasn't the only thing flipping; his damn heart felt like it was doing jumping jacks in his chest.

"Explains the nicknames," the Other Bob said with just a hint of a drawl. There was a mischievous light in his eyes, almost like he knew what he was doing to the flustered beta across from him. "You guys debating on who's the cutest? Because I can make a good case for myself."

"Not exactly," Bob said wryly. He took another sip of his drink to whet his suddenly-dry mouth, hands still fiddling with the same peanut he'd been rolling back and forth for the past few minutes.

The Other Bob waited, eyebrows raised expectantly, his smile growing more dangerous by the second. Bob Floyd thought he caught the other man sneaking a glance at his ears which were bright red by now judging by how they burned with the kind of heat usually only registered on the surface of the sun. But, when he glanced up at Bob Reynolds' eyes to catch him looking, the omega was merely watching him back.

"We were…" he started, cutting himself off before continuing. "They were making bets. About your pack."

Bob R's eyebrows shot up even further, making his forehead crease in a way that the WSO struggled to not label as 'adorable.'

"Nothing weird," Bob F added quickly. "Things like who was going to win that game of pool. Or who'd finish their drink first."

The Other Bob nodded, but Bob Floyd couldn't help but notice a twinge of some expression he couldn't quite place cross his handsome face. Relief?Disappointment? Hard to tell.

"Not exactly the most exciting bets. I think my idea is way better."

Bob F nodded absently, finally popping that peanut in his mouth and slowly chewing.

"Hangman and Fanboy were betting on who the pack alpha is," he finally added, flicking the crushed peanut shell into his cup to join its conquered brethren.

That seemed to interest the Other Bob, who perked up, sitting taller in his chair.

"Oh, that's what you meant by 'Hangman was right.' Everything's making sense now." He tapped his forehead, just like the meme, causing Bob F to let out a snort of laughter he couldn't quite hold back. Bob R beamed at him, eyes crinkling at the sides with laughter.

Since the squad were still closely monitoring the duo at the bar, Bob pulled up a picture on his phone to introduce his teammates in turn. Words flowed out of him, but in all honesty, Bob wasn't quite sure what all he said. He was hyper focused on how the Other Bob pulled his chair closer to better see the phone screen.

Stillness, it seems, was not a natural state of being for Bob Reynolds. He shifted in his seat, shaking his leg and rocking back and forth in an almost imperceptible way that Bob Floyd hadn't noticed until they were practically pressed against each other. Their legs bumped a few times and the Other Bob's hand brushed his own when he'd point at something in the picture that Bob himself had never noticed before. His heart practically pounded out of his chest any time they touched. If the omega knew what he was doing to him, Bob sure as hell couldn't tell. So he kept talking regardless.

The only thing he specifically remembered saying was mentioning Nat's civilian boyfriend she'd been with for the past year or so. Later, he wondered to himself why he'd brought that up, but all he knew was that Bob Reynolds had seemed tense when Phoenix was brought up and that his smiles and quiet touches came much more frequently after.

"You guys seem really close," the Other Bob said. Bob Floyd risked a glance over at his teammates and let out a relieved sigh seeing they'd moved on from staring to yet another game of darts where Payday and Coyote teamed up against Hangman. From the look of it, things weren't going well for them on that front.

"I mean, yeah. We're around each other what feels like every minute of the day. Can't even use the latrine without the entire unit knowing about it. 'Least, that's what it feels like."

The laugh the Other Bob let out wasn't faked; it was genuine but with something that rang hollow underneath. "I definitely understand that. Everyone knows everyone else's business in a pack, after all."

Now it was Bob's turn to smile ruefully. His eyes dipped to his own hands, watching as if from a distance as his index finger traced the bottom of the glass back and forth, swiping through cool beads of condensation and letting the water break, sliding down his skin and onto the bar counter.

Thoughts lingered on the tip of his tongue, ones he'd left unspoken to anyone but his closest family. They'd welled up before so many times along with a fierce sense of envy so strong Bob had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat - when Maverick finally settled down with Penny and Amelia, when his baby sister introduced the family to her new mates, when Coyote's pack came for a surprise visit on shore leave.

By the time he looked back up, the Other Bob was also following his movements. When he stopped, the omega blinked and looked back up at him, the upturned tilt of his lips distinctly bittersweet. There was an understanding there. A lack meeting another lack, like the holes in their hearts saw through the facades they held up and recognized each other.

So, for once, Bob didn't think through what he said. He just spoke.

"It must be nice to have a pack. A…family."

Several seconds passed before Bob Floyd found the nerve to lift his head up to see the other man's reaction. Would that change how the omega saw him? Would such rank honesty earn him discomfort or even the kind of pity he felt lurking in the eyes of even his closest friends? But, no. The Other Bob didn't give him a sad smile and a pat on the back. He didn't squirm away from the WSO either.

If anything, Bob Reynolds looked confused.

"What?" Bob Floyd found himself asking, the words leaving his lips involuntarily, not caught or even delayed by the ever-present filter he normally pushed all his thoughts through.

"But you have a family."

Before Bob could protest, to say that he meant a non-blood family, a group of people that chose each other willingly, a round of raucous laughter erupted from the direction of the dart board. The Hard Deck might have been emptier than normal, but this was the kind of hooting and hollering that would've drawn the attention of the entire place even during peak times.

Both Bobs immediately turned in their seats to watch as Coyote and Payday knelt on the floor to do push ups as Hangman strutted around like…well, a rooster while the others jeered at the losing duo and cheered them on in turn. From the expressions of chagrin and dread on Javy and Reuben's faces, Bob knew without a doubt they'd be going at it for quite a while.

The breathy laughter to his right drew Bob's attention back to the omega next to him. Bob Reynolds let out a little snort, covering his mouth and practically giggling as if his own noise only tickled him further.

"They do this often?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," Bob answered, chuckling to himself as Jake put his boot on Javy's upper back, posing like Captain Morgan on the other pilot. He caught Bob's eye, holding a precise, showy salute and grinning at the WSO. At least until Javy shifted his shoulder forward, purposefully causing the cocky alpha to stumble to catch himself, which only made the Dagger Squad howl with laughter.

"Honestly, it's their fault for betting against Hangman at darts. I swear he leaves his bunk in the middle of the night to practice in the rec hall."

Turning back to the bar, Bob R fixed him with a look that Bob F could only describe as fond.

"There's always at least one troublemaker in a pack," the Other Bob said with a wistful smile. His words were so casual, taking a sip of his soda after like there was no weight to them at all. But they hit Bob Floyd all the same.

As if he was on autopilot, Bob pushed the button to turn his phone screen on, looking at the same picture that had greeted him for years. He could still smell the briny ocean spray lapping against the shore and feel that familiar California sun beaming down on the back of his neck, making his skin prickle in the way that let him know it was time to reapply sunscreen. Some 80s rock he vaguely recognized played in the background, but Bob could barely hear it over the grunts and yells and laughter as his squad loped around the beachfront. After a while, teams and scores and even winners were forgotten, replaced with the pure joy of tackles and touchdowns. Even Bob himself, initially turned off by the excess testosterone and macho posturing, got into it, scoring a goal where everyone cheered like it was a winning one. For once, he'd enjoyed being the center of attention, foisted up into the air by his comrades who chanted his name as he threw his head back, laughing.

Penny'd insisted on taking a photo. She'd said they needed a token, something to remember in the coming days and weeks of training for that mission none of them should've come back from but, by no small miracle, all of them did. The whole squad kept it as their lock screen for all this time. Girlfriends, boyfriends, and packmates got the honor of being their wallpaper, kept safe and secure behind a password. But the Dagger Squad were the first thing they all saw when they grabbed their phones in the morning and the last thing they saw as they went to bed at night.

As the screen went black, Bob Floyd was greeted with his own face. Only a couple of hours ago, he'd seen it in the mirror of the men's room as he looked up from washing his hands. Then he was met with a frown, one he quickly schooled into a neutral expression. It was just another night out, one he tagged along to because he had nothing better to do when Phoenix asked him his plans for the evening. That Bob in the mirror had lines on his forehead and a weariness in his eyes.

This Bob, the one reflected by his phone screen, couldn't be more different. Gone was the grimace, replaced with upturned lips, like the remnants of a smile tugged at his mouth. The lines on his face were still there, of course, but not as deep as they'd been before. And his eyes? Now those were the most different.

Bob Floyd wasn't unhappy. The exact opposite, actually. He was doing the job he loved with a team who both relied on him and cared about him, even if they didn't always notice when he left the table. But there was an emptiness inside of him. A loneliness he was loathe to name. But this Bob looked…lighter. Happier. Somehow more fulfilled. Like a conversation with a handsome stranger had buoyed his spirits in a way he didn't realize he needed until he saw the results himself.

For some reason, he felt the urge to turn and look at this unusual pack. Most of them paid him no mind, not the cowboy and his fancy alpha. Not the mild-mannered beta and his doting omega. And not the female alpha or the showy beta, who were too busy flirting to pay attention. But the greaser - Rocco, he corrected himself - caught his gaze and held it there.

Bob couldn't fight the feeling that this was an important moment, that his new friend's mate was passing judgment on him. Normally, he wouldn't care what some knothead alpha thought of him. His parents had told him long ago that gender is irrelevant to what kind of person you are. You can't blame your mistakes on it or let it encapsulate who you are. But something about that moment made Bob want to be a 'good beta' for the first time in his life. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

When the alpha raised his glass in a salute, a smirk firmly carved into his lips, Bob Floyd let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. He lifted his Sprite in turn, toasting this complete stranger for something he didn't quite understand. Maybe he would later.

The Other Bob's voice jerked him firmly back into reality.

Turning to face the omega, Bob mumbled an apology. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, 'so, what's yours?'" Bob R stated, his head tilting to the side slightly, just enough that he had to gaze up through his lashes to make eye contact.

"Mine?" Bob F asked, brow furrowing in confusion. "My what?"

"Your callsign," the Other Bob clarified. "Sorry. I know I'm rewinding the conversation back a few minutes. Before we got distracted by the ruckus."

"Ruckus is a damn good way to put it," Bob said. He glanced back at the head alpha across the room, but Rocco had turned his attention away from the two at the bar.

"So, there's Payback. And Rooster. And Phoenix. What are you? Specs?" Bob R grinned as he said it, visibly proud of himself for coming up with a nickname.

"Uh…not exactly."

Bob Floyd had answered this question many, many times. People responded usually with confusion ('No, your callsign, not your name'), more questions ('Did you…choose that yourself?'), or, even worse, disappointment ('Aww, man. I was hoping it was something cool'). But this response? It was a new one.

"Hmm," Bob Reynolds said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while looking off into the distance. The gesture made his already-thin lips smush together into a solitary line, making it look like he had a comically long frown. The word 'adorable' floated through Bob Floyd's head for the second time that night.

After a few moments of hard pondering, the Other Bob turned to him, releasing his chin as he declared, "I like it."

Bob blinked, saying nothing at first. And when he did speak, it was just one word.

"…What?"

"I like it," the Other Bob said with even more conviction, nodding his head as if agreeing with his own assessment. "It suits you."

Bob Floyd couldn't help himself. He laughed. It was sudden and jarring, like his body had a mind of its own. Like it was pulled out of his lungs by sheer surprise.

Bob Reynolds eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"Normally people are disappointed that my callsign is just…Bob. They expect something cooler."

The other man audibly scoffed. "What? Like Hangman? Wow. He must be so cool." He made a quick pumping gesture with his right hand, wordlessly calling the blond alpha a jerk off. "No, Bob is unique. I bet there isn't another pilot with that callsign. There are probably dozens of 'Hangman's. And, after all, you know what 'Bob' stands for, right?"

"If you say 'Baby On Board,' I'm going back to my -" Bob F started, shaking his finger at his fellow Bob.

"No, no," Bob R said, waving away the other man's concerns. "Nothing as lame as that."

"Then what?"

Bob Reynolds grinned.

"Big Ol' Balls, obviously."

When Bob Reynolds said his goodbyes and made his way back to his pack through the slowly emptying bar, he was hyper aware of the phone resting heavily in his right front pocket. He ran his fingers over the glass faceplate, feeling the tiny cracks in the touch screen, the ones Jordan insisted wouldn't be there if he'd just get a proper phone case. If he traced the name of the man he'd spent the last hour and a half with, give or take a few minutes, no one would know. Or even blame him.

The rest of his pack was suspiciously silent as he slid into the oval booth at the far end of the room, the one right next to the door. Everyone had made their way over to the table eventually, nearly filling it up. It wasn't an easy fit like it had been with just his bonded mates where he could stretch out over the worn brown vinyl, resting his head in one of their laps. But the way Miles chirruped happily, wrapping his arms around Bob and pulling him close, rubbing their noses together, more than made up for the lack of space.

"You tryin'a get us another beta?" Rhett asked with a grin. He'd long ago taken off the cowboy hat. Now the Stetson decorated the table in front of them, set amidst a veritable field of discarded and half-empty glasses.

At those words, Jordan perked up.

"We could use another beta. William helped get our numbers up, but you damn alphas outnumber us," he said, shooting fake glares at the three at the table who just chuckled in response.

"There are three omegas too," William added, pointing at Rhett, Miles, and Bob himself in turn.

Jordan dismissed him with a simple "psht" sound.

"There is never such a thing as too many omegas," he said as justification. Todd, who never missed an opportunity to cuddle with the nearest omega, nodded his head as if agreeing with some deep, sage wisdom. Rhett nudged him with his elbow, snickering when the alpha pouted at him, exaggeratedly rubbing his side as if dearly wounded.

"Can't disagree with you there," Rocco said, taking a swig of his beer before turning his eyes on Bob. Without even saying another word, Bob could feel his own face growing red. Rocco didn't even have to ask. From the smirk that tugged at his lips, he knew what Bob was thinking possibly even better than Bob knew himself.

As much as they so obviously wanted to, a stern look from Rocco quieted any more questions about the handsome stranger Bob had spent so much time chatting up. Everyone seemed mostly tired (or buzzed), so further talk was minimal, mostly just murmuring to the person next to them.

When William caught himself nearly falling asleep at the table, they collectively decided to call it a night. Miles and Jordan busied themselves organizing the glassware on the table, clean spills and stacking plates to make the night a little easier for the barkeep, while Todd made his way to the register to square up their tab.

It didn't take long before everyone filed out of the bar. Bob tried to catch a glimpse of his military counterpart, but, between his own packmates and the people settling up at the bar, there were too many people in the way. He could have sworn he saw that perfectly coifed hair swiveling to face them as they left, but he couldn't be certain.

The parking lot was mostly silent except for the buzzing of the neon lights in the Top Deck's windows, so any noise the pack made was amplified. From the words they exchanged to the keys jingling in the drivers' hands and especially to the gravel crunching under foot, Bob almost didn't hear Rocco when he started talking.

"Was he nice?"

"Hmm?" Bob answered, blinking and looking up at his mate. Rocco smiled down at him, one of those smiles that made him look devilishly handsome. That smile used to haunt his dreams before Bob had finally admitted his attraction to the alpha, but now it brightened his days and warmed his nights.

"Was he nice? The guy you chatted with."

"Oh? Yeah. Yeah, he was really sweet," Bob said, pushing his hands even deeper into his pockets as the cool night air nipped at his skin. Once again, he ran his fingers over the phone as if expecting it to buzz or ring at any moment. Or maybe he hoped it would.

"Sweet, huh?" Rocco said teasingly. He knocked his shoulder lightly against Bob's, who retaliated by leaning against him. From the way Rocco immediately put his arm around the omega, Bob didn't think he was complaining much.

His next words were quieter, spoken practically into Bob's ear.

"You feelin' better?"

Bob didn't mean to stop in his tracks, but Rocco jerked to a halt next to him, practically getting whiplash from the sudden pause in their walk. He wanted to deny it, of course. To tell Rocco that he had no clue what the alpha was talking about. But, looking up into the eyes of his mate, he knew that lying was useless. Rocco knew he'd been in a rotten mood all day, as much as Bob had tried to hide it.

He wasn't even sure why he'd been having a bad day to begin with. It could have been a million things. Or it could have been nothing. After all, it's like his therapist always said - depression doesn't always need a reason.

Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd approached Bob Floyd to begin with. I mean, yeah, the guy had his hoodie, the same one Bob R had pulled on as soon as the crisp night air hit his bare arms. If Bob put his nose to it, he imagined he could still smell the beta's scent - clean and woodsy with just a hint of something sharp, like the one that lingered on his clothes the one time Todd had managed to convince him to fly on a plane despite his fear of heights. It was like gasoline or kerosene but not quite. The combination was odd, but Bob found that he quite liked it.

Their connection should have ended there. They'd touch hands as the WSO handed his hoodie back, Bob would think about it all night, and he'd look for the cute beta with big, blue eyes and aviator glasses every time they went to the Hard Deck from then on.

But talking to him just felt so…nice. He was nice. Bob Floyd was the kind of man who made every person he interacted with feel seen. He waited his turn to speak, and when he did, he made it clear he was listening, carefully logging little tidbits into some nebulous folder in his mind to reference later. And his life was so different from anything Bob Reynolds had ever experienced, full of dangerous missions, cocky pilots, and apparently some beach football. It didn't hurt that the WSO's eyes kept slipping to Bob's lips, his ears turning scarlet when Bob flirted back with him.

Somewhere in their conversation, the ache in Bob Reynolds' chest eased, leaving him feeling lighter than he'd been in days. And the new contact in his phone just meant this wasn't just a random chat between strangers. Maybe it was the start of something more.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Rocco's words brought him back to reality, back to the cold parking lot where his mate was waiting for an answer. None of the pack's vehicles had moved either. They waited for their alpha to lead the way. Or, more likely, they stayed to make sure nothing was wrong with Bob.

That thought felt like ice water over his head. Abruptly, Bob started walking towards Rocco's car, grabbing the alpha's hand to drag him along. Letting out a grunt of surprise, his mate followed wordlessly.

When they got to the car, Bob turned around to squarely face the other man.

"I'm okay, Rock," he said, meaning those words for the first time in the past week that he'd spoken them. "I'm okay."

Rocco fixed him with a stare, one Bob could never seem to hide from. It was like his alpha could see right through him, reading all the truths etched on his soul that he tried so desperately to keep to himself, not wanting to bother his packmates. After a few tense seconds, Rocco breathed out a little sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

"Okay," Rocco said. There was no pushing, no trying to get more information out of the omega. And Bob knew he wouldn't. His alpha trusted that he would open up in his own time.

The ride home was full of the regular noises: the hum of the engine, bits of scattered conversation, and a little off key singing.

When they pulled into their driveway and rolled to a stop inside the garage, Bob didn't even reach for the handle. He knew better by now. Long ago, Rocco had made it a habit to always open the door for his passengers. It was so ingrained into Bob that it took him a few seconds to realize that the alpha didn't move to exit the car.

"I do have one question," Rocco admitted almost sheepishly. He looked almost embarrassed to ask but bursting at the seams with curiousity, like he'd been chewing on his words the entire time they'd driven home."You know I won't press the issue. I don't need to know a damn thing about him until you're ready to talk. But it's kinda killing me. Can I…" His words trailed off, looking to Bob for permission.

When Bob nodded his assent, the alpha asked simply, "What's his name?"

Now that was a question Bob was more than happy to answer. Bob grinned up at his partner, smiling even wider when confusion and even a little bit of dread crossed his beloved's face. It was like he'd told the WSO; there was always one troublemaker in a pack, a fact Bob knew well from personal experience.

So, of course Rocco didn't believe him.

"You're fucking with me," he'd insisted. "There's no way that we went to a bar full of people, and you came out with a crush on the only other Bob in there. What's his name really? James? Tom? Lewis?"

It took pulling out his phone to show Rocco the new contact he'd entered in there just an hour ago, the one with the photo he'd startled the lieutenant when he snapped it so that the WSO more resembled a deer in the headlights than a decorated military officer.

When Rocco groaned in defeat, muttering "goddamnit, Bob" under his breath, Bob Reynolds laughed harder than he'd done in months.

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in header are not mine.

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

Cameron Cassmore had grown up with the stories of mythical selkies. It was one of the few happy memories he still had of his mother, who, when he was just nine years old, dropped him off at school and never returned to collect him. He always remembered how her face would light up as she told him the stories of an ancient race of Gaelic and Nordic shapeshifters who lived as seals and turned into beautiful humans under the watchful gaze of the full moon. Her hometown had been full of them, she said, but in truth, Sowell Bay hadn't been home to selkies for over a hundred years. It would be a few months until its population increased to a single, solitary creature. 

Even as a child, Cameron hadn’t believed a word of his mother's tales, but he had been glad to see the troubled scowl fall from her face for however long the bedtime story lasted. Sometimes he wished he were a selkie who could swim into the ocean and never have to worry about math tests or where his mother went while he was asleep. Despite his pride at seeing through his mother's fairy tales, he still found himself, on every lunar phase, sitting in his tiny bedroom, wondering how it would feel to experience the freedom of the vast ocean. Cameron didn't think he would ever return to land.

Sitting alone in an almost empty diner on the way to Sowell Bay to find his long-lost father, Cameron overheard the local gossip network exchanging updates on petty crime and bad hairdos. A dull headache bloomed behind his eyes as the conversation shifted to the news of the beautiful but elusive man haunting the docks, as well as the various rare shells and other oceanic trinkets that had once again been left at the aquarium door. They laughed at the explanations of selkies, even as they dreamily knighted him as such. Cameron popped his headphones in while they drearily exchanged Wikipedia pages, telling the far-fetched tales of how they were captured by sailors to be taken as brides, and how they would dance naked in a secluded grove, their bodies glowing with brilliant luna silvers and the darkest black shadows.

All eyes turned to Cameron when he mirthlessly chuckled at that one. His mother had never mentioned that part. 

Despite his incredulity, it was how Cameron first saw him. 

On his first evening in town, after meeting Ethan, Cam walked down to the beach, skimming stones at the rich bastards’ distant boats, wondering just what the fuck he was even doing here. Against all expectations, the bay seemed nicer than his mother's vague and bitter descriptions. Sure, he had hit rock bottom, but at least the view from down there was a pretty one. It was then he heard it - a faint, faraway hum of a cassette player under the rocky, pointed alcove. The silvery reflection hit the single form perfectly, swaying to the indie music at a tempo slower than it really was. But that wasn’t what caught Cameron’s attention. How could it be when the man was completely naked? 

He was too far away to see his face, but Cam gulped for air like a landed fish as the moonlight sparkled along his wet skin, the dusting of ocean droplets covering him like a mystical veil. He was all toned muscle and thick yet lithe limbs, but under the majestic display, there was a quiet solitude to the dancer that made Cameron's heart ache. Alone, he danced like one of a troupe made up of only his own shadow.

There was no way Cameron was telling anyone about what he had seen that day. Nor that he went back the following evening, disappointed to not see him again.

The next time Cameron saw the mysterious man, it was a week later. He took up Ethan’s offer of a famed breakfast sandwich, his first paycheck from the aquarium resting safely in his pocket. The entry chimes sang his victorious serenade in honour of him keeping his job for a full five shifts, accompanied by the low Scottish burr of the manager who showered him in so much praise, he couldn't tell if he was just being sarcastic. Cam wasn't used to people being excited for him.

He endured Ethan's fatherly slaps to his back, taking his designated seat by the window while Ethan boomed his order down the shop. It was then that Harrison caught sight of the beaming, handsome store clerk manning the deli counter. Powered by a quiet hum of enthusiasm and energy drinks, Harrison Knott, as his almost illegible name badge read, attended to each customer with a professional, if stilted, manner. Cameron didn’t recognise him with his clothes on, but his mouth gaped all the same.

In truth, ‘Harrison Knott’ was a complete fabrication, hastily brought into this world via an application form and a leaking pen. It was a simple amalgamation of the film star plastered over the magazine rack and a panicked glance through the window at the moored boats. In just a few short days, he had gone from legendary cryptid to Harrison Knott: the store clerk. It still sounded alien on Harrison’s already alien tongue, but it would do. His ancestors were always right, after all. Better to keep the humans away from knowing his true self.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pride every time Ethan gave him a ‘job well done’ or dear Mrs Baker left him a sweet when he manned the tills. 

Over breakfast, Ethan recounted the tale of how Harrison had turned up out of the blue, dressed in a shirt and pants that looked like he had saved them from the trash heap. He asked if Ethan knew anyone who worked in the docks. Of course, Ethan knew the business of everyone in town, but none who were looking for a new employee. In reality, Harrison hadn’t been looking for a ‘job’, whatever they were, but, ever the big-hearted manager, Ethan offered him one anyway, plus a room at his house. Harrison had accepted the former and declined the latter, knowing just from his tone that this must have been a kind gesture. Great, Cameron thought, guess I’m just another stray to add to Ethan's collection.

Despite how fond of Ethan Cameron was becoming, he still found his gaze pulled whenever the new hire passed. Cam had to admit, the coffee was alright… The burnt sandwich? Less so. The disgust read all over his face, but he said nothing.

The next time Cameron saw Harrison was after he upped his hours at the aquarium, taking on the front desk so he could pay Aunt Jeanie back for her generous loan. The strangely beautiful man from the shop had been awkward, presenting his two $50 bills with an enigmatic smile, hoping that Cameron would know what to do with it. When Cameron handed him his ticket and the exact heap of change, a mixture of relief and wonder passed over his eyes, making Cam want to roll his. Harrison hovered around the aquarium, mesmerised by the displays of marine life with ‌wide-eyed, boyish glee painting his face. Wherever Harrison stood, a crowd of children followed in his wake, clamouring to see just what could inspire the adult to glow like a lighthouse with such joy. When enough noses were smushed against the glass, Harrison placed a soft hand to the tank. At once, the fish threw themselves to meet him at the barrier, a whirlpool of scales reflecting the colourful lights around the enclosure like an underwater disco. The school trip squealed in delight while the shop clerk simply took pleasure in being able to pass on a fraction of his love for these creatures. Cynically, Cameron figured they must have thought he was going to feed them, lamenting only that he was leaving more prints for him to clean.

The aquarium gig was a good job, really, even if the cleaning lady Cameron had taken over from was… intense. But she was nice enough now that she was beginning to thaw out. So too was the manager, although if Cameron had to give an early exit interview (which was never a far-off possibility), Terry could have done with being a little less distracted with that weirdly skinned seal he found and signed off on his paperwork already. He insisted it was impossibly perfect in how someone had harvested it, but Cameron never gave him more than a ‘uh-huh’ as he got on with taking out the bins.

Cameron didn’t work the front desk again until the week after. The rain was torrential as he unlocked the door for opening time. Through his hungover stupor, he prayed to whatever god was out there that today would be quiet while he nursed his throbbing headache. The heavens gave their answer, pouring down more scorn as the wind picked up, nearly taking the drenched patron with it. Dressed in some hand-me-downs from Ethan, Harrison recognised Cam instantly as the ‘friend of Ethan and Marcellus’. Great, he’s been speaking to Tova, Cameron thought. Completely unfazed by the weather, Harrison skipped inside. Now intimately familiar with the entire layout of the Aquarium, a pristine yearly pass in hand, Cameron knew he must have been back almost every day.

Almost no prompting was required to get the gossip from the famed Knit-Wits by way of Tova. The cleaner had slowly filled Cameron’s evenings with a quiet, comfortable companionship that under no circumstances would he ever admit, except through a barrage of light teasing that became their new, shared language. Insisting she had never told Harrison about Marcellus, she instead told him what she knew with barely feigned reluctance. Under hushed tones, Ms Kim revealed that he was very friendly with the single mom, Avery, and that he had practically begged her to teach him paddle boarding. She paused for scandalised gasps but Tova insisted it was purely platonic. Hell, she thought even her and Cameron were a thing.

From above the top of her tea, Mrs Vanderhood wondered if he was a drunk, often stumbling in broad daylight like a baby giraffe on skates. Ms Minetti had even said that she had seen him walking on the beach every night from her house. When probed on why she was spying on young men, she hastily amended that the Sheriff had also complained that he had interrupted his midday nap, asking for directions to the nearest ‘lost and found’. But despite the plethora of theories, no one was quite sure where he lived.

Feeling something of a kinship for the town’s other outsider (and when Ethan asked, definitely nothing more), Cameron picked up yet more day shifts so he could strike up something of a friendly, definitely just friendly, conversation with him. When Harrison arrived after his shift at the store, he made his pleasantries like a terrible actor reading from a series of cue cards he didn’t fully understand. Muffled by the mass of yowling children, Cam strained to hear any of it, but when Harrison smiled, he mirrored it from the side of his mouth.

To Cameron’s disappointment, Harrison didn’t stick around long and instead bolted towards his favourite display: the octopus tank. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting and staring at Marcellus with an almost unnerving stillness. Unable to recall a time when the slippery escape artist had spent so long out of hiding without Tova there, Cameron didn’t know if he thought Harrison was just plain weird or if he was slightly jealous of his ability to just sit and be quiet with himself. Little did he know that when the crowds dispersed, Harrison would speak.

And when the aquarium was at rest, leaving its two stalwart cleaners to tend to the remnants of tiny children and stoned students, Cameron spoke more and more, filling the corridors with senseless chatter. It didn’t take Marcellus to see the pattern. A mention of that ‘weird guy from the store’. Always followed by a lopsided grin hidden behind his rag, and a temporary fugue state that stopped him from registering a single word Tova said. Cameron was fairly at peace with his bisexuality, although he had only been with women. Tova threaded her hands together as she watched him accidentally splash water everywhere with his mop on the second retelling of his last visit. An idle, “he sounds very special, dear,” connected the dots. Cam’s chest skipped a little when she just fondly smiled at his surprise and went back to criticising his sweeping skills.

The new resident slowly became an ever-sure fixture in Cameron’s life. He learnt Harrison’s shift pattern through the times he would arrive, often not even changing out of his work clothes. The aquarium's attractions seemed to anticipate his arrival eagerly, almost as much as Cameron did, who assumed he must have been feeding them behind his back.

Harrison had stayed in ‌silent vigil at the aquarium all day. Darkness filled the sleepy town, descending its wispy black tendrils across the ocean, apparent to everyone not named Harrison Knott. Normally, he slipped out at closing time along with the crowd, but today was different. Looking lost in his thoughts, he sat by the octopus tank, studying Marcellus as he sluggishly extended an arm along the sticky glass. Even Cameron noticed how pale he was rapidly becoming. When he couldn’t put it off any longer, Cameron chewed the inside of his cheek before asking Harrison to leave before he got him into trouble. Looking like a kicked puppy, Cameron instantly relented, letting Harrison stay so long as he didn’t tell anyone. The way his face lit up, the apple of his cheeks a perfect ripe red, made Cam blush… But not as hard as when Tova appeared, a knowing look sliding across her face, followed by a teasing tap of her broom against his. “Special and handsome”, she teased.

Harrison was oblivious to the argument being fought with glares and parrying cleaning utensils. He was too busy taking in every detail of how they cared for the marine life with a wistful look that not even Tova could place. 

After that, Harrison’s whole demeanour changed around the two cleaners. He would bring them food he made at the deli counter, often leaving it at the front desk if he couldn’t spend the day at the aquarium, and every so often, he would leave a mixtape of music he thought they'd like. Apparently, according to the movie Ethan was crying to the last time he visited, this was something humans did to show affection. He spent more time with the older lady, teaching her about the tank's inhabitants, without pretence or ego, just a genuine love and awe that impressed even her. And when Cameron was on shift, he stuck around longer, his conversation slowly blooming into an easy rapport. On more than a couple of occasions, he barely looked at the fish at all.

Eventually, Cameron’s curiosity got the better of him. He questioned how Harrison could spend so much time watching a few fish flop around. Didn't he have friends to see? Hobbies? With a watery smile, Harrison had simply said he grew up by the water and that this place reminded him of his friends and family back home. Cameron huffed and mopped quicker. When the stubborn stain was swept off this mortal coil, Cam’s confusion hardened into a sneer. “Doesn’t that make you feel like shit?”

How could it? Harrison wondered, rapidly blinking as though the tortured scowl was just a mirage he could dispel. Whatever could be more important than home and the people and animals that made it? 

But then again, Harrison knew better than to tell him he could speak to the sea creatures here.

Unable to help himself, Cameron propped his chin on top of the nub of his mop. He chewed out the story of his mom and how she had apparently grown up in this town, almost daring Harrison to pity him or squirm away. He tried to hold his tongue, but there was something about Harrison that made him want to tell him everything. And so he did. He told him of his quest to find his dad, of his mom’s disappearance, and how Aunt Jeanie had raised him as best she could. Harrison listened intently, enrapt through all of it. So too did Tova, who silently cleaned around them until Cameron finally yawned, realising it was almost midnight.

It should have incensed him how Harrison perked up, not at the sordid details as others did, but at his mention of his kind aunt and childhood friends, Brad and Elizabeth. He mentioned them only in passing; however, Harrison kept asking question after question about them anyway. He's missing the point, Cameron lamented. But not even Cameron could remember what his point had been as Harrison walked him home, soundtracked by squawking gulls and triumphant, embellished stories of Moth Sausage.

As their time spent together grew, so too did Cameron’s infatuation, obvious to everyone, it seemed, but Harrison. It all changed, however, when Harrison convinced Cam to try paddle boarding with him and Avery. Cameron should have known he was fucked when he agreed to wake up at the crack of dawn.

Harrison Knott had grown steadily better since his first tentative forays back into the water, even if his balance was always his weak spot. Avery had been far too accommodating ‌not to be suspicious, but Cam was growing used to all the glances they got when they were together. The bitter wind did everything in its power to knock Cameron’s knees together as he tried to stand up. At the smallest sign of defeat, Harrison would cheer him on. Whenever he fell on his ass, his friend was there before his butt ever hit the board. If his old self could see him now Cameron would have driven that camper off the Grand Canyon. 

Finally, fed up with the two dancing around each other, Avery took matters into her own hands - quite literally, as she pushed Harrison’s board into Cameron’s. They made gooey eyes at each other while Avery watched like she was catching her favourite (if frustrating) show. Cam stuttered, trying to break the ice and finally ask him out, but Harrison had gotten used to his devious, if childish, ways, and assumed he was trying to distract him. Before Cameron could formulate anything approaching a flirt, Harrison shoved him off his board with his oar, plunging him into the arctic depths.

 For one horrifying moment, Cameron didn’t surface. The waves swept over where he’d disappeared, erasing any trace of him. Harrison had to fight every instinct not to jump in after him. The cruel reality was - he was a terrible swimmer in this form, not yet used to feeling his beloved sea fill these poorly designed human lungs. Suddenly, a hand grabbed Harrison's and dragged him into the freezing cold depths from which it came.

All sound disappeared as the currents rushed past Harrison’s ears, caressing ‌him like a lover welcoming him back to a peaceful, idyllic dream. One that ended with an almighty splash as his legs propelled him back up for air. The pair laughed at him as he gasped for breath. But Harrison’s joy in that moment ran underneath his skin, illuminating him from the inside out. Being in his beloved ocean with this new, endlessly intriguing man who softened his edges to match Harrison’s and who looked at him differently than even the people he saw on TV, made something inside of him finally shift. Harrison couldn’t read human forms of flirting, but the freezing temperature went to Cameron’s head, turning him giddy. He lurked like a hungry crocodile, blowing bubbles as he stalked closer to his prey, all to dunk Harrison once again. Then, when he was close enough, he enveloped him in the jaws of his arms and twirled them around in a playful tussle, splashing water on him and laughing freer than he had in years. Little did he know just how similar he was acting to a courting seal.

Cameron realised just how close they had become as their wetsuits stuck to each other like Velcro, Harrison’s legs swaying between his like even Neptune himself was hurrying them along. Cameron gulped, fearing he had pushed too far, but his partner's kind weren’t known for keeping human decorum. Suddenly moving with a grace he never possessed on land, Harrison rolled them over like an overturned kayak and back, again and again until his friend looked like he was about to puke. Cameron thought he was just getting revenge. Harrison thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. And Avery… Well, she definitely was going to be sick.

“Oh my God, just ask each other out already, or I will leave you both here to drown.”

Cameron’s mouth hung open like one of the resident wolf eels, but Harrison didn’t return the furious blush. Never one to be easily embarrassed, he asked simply, “Well, what d’you say, Cassmore?” Cam shot the giggling Avery a pointed stare and murmured that they would discuss it in private, but Harrison’s ability to keep a secret made the Knit-Wits look like spymasters. Cameron’s normal reluctance to appear too eager vanished. They agreed on the date before they ever reached the camper. As Cam drove away, a smile wrestling for every inch of space on his countenance, he saw Harrison in the rearview mirror run straight to Avery to tell her every detail. It was only later, under interrogation from Ethan (who somehow had heard from three different sources about his new paramour), that he absently wondered how Harrison knew his surname.

The dates were as mismatched as the two men. Harrison was more outdoorsy than his new boyfriend, especially if it was raining. Harrison would often turn up to his camper in the middle of a torrential downpour and ask if he wanted to go for a walk along the shore as if it were a beautiful summer’s day. His suggestion always elicited a disbelieving laugh and an attempt to coerce him into doing something else to keep them warm. Harrison eventually came to appreciate the joys of human life, and so did Cameron. They walked the old forests, drove to nearby museums, and if anyone asked Harrison about his trip to the Sowell Art Gallery, they would have thought he had visited the Louvre. The only date Harrison didn't seem to enjoy, was when Cameron had taken him to the rocky beach on the far side of the bay to watch for seals and their new born pups. 

But it was going to rundown bars that made up the vast majority of their evenings. Harrison discovered the simple delight of salted peanuts and a pint of beer that always got him happily drunk by the fifth sip. It was why he always came home a day's wage lighter for generously slipping the bar staff their deserved 200% tip. What an incredible thing money was! Give a human a single piece of paper and their smiles burned brighter than stars.

Harrison revelled in Cameron's praise, who jokingly anointed him as his greatest, cheapest date. With liquid courage bubbling along his veins, he nuzzled into his boyfriend’s welcoming neck as though it were his own personal pillow, his inhibitions lowered just enough to let seal-like behaviour show. The room spun with the ferocity of a whirlpool, but anchored to Cameron's side, Harrison didn't find he much cared.

However, it was being in the middle of a hive of life and stories that he loved the most, seeing the world through a hundred different eyes and piecing together how Cameron fitted into the jigsaw of this tiny, incredible town. It wasn't often that Harrison left without making a friend, even if it was only for as long as the queue to the restroom.

But surpassing all those incredible evenings had been the occasion when he and Tova pushed Cameron to take part in the open mic night. Harrison watched, spellbound, as his partner sang through the oppressive miasma of drunken chatter until eventually the rowdiest amongst them was struck into stunned silence. Yes, Cam wasn’t the best singer, but that only made the melody better. 

After that night, there were few things Harrison loved more than snuggling up on the camper's unforgiving mattress and listening to Cameron lazily sing an acoustic rendition of Harrison’s growing collection of cassettes. Performing for his most captive audience of one, he plucked the strings as though they were a direct line to Harrison’s heart, reverberating through his chest until he was powerless to do anything other than hum along in perfectly imperfect harmony. And here humans thought selkies were the sirens.

Harrison swore he would always cherish these memories, stubbornly refusing to picture the future when they’d be all he had. 

But despite all the good times, Cameron was all too aware that there was something… Off about everything. Harrison knew strange pieces of information that Cameron didn’t remember ever telling a soul, except as an angry rant to a bored octopus while he scrubbed gum off the floor. While Cameron told him everything, Harrison never opened up about his past, just that his family lived elsewhere and that he hadn’t seen them in years. He didn’t have a formal education, yet he seemed just as smart as Cameron, perhaps more so - even if basic pop culture and city life ‌seemed to bewilder him. Cameron figured he was some rich kid slumming it, or more likely, he was from a small, impoverished coastal town or Amish community. It would make sense. Even all these months later, Harrison appeared averse to ever owning a phone or a computer. However, he was a surprisingly fast learner when he learned of the existence of Spotify. Thinking he recognised Harrison's poor spelling on a local Facebook group, he bleary-eyed scrolled through reams of posts, asking if anyone had seen anything vaguely out of the ordinary recently? Like maybe… a fluffy grey coat? Or a kids' seal plushie? It hadn't made a lick of sense to his sleep-addled mind, but once he awoke refreshed, they were all gone. What a weird fucking dream.

Ignoring the entire palace of alarm bells, Cameron never probed past the thin smile that clamped shut whenever he tried to pry it open. He couldn't ruin this. It felt too amazing for Cam to have someone treat him like he wasn’t just some deadbeat loser. To finally care for someone else for a change, and that, just for writing a song, looked at him as if he was some kind of genius. Yeah, he felt amazing, alright, possibly for the first time in his life. 

Over the coming few weeks, Cameron would hold on to that fragile feeling for dear life.

For all of their growing intimacy over the last few months, Harrison would still shy away every time things got hot and heavy. He certainly kissed like there was a smouldering fire behind it. All teeth and tongue, and just a bit of nose and chin whenever Cam scratched behind his ears. But when hands got under shirts and breathing became ragged, he’d slow down, a genuine yet devastating ‘that was nice’, the closest thing to an explanation. Unable to cope with the feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty it stirred up inside, Cameron finally brought it up over coffee in bed. The addition to their routine had been Harrison's idea, a gentle way to help the overworked night owl wake up for a day shift at the front desk. He had never been late to anything since Harrison entered his life. The kisses along Cameron's shoulder as Harrison handed him the mug were a cruel reminder of all he stood to lose.

Why am I doing this? He thought bitterly. But the voice that came back was certain. How could you not? Sex and intimacy helped Cameron feel loved and connected to a partner when his sabotaging mind refused to let him believe in their words of affection.

If Harrison just wanted to go steady, that was one thing; he would never want to pressure him, but when all the blood drained from Harrison’s face, he knew he had hit something just below the surface. As hard as it was to watch Harrison pull away, Cameron held his ground. Having been dumped enough times in his life to know an ending when he saw one, Cameron tracked the mental arithmetic going on behind Harrison’s frenzied eyes as he tried to formulate a response that remained stubbornly out of reach.

Defeated, Harrison landed on something he had heard on TV with a heavy sigh: “It’s not you, it’s me.” The cliche dropped like a dead weight between them, but seeing Cameron brace himself for the mercy kill of their relationship, Harrison pushed himself to continue. “I want to… I do. But I just need to figure some stuff out first. I’ll tell you, just not until I get everything straight.”

Harrison looked ‌him dead in the eye with an intensity Cam didn't know he possessed. Unwavering, a hand cupped his face with the same gentleness that Harrison had used to touch the aquarium glass, “I love you, Cameron Cassmore. I promise… No matter what happens, never doubt that.”

There was that name again. But he forgot the question as uneasiness tightened his jaw. Cameron knew he couldn’t return those three simple words. To him, secrets were the phantom shadows that haunted his every waking moment after his mother left. A silent poison that had corroded his childhood until only bitter resentment remained. And now here they were again, destroying the best thing that had happened to him in years. It was obvious they couldn’t go on like this. They were better off breaking up before things turned irrevocably toxic, but Cameron was so close to finding Simon Brinks. He knew it. If he could get the money, then maybe, just maybe, Harrison would see him as someone he could settle down with. That must have been it, right? At the end of the day, it was always Cameron who was the problem. He hoped the kiss he gave was enough to convince Harrison to stick around until then. Despite the doubts, he put his whole being into it.

After that, their relationship became a regular dance of one step forward, two steps back. Sure, Harrison was uniquely peculiar; everyone knew that, but every time they drew closer, Harrison would recoil and drift away, caught inside the maelstrom that hung heavy over his head. Physically, they continued their routine side by side, shared domesticity now deeply ingrained into their every cell, where once they had held only loneliness. Their bodies carried them through the lows, still working as one, even while Harrison felt himself being torn apart.

But no matter how tough it got, there was always something to bring Harrison back to his usual self, the town’s own luminescent ray of sunshine in the middle of the dreary Pacific coast. His face simply couldn’t hold a frown for more than a few days, as though sullenness was antithetical to his very nature. Even a small gesture or a kind word was often enough. A meal from Tova when she saw that glint in his eye dull, or an evening with Ethan to listen to some band over a glass of whisky. But the more Cameron tried to do the same, the quieter Harrison would fall. It felt like they were two ghosts haunting the same room, with only their friends able to ease Harrison back to the land of the living and back into Cameron’s waiting arms. 

Harrison would never be the one to bring it up, pretending the storm had never broken at all, with nothing but a breezy smile and a peck on Cameron’s cheek. He was too afraid to reveal his secret, while Cameron couldn’t bear to open that festering wound in case he somehow made things irrevocably worse. He had, after all, rather a lifelong habit of it.

But the reason for Harrison’s reluctance was a deceptively simple one. He was a selkie, the only one he had seen since his arrival in Sowell Bay over ten years ago. To him, mating with a human meant giving up on his only chance of ever returning home.

He had lost his sealskin on the full moon before Harrison came into town. He stored it as he always did, in his secret alcove where the tide (he thought) could never take it - but when he returned from his visit to the Bay, it was gone without a trace. His only small mercy in this foreign land had been the shopping bag left outside a Goodwill, which supplied him with the clothes he knew humans so insisted upon. He had searched and searched for his skin, going to the aquarium that had saved him all those many moons ago. Finding it closed, he instead stopped by the local shop in his first attempt to converse with this complex yet still terrifying species. He had been desperate, but instead of finding his sealskin, he found a friendship with the store’s owner that he had not truly experienced on this side of the Pacific. And then another friendship blossomed with Avery, and then another. But most, and worst of all, there had been a Cameron. 

And therein lay the problem.

Because Harrison had grown up with the stories of Selkies being forced to stay on land. Their beauty had been their curse, when inevitably a human would fall in love with them, only for them to steal their skins, holding them hostage in a land that was never truly their home. Some had still fallen in love and borne children, some had not, but throughout every story, no matter how much they loved and were loved in return, every Selkie longed to return to the sweet embrace of the ocean. The water still called to Harrison, pulling him away from his new makeshift human pod. Marcellus had called his affliction ‘melancholia’. Harrison wasn’t entirely sure what that word meant, but it sounded too pretty for the ugly pain in his heart. But no matter how much he loved Cameron, his people had always warned that once a human knew how to entrap them, they would never give them up. And so every night he searched for it, and every morning he couldn’t help but selfishly return to that rundown camper.

With each failed search, it started to sink in. If the ocean really had claimed his skin, it wouldn't be in Sowell Bay anymore. To a selkie, there was no choice. No decision to be made. Harrison had to leave.

Bob Reynolds-

Ok ok!! So I think Tova would sort of be cautious and concerned for Cameron about Bob reynolds especially when she finds out about his former drug use and is worried how that will effect Cameron because of what happend with his mom

I feel Marcellus would actually really like Bob, if Bob was to visit the aquarium it would definitely be while Cameron was working at night and Bob would just follow along keeping Cameron company and just admire all the fish. Marcellus in all his knowledge would know that these two are good for each other, he can tell they can give each other the stability they never had growing up. Though hes completely sure this will take a long time and lots of effort

Bob Floyd-

Tova would LOVE Bob Floyd she would probably grow to love any of Cameron’s partner but Bob Floyd she would love!! She would admire how kind and polite he is and how he take care of Cameron, she would approve Bob Floyds tidiness and work ethic and how he always keeps Cameron in check and focused

Marcellus would definitely approve of how when ever Bob would come visit Cameron at work Bob would instantly pick up a rag and help clean. He would been impressed that Bob would automatically clean the spots only Tova has ever clean.

Miles Miller-

Tova would love that boy with her whole heart, she would treat him as if hes her own grandson, always making cameron invite him over for dinner and would make it her mission to keep him well fed and cared for, for him to know he will always have a home with them not even needing to know his past to know that boy needs a proper home and love

Marcellus would like Miles and loved how he would talk to the different sea creatures even the stupid eels in the tank beside him

He rounded the corner into the living room.

Bob was exactly where he'd expected him to be.

Curled into one corner of the couch beneath a throw blanket despite the warm spring evening, one arm draped over the armrest, the television casting shifting colors across his face.

Only...

He wasn't watching it.

His eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the screen, unfocused enough that Todd wasn't even sure he'd noticed what was playing.

Todd slowed.

Normally, Bob heard him coming before he even entered the room. His whole face would brighten, almost involuntarily, and Todd would get that shy little smile reserved just for him. But, tonight… Nothing happened.

A second passed before Bob finally blinked. His attention slowly drifted toward Todd, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"...Hey."

Todd smiled back automatically.

"Hey."

Todd crossed the room and let himself fall onto the couch beside him with enough force to make the cushions bounce.

Usually Bob would laugh and complain that Todd was trying to launch him onto the floor. Tonight, he only shifted with the movement.

Todd frowned, just a little. He turned sideways, resting one arm along the back of the couch.

"...Everything okay?"

Bob answered almost before the question finished.

"Mhm."

Too fast. Too practiced.

Todd had been dating Bob long enough to recognize the difference between I'm okay and I don't know how to talk about it yet.

This was the second one.

He considered pushing. Just for a second. Then he didn't. One thing he'd learned about Bob was that forcing words out of him never helped. If Bob knew what was wrong, he'd explain it eventually. If he didn't… Questions only made him feel guilty for not having answers.

So Todd simply nodded.

"Okay."

Neither of them spoke for another minute.

The television continued talking to itself.

Eventually, Todd stretched his arms over his head until his shoulders popped.

"You hungry?"

Bob gave the smallest shrug.

"I could eat."

Todd grinned.

"I choose to interpret that as overwhelming enthusiasm."

That earned him exactly what he'd been hoping for: A tiny snort. Barely audible.

"There he is," Todd muttered to himself.

Bob's smile lingered for a second before fading again. Todd pretended not to notice. Instead he reached for his phone.

"What're we thinking? Pizza? Chinese? Burgers?"

"I don't really care."

"Excellent."

Todd tapped confidently at his screen.

"That means I get to make all the important decisions."

—

Twenty-five minutes later, takeout containers covered the coffee table.

Todd talked enough for both of them.

Something ridiculous had happened in one of his afternoon classes involving a professor, a broken projector, and someone who had somehow managed to spill an entire iced coffee without ever standing up.

Todd acted out half the story.

Bob smiled in the right places. Laughed once. A real laugh. It disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

Todd caught it anyway. His stomach tightened.

Bob was trying. That was somehow worse.

He wasn't withdrawn. He wasn't upset with Todd. He was making an effort to seem normal.

Todd knew that look. So he kept talking. He let the conversation stay light. 

No questions. No concern disguised as jokes.

Just... company. Sometimes that was enough. Sometimes it wasn't.

Tonight he honestly couldn't tell.

—

By the time they finished cleaning up and headed upstairs, the house had settled even further into the night.

The bathroom light was painfully bright after the dim living room.

Todd squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush while Bob stood beside him doing the same. For a few minutes, the only sounds were running water and the quiet scrape of toothbrushes.

Todd glanced toward the mirror.

Bob looked...

Tired.

Not the kind of tired that came from staying up too late. Something deeper.

His shoulders drooped. His eyes seemed fixed on his own reflection without really seeing it. Like part of him was somewhere else entirely.

Todd rinsed his toothbrush. Without thinking, he nudged Bob's shoulder with his own. Just enough to bump him gently.

Bob looked over. Todd offered a small smile.

"You sure you're alright?"

For the briefest moment, something flickered across Bob's face.

Guilt. Then it disappeared behind another soft smile.

"Just had a rough day."

Todd studied him for another second.

He wanted to ask what happened. Who upset him. If there was anything he could do.

Instead...

He simply nodded.

"...Okay."

No pressure. No interrogation. Just acceptance.

If Bob wanted to tell him later...

He would.

And if he didn't...

Todd would still be there.

—

Todd had always been able to fall asleep almost anywhere.

A couch. The library. The backseat of someone's car on a road trip. Class.

When he’s in his own bed, though? That took all of about thirty seconds.

The bedroom had settled into comfortable darkness, broken only by the faint orange glow of the digital alarm clock on the nightstand and the occasional sweep of headlights filtering through the blinds from the street below.

Todd lay on his back for a while, listening. The fraternity house had its own rhythm at night. The distant thud of a door downstairs. Someone laughing outside before their voices faded down the sidewalk. Old pipes ticking behind the walls.

Beside him, Bob shifted beneath the blankets.

Todd rolled onto his side, smiling sleepily.

"'Night."

Bob turned his head just enough to look at him.

"...Goodnight."

Todd reached across the mattress, lazily lacing their fingers together for a moment before letting his hand fall back onto the comforter.

Within minutes...

Todd was asleep.

But…

Bob wasn't.

He stared at the ceiling. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but every time he closed them, the same thoughts circled back.

The same voice. The same guilt. The same shame. The same impossible weight pressing against his chest.

He swallowed hard.

Not tonight.

Please... not tonight.

He turned onto one side. Then onto his back. Then onto his other side.

He tugged the blanket higher. Pushed it back down.

Closed his eyes. Opened them again.

Beside him, Todd slept peacefully, one arm thrown above his head, breathing slow and even.

Bob watched him for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered so quietly even he barely heard it.

Eventually...

Exhaustion won.

—

Todd wasn't sure what woke him. Not all the way, anyway. Just enough that the edges of sleep began to peel away. His brow furrowed. 

The mattress moved beneath him. Once. Then again. Another shift. Another.

Todd let out a sleepy breath through his nose.

"...Mmm..."

He cracked one eye open. The room remained dark, his vision taking a second to adjust.

Bob was curled tightly on his side. Far tighter than before. The comforter had twisted around his legs into a hopeless knot. His hair clung damply to his forehead. Even in the dim light, Todd could see the sheen of sweat covering his skin.

Bob's breathing wasn't steady anymore. It came in uneven pulls, his chest rising too quickly before hitching on the exhale. His face pinched with distress. Like he was trying to outrun something he couldn't see.

Todd frowned.

"Bob..."

Nothing.

Bob shifted again, his breathing catching. His fingers curled tightly into the sheets.

Todd pushed himself up onto one elbow.

"...Hey."

Still nothing.

Just another restless twitch. Another uneven breath. Another quiet sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

Todd's heart sank.

Nightmare. Must be.

He let out a soft sigh. Without thinking, he reached across the narrow space between them.

His hand settled gently around Bob's damp forearm. Just enough pressure to ground him. Just enough to let him know he wasn't alone.

The instant their skin touched—

The room vanished.

There wasn't a flash. No sound. No sensation of falling.

One heartbeat, Todd was sitting in bed beside Bob.

The next...

Everything disappeared.

—

Todd stumbled.

His foot caught on... nothing.

His body lurched forward, arms pinwheeling instinctively as he fought to keep his balance. He managed to catch himself just before his knees hit the floor, one hand slapping against a surface that felt perfectly smooth beneath his palm.

"...What?"

He straightened slowly. For a second, his brain refused to process what his eyes were seeing.

White. Everything was white.

The floor beneath him stretched endlessly in every direction, seamless and spotless. There were no walls. Or maybe there were—they were simply so impossibly far away that they dissolved into brightness before he could make them out.

There was no ceiling.

At least... none that he could see.

He tipped his head back until his neck protested.

Nothing. Just white.

No lights. No shadows. No source for the strange, even glow that surrounded him.

Todd turned in a slow circle.

Nothing changed. No furniture. No windows. No doors. No sound. Not even the faint ringing silence of an empty building. It was quieter than quiet. It felt as though someone had erased the entire world.

"What the..."

His own voice startled him. It echoed. Not once. Not twice. It just... kept going. Growing softer and softer until it became impossible to tell whether he was still hearing it or imagining it.

Todd's stomach tightened.

"...Bob?"

The name left his mouth and drifted away exactly the same way.

Bob...

...Bob...

......Bob...

Then… Nothing. No answer. No footsteps. No movement.

Todd turned again, faster this time.

"Bob?"

Silence.

His breathing grew noticeably shallower. His pulse, moments ago slow with sleep, hammered against his ribs.

"What the fuck?"

The words bounced away from him in endless repetitions before finally dissolving into the impossible emptiness.

He stood perfectly still.

Think.

Had he fallen asleep? No. He'd been awake. Hadn't he?

He could still remember reaching for Bob. Feeling the warmth of his arm beneath his hand. The sweat on his skin.

Then… This.

"...Okay," Todd muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"This is..."

He never finished the sentence. Something caught the corner of his eye.

He froze. Several yards away stood a pair of immaculate French doors. They hadn't been there a second ago. Todd was certain of it.

They stood alone in the endless white, unattached to any wall, as though someone had simply placed them in the middle of nowhere and walked away. They were beautiful. Painted a brilliant white that matched the room around them so perfectly they almost disappeared unless he looked directly at them.

Except… French doors had glass.

These didn't. Solid panels. No windows. No way to see through them.

Todd swallowed.

"Okay..."

He took one cautious step. Then another. The doors didn't move. Didn't grow closer as quickly as they should have. For one uneasy moment, he wondered if he was walking at all. Eventually, after what felt much longer than the distance should have required, he reached them. His heart pounded so loudly he could hear it. He looked for a handle. There wasn't one. Not on this side.

His brow furrowed.

"...Seriously?"

He lifted both hands anyway.

The wood felt cool beneath his palms.

Real. Solid.

He hesitated. Just long enough for doubt to creep in.

Then he took a steadying breath...

...and pushed.

The doors swung inward without the slightest sound.

The doors opened.

Todd stumbled through them and nearly lost his footing again.

Carpet. The familiar scratch of old beige carpet beneath his socked feet. He caught himself against the back of the couch, blinking hard.

"...What?"

The fraternity house. Living room. Exactly as he'd left it. The faded sectional. The dented coffee table with years of carved initials. The chipped lamp in the corner that nobody ever bothered replacing. The television still glowed across the room. The same show was playing. The actors' mouths moved. The laugh track flashed across the subtitles. But… There was no sound. Not even static. The room had been muted.

Todd frowned.

"Hello?"

His own voice didn't echo anymore. It simply… Disappeared. Like the room swallowed it whole.

He looked toward the staircase. Nobody.

Kitchen. Empty.

The front door remained shut. Everything looked normal. Almost.

His eyes drifted back toward the living room. Then stopped.

His entire body locked. 

There were people. Five of them. Standing silently throughout the room. One beside the television. Another near the front window. Two between the couch and the hallway. One in the doorway leading toward the kitchen.

Completely still. Each wore an ordinary brown paper bag over their head. No eye holes. No mouth. Nothing. Just blank paper. Their hands were clasped neatly behind their backs. Not restrained. Simply… Resting there. Waiting.

Todd's breathing hitched. His face drained of color.

"...No."

The word escaped before he could stop it. His feet refused to move.

He knew. He didn't know how. He couldn't explain why. But he knew. He knew exactly who they were. And he knew he couldn't bring himself to get close enough to look.

One of the figures shifted. Not much. Just a single, measured step forward. The soft scrape of a shoe across carpet.

Todd instinctively stepped back.

"No."

Another figure moved. One slow step. Still silent. Still faceless.

Todd shook his head harder.

"No."

His voice cracked.

"That wasn't my fault."

Nothing. Not a word. Not a gesture. The figures simply stood there. Watching.

"Th-they were drinking."

Silence.

Todd's chest tightened.

"I told them not to—"

He caught himself. His jaw clenched. His breathing grew ragged.

"I wasn't even..."

The sentence died before it could leave his mouth. Because he knew how it ended.

...there.

He'd said it before. Too many times. Like saying it often enough would make the guilt smaller.

The nearest figure took another deliberate step.

Todd didn't wait for another. He spun on his heel.

His socks slipped against the carpet as he broke into a sprint toward the staircase. He didn't look back. He couldn't.

Some part of him was terrified that if he did, the bags would be gone. And he'd finally have to see their faces.

Todd took the stairs two at a time. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. The old wooden steps groaned beneath his weight as he flew upward, nearly clipping his shoulder against the banister on the landing.

He didn't slow down. Didn't think. Didn't look back.

He couldn't.

Some instinct deep in his chest screamed that whatever stood downstairs was still there. Still waiting. Still watching.

His bedroom door came into view at the end of the hallway. Relief flooded him so suddenly it almost hurt. His room. Bob was in there. He'd fallen asleep.

This—

Whatever this was—

Would make sense once he got back to Bob.

Todd grabbed the doorknob. Twisted. Threw the door open.

Every thought in his head stopped.

Darkness. Not ordinary darkness. Not the kind that came from forgetting to turn on a lamp.

This swallowed everything. There was no glow from the alarm clock. No light creeping through the blinds from the street outside. No moonlight. No outlines. No bed. No desk. No window. Just a wall of perfect, impossible black stretching beyond the doorway.

Todd stood frozen, one hand still gripping the knob.

"...Bob?"

His voice vanished into the darkness.

No echo. No reply. Only silence.

A knot formed in his stomach. He should have turned around. Should have shut the door. Should have run.

Instead...

He took one cautious step forward.

The instant his weight shifted onto his front foot—the floor disappeared.

For one impossible heartbeat, he hung suspended in nothing.

Then gravity found him. Todd dropped into the darkness with a startled shout, the bedroom vanishing above him as he fell.

The fall ended violently. Todd hit something hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.

"—Gh!"

Metal rang beneath him as his back slammed against it. Pain exploded between his shoulder blades, and for a moment all he could do was lie there, staring up at a sky with no stars.

Cold air filled his lungs in a shaky gasp.

"...Ow..."

He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing, before forcing himself onto one elbow. Everything hurt. He rubbed the back of his head, expecting to find blood. Luckily nothing. Just an ache.

"What the hell..."

He pushed himself upright.

The metal beneath his feet rocked gently.

Todd froze.

He knew that feeling. Not solid ground. A boat.

His eyes darted around.

A pontoon boat floated alone in the middle of impossibly dark water. The aluminum deck stretched only a few yards in either direction, surrounded by black that seemed to swallow every trace of reflected light. There was no shoreline. No dock. No lights in the distance. Only endless water.

A bitter wind swept across the lake, cutting through his T-shirt and raising goosebumps along his arms. Todd wrapped his arms around himself instinctively.

"What is this...?"

His voice disappeared into the night. No echo. No answer.

The boat drifted with slow, lazy movements beneath his feet. Then his eyes caught something near the bow.

Someone.

Todd's stomach dropped.

"No..."

The figure lay crumpled against one of the vinyl benches. Perfectly still. An old fraternity sweatshirt. Jeans. One arm bent awkwardly beneath him.

Todd's pulse began hammering. He knew that sweatshirt. He knew that build. He knew—

"No..."

His legs carried him forward before his mind could stop them. Each step felt heavier than the last. When he got close enough to see the face...

...he stopped breathing.

A former fraternity brother. Eyes open. Staring at nothing. A long trail of dried blood ran from his temple, disappearing into the collar of his sweatshirt. The wound had long since stopped bleeding. Everything about him was still. Too still.

Todd's face drained of every bit of color.

He stumbled backward so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet.

"No..."

His voice barely existed.

"I..."

He shook his head.

"I wasn't even there."

The body didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.

"I wasn't…"

Nothing.

Todd's breathing grew shorter. Faster. His chest tightened until every inhale felt too small.

"I wasn't..."

He took another step back. His hands trembled violently now.

"I wasn't there."

The words sounded less like an explanation… and more like a plea.

His voice finally broke.

"I WASN'T EVEN THERE!"

The scream tore across the empty lake. No birds scattered. No one answered.

The water remained perfectly black. Perfectly still. As though the entire world had simply absorbed his grief without acknowledging it.

Todd backed away again. One more desperate step. His heel landed on empty air. His balance vanished.

"Oh—!"

His arms shot outward.

For one split second, he caught nothing but freezing wind. Then he tipped backward over the edge of the pontoon.

The black water rushed up to meet him. It swallowed him whole. The cold lasted only a heartbeat.

Todd burst through the surface with a violent gasp, coughing water from his lungs as sunlight blinded him.

He blinked hard. The lake was gone. Instead, blue tile shimmered beneath him. Chlorine stung his nose. The sharp scent of sunscreen lingered faintly in the warm afternoon air.

Todd spun in the water, chest heaving.

"...What?"

The campus pool. He knew it instantly. The diving boards. The white lounge chairs lined neatly against the fence. The lifeguard stand standing empty beneath a bright blue umbrella.

Only, there wasn't another person in sight.

No splashing. No music. No conversations drifting across the water.

The entire pool sat unnaturally still beneath the afternoon sun. Then he saw him.

Bob.

Curled tightly against the concrete deck near the shallow end. His knees were pulled to his chest. His forehead rested against them. Both arms wrapped around his legs so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

Todd couldn't see his face. But he could hear him.

"I'm sorry..."

The words were barely louder than breathing.

"...I'm sorry."

Another pause.

"I'm sorry..."

Todd's heart dropped into his stomach.

"Bob!"

He started swimming before he even realized he'd moved. His arms cut through the water as fast as they could.

"Bob!"

Nothing. Bob didn't react. Didn't lift his head. Didn't even flinch. He just kept whispering.

"...I'm sorry."

Todd reached the edge, grabbed the concrete, and hauled himself out in one frantic motion. Water streamed from his clothes as he broke into a run.

"Bob!"

For a moment, he thought he was getting closer.

Then, Bob seemed farther away. Todd frowned but didn't stop. He ran harder. The distance only grew. The pool deck stretched impossibly ahead of him, the white concrete lengthening with every desperate step.

"No..."

He looked behind him. The edge he'd climbed out from was just as far away.

His pulse thundered.

"This isn't—"

He ran again. Harder. Faster. Bob shrank farther into the distance.

"No!"

Todd skidded to a stop, breathing hard. His fists clenched.

The dream wanted him to panic. He knew that much now.

He shut his eyes. Forced himself to inhale. Then exhale. Slowly. One more breath.

When he opened his eyes again, Bob was only a few yards away. So close Todd could hear him clearly now.

"...I'm sorry."

Todd didn't hesitate. He sprinted the remaining distance and dropped to his knees so hard they struck the concrete with a painful crack.

"Bob!"

His hands found Bob's shoulders.

Warm. Real.

Bob jolted violently. His head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot, tears streaking both cheeks as though he'd been crying for hours.

For one stunned second, he simply stared.

"Todd...?"

Before Todd could answer, Bob threw himself forward. His arms wrapped tightly around Todd's neck, nearly knocking him backward onto the concrete. The force of it stole Todd's balance. He caught himself with one hand behind him while instinctively wrapping his other arm around Bob's back.

Bob was shaking. Not just trembling. Shaking so hard Todd could feel it through both of their shirts.

"I'm sorry."

Todd tightened his hold without thinking.

"It's okay."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

Bob buried his face against Todd's shoulder.

His voice cracked.

"I can't control him."

Todd's brow furrowed. He pulled back just enough to look at him.

"...Who?"

The world fell silent. Not gradually.

Instantly.

The faint rustle of the breeze disappeared. The distant hum of campus vanished. Even the water behind them stopped lapping against the edge of the pool.

Todd felt it before he understood it. The air itself seemed... heavier. As though something had stepped into the space around them and stolen all the sound with it.

Bob froze.

One moment he was clinging desperately to Todd. The next, very muscle in his body locked.

His breathing stopped.

Todd felt the change immediately. He frowned.

"...Bob?"

Bob didn't answer.

Todd eased back just enough to look at him. The color had drained completely from Bob's face.

His eyes weren't looking at Todd anymore. They were fixed on something just over his shoulder.

Fear. Pure, unmistakable fear.

Todd turned slowly.

There was no flash. No dramatic entrance. No burst of smoke or darkness.

One moment, nothing occupied the pool deck beside them. The next, someone simply stood there. As though they had always been part of the scene. A shadow given shape.

Still. Patient. Watching. The Void.

Todd stared. His mind searched desperately for an explanation that refused to come.

The figure didn't move. Didn't blink. It merely regarded them with an unsettling calm.

Then...

Very slowly...

It smiled.

Not wide. Not exaggerated. Just enough.

Enough to make Todd's stomach twist.

Before he could think about it, his body moved.

He stood. One step. Then another. Until he was squarely between Bob and the figure. Protective. Instinctive.

His heart hammered against his ribs, but he didn't look away.

"You can't take him from me."

Behind him, Bob made a small, broken sound.

The Void tilted its head. Almost curious. Almost amused. Its smile never faltered.

"You think you have Bob."

The words were quiet. Measured. Almost conversational.

Silence settled between them.

Then:

"I've had him much longer."

Todd's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"He doesn't belong to you."

The being’s smile widened just a fraction. There was no anger in it. No frustration. Only certainty.

"Oh, Todd," The Void's voice remained calm. "So earnest."

It took one slow step forward.

"He was never yours."

Something in Todd snapped. He didn't stop to think. Didn't weigh the odds. Didn't question whether this thing could even be hurt. He simply did what Todd had always done when someone threatened the people he loved.

He swung. His fist drove straight into the Void's face with every ounce of strength he had.

Todd exploded upright with a ragged gasp.

The bedroom snapped back into existence around him.

Dark walls. The dresser. The alarm clock glowing faintly on the nightstand. The window. His bedroom.

At the exact same moment, Bob bolted upright beside him.

Both of them were breathing like they'd just sprinted for miles. Sweat clung to Todd's neck and soaked through the back of his T-shirt.

For several long seconds, neither of them spoke.

Todd couldn't. His chest hurt too much. His heart hammered violently against his ribs as he stared into the darkness, trying to convince himself it was over.

He looked at the wall. Real. The window. Real. The bedroom door. Still closed. The ceiling. Exactly where it belonged. He swallowed hard. Real. It was all real. His breathing remained uneven as his eyes slowly drifted toward the other side of the bed. Bob was already looking at him. Not confused. Not groggy. He knew. He knew exactly what had happened.

Bob's face lost what little color it had left. His lips parted.

"Oh no..."

The whisper was so small Todd almost missed it.

Bob's expression shattered. He threw the blankets aside so quickly they tangled further around his legs.

"I have to go."

Todd blinked.

"...What?"

"I'm sorry."

Bob climbed off the bed with shaking hands.

"I'm sorry."

He crouched beside the dresser, fumbling blindly for his shoes.

Todd watched him for only a second before understanding hit. Bob wasn't looking for answers. He was leaving.

"Bob..."

"I'm leaving."

Todd was off the bed before Bob could stand. He crossed the room in three quick strides and reached the door first, planting himself squarely in front of it.

Bob froze.

"Todd..."

"No."

Bob's shoulders sagged.

"I can't stay."

"You can."

"You saw him."

"I did."

"You don't understand."

Todd shook his head once.

"I don't."

Bob looked away. His breathing hitched painfully.

"I'm dangerous."

Todd didn't answer immediately. He simply looked at him. Really looked. The trembling hands. The tears gathering despite Bob's desperate attempts to blink them away. The guilt that seemed stitched into every inch of him.

Finally, Todd spoke.

"No."

Bob frowned. Confused.

Todd's voice stayed quiet.

"I saw you."

Bob's eyes lifted.

"You weren't hurting anybody."

Silence.

"You were apologizing."

Bob's breathing caught.

"You were crying."

Bob’s lower lip began to tremble.

"You were terrified."

Whatever strength Bob had been holding onto disappeared. His face crumpled completely. Tears spilled freely now. Not the quiet kind he could hide by looking away. The kind that stole his breath.

"I..." His voice cracked. "I can't always stop him."

Todd took one careful step forward.

"That’s okay."

"I've tried."

"I know."

Bob scrubbed at his face with the heel of one hand.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"He always comes back."

"I know."

Bob let out a broken laugh that sounded nothing like laughter.

"No."

He shook his head weakly.

"You don't."

Todd held his gaze. Then nodded once.

"I do now."

The room fell quiet again. Bob looked exhausted. Like he'd spent years carrying something no one else could see. His shoulders slowly folded inward.

"I can't fight him."

Todd closed the remaining distance between them. Very gently he reached for Bob's hands.

Bob didn't pull away. Todd wrapped his fingers around them.

They were freezing.

"You don't have to."

Bob stared at him.

"...Todd..."

"As long as you quit trying to do it by yourself."

The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. No dramatic speech. No impossible promises. Just the truth.

Something inside Bob finally gave way. A quiet, shuddering sob escaped him before he could stop it. His knees threatened to buckle. Todd caught him immediately. Without hesitation. Without thinking. He pulled Bob against him with both arms, holding him upright as though letting go wasn't even an option. Bob buried his face against Todd's shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs. Todd held him tighter. Not because he thought it would make the nightmare disappear. But because, after everything he'd seen he understood that this was one battle Bob should never have had to fight alone.

—

They stayed like that for a long time. Neither of them moved. The room was quiet except for Bob's uneven breathing slowly beginning to settle against Todd's shoulder. Todd didn't rush him. Didn't fill the silence with reassuring words. He simply held on. One hand rested between Bob's shoulder blades, moving in slow, absent circles whenever another shudder worked its way through him.

Eventually, Todd leaned back just enough to see Bob's face. His eyes were still red. His cheeks were damp. His hair stuck to his forehead from sweat. He looked exhausted. Completely exhausted.

Todd offered the smallest smile.

"...Come back to bed."

Bob blinked.

"...What?"

Todd shrugged one shoulder.

"I'm tired."

A watery, disbelieving laugh escaped Bob before he could stop it.

"...Todd..."

"I mean it."

There wasn't a trace of hesitation in Todd's voice. No pity. No uncertainty. Just quiet certainty.

Bob searched his face for several long seconds.

Looking for... something. Fear. Regret. Second thoughts. He found none.

Slowly, almost timidly, he nodded.

"...Okay."

They crossed the room together. Neither of them climbed into bed immediately. Bob stood beside it with his hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his sweatpants, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself.

Todd noticed. Without saying anything, he pulled back the comforter and climbed in first.

He settled against the headboard.

Then, he simply lifted one arm. An invitation. Nothing more.

Bob looked at him. His eyes softened.

Wordlessly, he climbed in beside him. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. Todd wrapped his arm around his shoulders, drawing him in until Bob rested comfortably against his side.

Then he reached for the comforter, pulling it over both of them.

The room fell quiet again.

Bob's breathing still trembled every few seconds. Each inhale caught just a little before finally evening out.

Todd rested his chin lightly against the top of Bob's head.

Neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore.

It was... peaceful.

Outside, the old fraternity house settled around them. Wood creaked somewhere in the hallway. Pipes knocked softly inside the walls. A car passed on the street below, its headlights briefly painting pale lines across the ceiling before disappearing again.

Life continued.

For several minutes, neither of them moved.

Todd's thumb traced slow circles across Bob's shoulder through the fabric of his T-shirt. Back and forth. Again. Again. Until Bob's breathing had almost returned to normal.

Only then did Todd speak. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"...Next time..."

Bob tipped his head just enough to look up at him.

"...Yeah?"

Todd's thumb paused for just a moment before resuming its slow rhythm.

"Wake me up before you fight him."

Everything inside Bob seemed to stop. His eyes searched Todd's face. Looking for a joke. For misunderstanding. For evidence that Todd hadn't really meant what he'd said.

There was none. 

Todd wasn't talking about nightmares. He wasn't pretending it hadn't happened. He wasn't asking questions.

He was acknowledging it. Acknowledging him. Acknowledging the battle Bob had been fighting alone for longer than Todd had ever known him. And choosing, without hesitation, to stand beside him anyway.

Bob's face crumpled. Fresh tears slipped free before he could stop them. Not from fear. Not this time.

He buried his face against Todd's chest, one hand curling tightly into the front of Todd's T-shirt.

Todd didn't say another word. He simply tightened his arm around him.

After a moment, he pressed a gentle kiss into Bob's damp hair.

The kind that asked for nothing. Promised nothing impossible.

Only...

I'm here.

Bob closed his eyes.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on his chest didn't feel quite so unbearable.

Outside, the fraternity house continued its familiar chorus of creaks and settling wood. Inside, wrapped safely in Todd's arms, Bob's breathing gradually deepened.

Eventually, slowly, Bob fell asleep.

This time, he didn't have to face the darkness alone.