"W-wait—what?"
"I said—"
"I heard what you said," Ethan bit out, pressing his phone hard to his ear as he scowled. "Do you—" He started too loudly, then caught himself. He ducked his head and moved back further into the depths of the library stacks. "Do you have any idea what you're asking?"
Lydia's reply came prim, crisp. "Yes."
"That's like a commitment level request," he whispered. Indignation sprang hot to his chest, spread under skin in a lava flow. How dare she . . . how dare they.
"So? You'd do it, wouldn't you?"
Ethan's gaze flicked in the direction of Danny's heartbeat, and he closed his eyes for a second to let the sensation of strong, gentle hands touching his face steal his breath. "Yes," he said, barely audible. Then louder, "What if he says no?"
Lydia made an amused sound. "Be cute. Be charming. Be vulnerable. He'll say yes."
He probably would. The anger faded, leaving a cold knot hardened in Ethan's gut. They wanted Danny's blood, innocent blood, to unlock a black market, hunt down . . . hunt down hekaloi, as though that was remotely sane. And who better to wind Danny around his finger, to get what they wanted.
"Lydia," Ethan rasped out.
"You could tell him you cheated."
It struck him like fist, and he jerked up straighter. "I haven't!" Again, too loud. He glanced around to see if anyone was nearby to have noticed and hunched. "I haven't," he said again, steel in his soft voice.
"Then. Ask. Him."
"But—"
"Now."
Ethan's phone beeped at him, telling him the call had been dropped. He shook his head, scowling, and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He started back toward Danny and the sprawl of homework they'd been working on, but got only a few steps before he stopped, indecision nailing the balls of his feet in place.
It was . . . huge, what they were asking. Terrifying. A plea to be trusted, a promise to be trustworthy. You . . . you weren't supposed to ask because someone else wanted you to.
It had all the sharp edges of a lie.
But he had thought about it, when they laid together, cooling in comfortable silence. That maybe . . . that Danny could be . . .
Ethan's jaw ached from clenching it, and he made a conscious effort to relax a little, even if moths with horrid wings flapped through his innards. Scott's words from earlier echoed in his mind. Look out for the scent of lavender and the sound of "sleigh bells," Ethan had finished for him in a whisper as his lungs froze, only to be shattered when his phone clattered to the table. He'd scrambled away before Danny could ask any questions and waved away his concerns when he'd returned.
They both knew that he was avoiding—that Danny was letting him avoid out of respect . . . kindness.
Ethan wavered where he stood, alone among the books. And his breath came quick and shallow the more he let himself think about them. The hekaloi. Reapers of werewolf flesh and bone. They should be running—all of them—for the mountains, for the coast, for as far as their money would take them.
Shivers ran down his arms, and he shook away the shadow of a scream from his mind.
He swallowed hard and then surged forward, following the sound of Danny's heartbeat to where he sat, still working on his Physics homework. Ethan hovered, shifting his weight as fear slithered down his back and doubt burst bubbles in his gut.
Danny glanced up at him, his instinctive smile slipping from his face. "Everything okay?" he asked, his voice pitched to a whisper.
Shame flashed hot across Ethan's cheeks. "I, uh." He couldn't meet Danny's eyes. "Is there some place we could be alone?" he managed to say. He had no choice but to look at Danny then, to gauge his reaction.
Danny frowned and gave a quick glance to all the books on the table. "I—"
"Please."
When Danny looked up, their eyes locked, and this time Ethan held it—long past the point of friendly—until his body jolted with the heat of connection. Danny had beautiful eyes. Dark, endless, warm.
Danny's heartbeat jumped, and when Ethan grinned slightly, Danny's concerned frowned melted away.
"Yeah," he replied, smiling to himself as he started closing his books. "Okay."
Held breath rushed from Ethan's chest. He could do this. As he watched Danny move, all sure motion and easy grace, he thought he might even want to. His curiosity curled its toes. Sex with humans meant having to be human. So he hadn't ever . . .
Danny paused his packing to glance at him, and Ethan realized he'd been caught staring. Danny smirked and shoved another notebook into his backpack. Ethan hurried to catch up, distracted by the thought of how to do this—what he might say. Distracted even further when he paused as they emerged into the cool night air to scent the wind for lavender and lamb fat.
He quivered and hoped it looked like the cold. The urge to bolt hit him hard, screaming louder the closer they got to the car. His hand shook as he reached for the door handle, and he scowled at himself. He gripped the handle with extra force but the tremors went straight to the bone.
"Okay, so"—Danny was saying as Ethan closed the door and reached for the seatbelt—"where do you want to go?"
"Just drive."
"But . . ." Danny gave him a confused look.
Ethan could feel the gaze but couldn't meet it, instead just staring out the front windshield. His emotions whipped from one to another so fast his body ached with it.
Danny brushed a hand along his shoulder, a gesture of calm and care. "Ethan . . ." he sounded unsure.
"Danny," Ethan breathed, "please, just drive?" He looked over then, pleading, and Danny nodded, giving his shoulder a squeeze before letting go.
The car moved. The world slipped by.
He should have been thinking about what he was going to say, how he was going to ask.
Instead he stared at the blurred lights outside the window and thought of all the things he'd tried to forget.
Hekaloi. Here. Jesus, God.
Cold passed over his skin, thin as moonlight on the prairie.
He could still remember the old home. Two stories of rickety wood held together by paint and history. They used to test themselves against those stairs, learning to be fleet and silent, or learning to tell weight by the sound they made. The whole pack lived on the farm, adding new houses as needed. But theirs was the oldest, the alpha's. Pop converted the attic to a bedroom so no one else would have to share.
The kitchen had tile in awful green.
The living room a red oriental rug.
Every Sunday everyone came to the house for dinner. Everyone. Aunts, uncles, cousins. All in one space.
All an easy target.
"Ethan?" Danny voice sliced into the memory, and Ethan blinked.
They were slowing down and pulling off the road.
As soon as the car stopped, Danny reached out and pressed his palm to Ethan's cheek, his whole face furrowed.
"You're crying," he said, wiping a thumb through the wet tracks.
Ethan blinked at him, numb with shock. He wiped at his other cheek, checking for himself.
He was.
"I, uh . . ."
"Who called you?"
He took Danny's wrist in his hand and urged him away. "It. It wasn't—" He looked around the dark interior, tears still clinging to his eyelashes, and gave Danny's wrist a squeeze before letting go. "Please, just drive," he said over an aching throat.
Danny stared at him for a moment that felt like ages before he heaved a sigh and sat back in his seat. Disappointment fairly sparked off him, but he pulled back onto the road.
Ethan leaned toward the window, hot with shame, and wiped the remnants of the tears away. Words burned at his throat. Confessions. Maybe he couldn't tell Danny everything, but he could tell him something. He cleared his throat before the tension building in the silence became too much like a wall, and he caught movement that told him his boyfriend wanted to listen.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice not as strong or as steady as he would've liked.
Danny looked away from the road for just a second as they passed under a streetlight to meet his eyes. "You don't have to be sorry. I just . . . wish you'd tell me what's wrong."
Truth.
Ethan frowned down at his hands in his lap, carefully formulating a reply. "Did you . . . ever hear of the Washoe Run Massacre?" His voice barely carried over the rumble of the road.
Danny frowned and switched lanes, slowing the car for a stop sign.
"No? I don't know . . ."
Ethan went on. "It was a ranch by the lake. The whole family lived there. Grandparents, cousins, everyone. They just kept building more houses on the same land."
"Wait . . . yeah, I think I remember. It was on some shows, cause it was weird, right?"
Ethan huffed. "Yeah. It was weird. Everyone died, but they never found the bodies. Just blood everywhere. Mostly in the kitchen and living room. More blood than you can lose and still live."
Danny was nodding along. "There were kids, too. Right? I think I remember the shows always being upset about the kids."
"Yeah." Ethan rubbed his thumb around one palm. "Two sisters. An older boy. And . . . twins."
He let the word hang in the air.
Danny's heartrate shot up, and the car started to wobble.
"Are you—" Danny took a shaky breath and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. For the second time, he pulled over and threw the car into park. He turned toward Ethan in the dark. "Twins."
Ethan nodded.
"Are you telling me your family was . . . murdered?" The last word breathed out with cautious horror. "That that was you?"
Ethan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and then nodded, curling over the ache of memories.
"We . . . we were in the basement. Playing before dinner. Everyone—they always came over on Sunday for dinner. Pop made a roast." His voice came out hushed and mechanical. For a second he could smell the meat in the oven, hear the drumming of hearts around the table. Tears gathered at his eyes as more of the memories burst over him. "They were . . . happy. Laughing. And then, we heard mom scream. Aiden pulled me into the boiler room where there was noise and heat. And it was dark." He gasped into Aiden's shoulder as dishes and furniture broke, everyone screamed, shouting names, and Pop roared. The whole house smelled of blood and lavender and fear when they finally peered out of the cellar door. But he couldn't tell Danny those things. Ethan pressed his lips together, rolling them to give himself time to find a piece he could safely share. "When we, uh"—breathe, breathe—"when it was quiet for a long time, we snuck out. Went upstairs."
He looked over at Danny, his body seizing with a tremor, and a few tears escaped. Emotions he hadn't known he still harbored pounded at his ribs for freedom. "There was so much blood. All—the tiles were just . . ."
Danny gazed back at him, barely breathing, and reached for his hand.
"We ran," Ethan told him, watching their hands. "No coats, no food. We just—ran."
"Until someone found you," Danny offered, and Ethan nodded because it was close enough to the truth.
Danny pulled him into a hug, gentle at first, then harder. "I'm so sorry. God, I'm so sorry."
It took Ethan a second before he could gather himself to hug back, arm twisting around the seatbelt in his way. He felt cold everywhere, except where they touched.
"I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm—" he muttered close to Danny's ear.
Danny shushed him and pulled back enough to run his thumb along Ethan's cheek where the tears had been, but somehow that made the shaking worse. For a second Danny looked like he might say something, but then thought better. He ran the fingers of one hand along Ethan's forehead and cheek in slow, soothing circles and spread the other along Ethan's side, holding him as close as the car would allow.
"Is that what the calls were about?" he asked gently.
Ethan stopped the hand gliding over his face and pressed a kiss to Danny's palm. He leaned in until their foreheads touched. They breathed each other's air, and Ethan fought to get control of himself.
"I know you want to help. You do help. But . . . can we please not talk about this anymore?" He pressed his eyes shut and waited, not sure what Danny would say—or what he wanted him to say.
After a second of heavy silence, Danny ducked and rolled them together, closing a soft, warm kiss over Ethan's mouth. He drew back before he could be kissed in return and sank into the driver's seat.
"Did you still want to go somewhere?" he asked.
Ethan's heart thumped heavily, and he tasted mint on his lips from the gum Danny had tossed out hours ago.
"Yeah."
They held hands as Danny drove, the car interior silent except for the hum of the road. Ethan could feel the heat and hurt of the memories evaporating, leaving brittle hollows. Danny squeezed his hand, and he looked over, watching the light sweep over his profile—strong jaw, soft lips, dark eyes.
Affection seeped into the empty spaces, a warm treacle holding his broken bits in place. So foreign and sweet he could almost taste it, and it made his heart pound. As he stared, words gathered beneath his tongue.
Danny glanced at his staring and smiled a little. "What?"
Impulse said, Say it. But when he tried to speak, he had no breath. And no right to say it anyway. Not yet.
Ethan swallowed hard and looked out at the road ahead. "Maybe I just like looking at you," he said after a second, warmth flooding through him when he saw Danny smile out of the corner of his eye.
Their hands stayed linked all the way to Danny's house and up into his room, only letting go once to get out of the car.
"Tonight's your parents' date night," Ethan said as he pushed the bedroom door shut and released Danny's hand.
Danny turned back toward him with a mischievous, coy smile. "Yep." He took a slow step closer, watching Ethan's face. "Just us."
Such an invitation. The sound of his voice, low and husky, shot straight to Ethan's groin, darkened his eyes. The room smelled of Danny and arousal and the fading notes of cologne.
This was what virtue smelled like—how it looked when it wanted to taste you.
Ethan moved away from the door and slid a hand onto Danny's bicep to stop him, get his attention before he lost his nerve. The expression on Danny's face changed to something curious and a little confused, and he stepped back.
"What?"
Ethan swallowed and found himself staring at the floor. The same indignation he'd felt blaze through him at the library flared to life, and he had to take a moment to tamp it back down.
"I, uh . . ." He drew a deep breath that ripped like a tornado inside. "I wanted to ask you something," he said, and shifted his weight uneasily. They couldn't make him do this. Not to Danny. He glanced up to his boyfriend's patient gaze and wavered with a hot pull of want. Maybe they didn't have to make him . . .
Maybe he wanted to taste virtue too.
Ethan started again, but he couldn't control the tremulous way his voice came out, or the way his fingers kept shaking. "It's my birthday next week, and I was—I was thinking about what I wanted. And—" He forced himself to look Danny in the eye and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. The truth. The truth was that he couldn't think of anything he might want more. "What I want is . . . you, with nothing between us."
He could feel his quickened pulse in his fingertips, getting stronger with each second, unbearable.
Danny stared at him, reading his meaning out of his expression, and then lifted his eyebrows. "You mean . . . bareback?" he asked, stunned.
Ethan nodded quickly and spoke in a rush. "If we went tomorrow morning, the hospital is still doing tests for free. And the results would be back in time. And we could open them together if"—he sucked in a breath—"if . . . you're . . . interested."
His insides shook, and he didn't know what to do with his hands. Why didn't he know what to do with his hands?
Danny's heart started beating wildly and—he was going to say no. It pierced Ethan in the stomach like a dagger, and he was sure, all of sudden, from the look on Danny's face and the sound of his heart, that he was going to say no. The floor yawned open, and Ethan felt his face go hot. He turned away.
"I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't've— Forget it, it was—"
"What? No—" Danny rushed toward him. He cupped Ethan's face in his hands and forced him to look at him. "I mean, yes," he said, a smile spilling out of him. "Yes."
Ethan stared, processing, and then relief him in a wave, not at a job well done or mission accomplished. He'd asked Danny to place his life in his hands—and he'd said—
"Yes?"
Danny nodded, laughing a little, and pulled him close until their foreheads touched. "I thought it'd be years before anyone asked me that," he confessed. He brushed his thumbs over Ethan's cheeks. "But, I mean, I've . . ."
"Always been curious?" Ethan finished for him, affection swelling in his chest again. He laughed lightly at Danny's guilty smile and nudged him backward, sliding his hands down to Danny's ass as they ambled toward the bed. Ethan nipped at Danny's lower lip. "Me, too."
Danny drove them to the hospital the next morning before class and declared Mrs. McCall an amazing nurse when he didn't even feel the needle go in. She'd pretended not to see black veins thread over the back of Ethan's hand when Danny wasn't looking and told them to expect results by mail in a few days.
They arrived the day before Ethan's birthday. A text from Danny said: Anxious. Come over. And he left Duke's abandoned apartment with the unopened results tucked inside his jacket. He knew what it would say, and still the paper burned against his chest.
They sat in the living room, knees touching, while Danny's parents were still at work.
"Nervous?" Danny asked quietly, flipping the envelope between his fingers.
Ethan plucked it from his hand and offered his own envelope in return. "No," he said, then smiled.
A few seconds and tearing sounds later, they glanced down, then at each other.
"All good," Ethan said. Danny's face brightened, and Ethan couldn't help but smile wider.
"All good."
Danny took back his test results, running his eyes over the page. His heart started to race a little, and Ethan couldn't tell quite what it was. Fear? Anticipation? He didn't smell like fear.
Ethan leaned in and brushed his fingers just above Danny's ear, getting his attention, making him turn. "Hey," he whispered.
Danny's mouth pulled into a smile. "Hey."
He closed the distance between them, aiming for something soft, gentle. Danny had different plans. He pulled Ethan hard against him. Kissed, licked, raked Ethan's lips between blunt teeth until it stung. Until he groaned into him and tasted mint on Danny's tongue.
Ethan kissed at his jaw. Moved small nips toward his neck as he pressed Danny into the corner of the couch, panting.
Stopped—hot breath hovering over Danny's skin.
"What?"
Ethan pulled back just enough to look at him. "Parents."
Danny dropped his head back with a defeated groan and urged Ethan away.
As Mrs. Mahealani came in through the garage, Ethan slipped out the front door with promises that yes he'd be here tomorrow around 6 and yes he'd wear something nice.
Danny tugged Ethan up the stairs by their entwined fingers and then paused at the door to his room, letting himself calm, take his time. He glanced back with a shy smile, and Ethan smiled automatically in return. Anxious energy sparked across his skin, but he waited, letting Danny set the pace.
Eventually, Danny faced him, opened the door at his back, and drew Ethan into the room.
It glowed.
All around them, candles huddled on every surface giving off a warm, honey light in the otherwise dark interior. Ethan let his eyes travel the small space at once familiar and foreign. His gaze settled on Danny.
"Cheesy cliche, I know," Danny said with a light shrug and tried to hide a grin.
Ethan stepped closer and locked their fingers together more firmly. "I like it." Voice bourbon and maple.
A smile transformed Danny's face. "Yeah?"
Ethan just nodded, words failing at what those dimples did to him. Warmth gathering in his stomach as he held his boyfriend's gaze. "Doesn't smell like candles," he said absently as he leaned in, brushed their noses together on instinct. Danny used to laugh at him for it—now touched his face and slid a hand to the nape of his neck.
"They're LEDs," Danny whispered, his breath hot on Ethan's lips.
Ethan huffed a laugh, because of course they were. And then Danny pulled him into a kiss. Soft at first, then more urgent. Ethan pressed hard, and Danny opened to him letting their tongues touch, slide.
Ethan pulled his hand from Danny's grip and tugged at his dress shirt, searching for skin. Hands closed on his wrists, and Danny pulled back from the kiss, panting. He took a step back, just out of Ethan's reach, and gazed down at the shirt he was wearing, green, now black in the candleglow. He glanced up, and Ethan stared at him with dark eyes, silent.
Danny started with his belt. His fingers shook a little as he worked the buckle, and Ethan could hear his heart racing. He was trying to be slow, deliberate. Joy lived in the anticipation. In the yearning.
Ethan licked his lower lip as he watched.
Then the zipper. One. Soft. Click. At a time. A low sound rumbled from Ethan's throat, and Danny looked up at him, impish.
He pulled the shirt out and started with the top button. Seconds could be minutes as he revealed more perfect skin and sculpted muscle. Ethan struggled as his arousal flared. His hands itched to touch. Lungs ached from barely breathing.
Danny dropped his shirt to the floor, and Ethan's composure broke. He darted forward. Ran hot hands over the taut muscle of his partner's chest, down his sensitive flanks. He pulled Danny flush against him and bent to kisskisssuck at his neck. Taste his skin. Drown in the scent of excitement.
Danny exhaled one his sighs—a moan stripped to its essentials—and pressed a hand on Ethan's chest to make space. Ethan let him, kissing his jaw, his lips, before letting go.
"Your turn . . ." Danny said, raking him with a hungry look.
Ethan started to undo his pants, but Danny batted his hands away and did it himself. Ethan's mouth went dry as Danny looked him in the eye while he worked the zipper. Teased by bringing his fingers so close that Ethan rocked onto his toes without meaning to. Danny's fingers grazed Ethan's skin as he undid the buttons and brushed up his chest and down his arms to whisk the fabric away, leaving a trail of ghost fire. Ethan shivered, smiled, and caught Danny's arms just to hold him, look at him.
He looked bronze in the candlelight. Like a sculpture of a Greek god.
Ethan told him so, and then, "How's that for cliché?"
They fell onto the bed amidst smiles and laughter. Shed clothes with simple abandoned. Kissed as though bodies were made for kissing.
For a time, violence ceased to be, and Ethan forgot the ragged holes in his soul. Laved at innocence that he might draw it in. Wrung more burning silent moans from his partner's throat.
"What do you want?" Danny whispered into his ear, then dropped his lips to Ethan's shoulder.
What did he want?
To be better.
Give freely.
To be worth it—worth this.
Danny nipped at him, drawing Ethan's attention back. He wanted to apologize for the deception that got them here. Give . . . something. Pleasure. Meaning. Trust.
Himself.
Ethan rolled slightly onto his side and nudged back, pressing against Danny's body until he felt a half-hard cock against his thigh.
Danny stilled and then lifted up onto one arm. "Are you sure? It's supposed to feel the most different for—"
Ethan twisted and reached, hauling Danny into a kiss. He licked into his mouth, invading as far as their angle would allow and scored Danny's lower lip between his teeth until he was sure it stung. Danny pulled back, panting, and laughed a little. He pressed a light kiss to Ethan's shoulder.
"On the floor next to the nightstand," he said softly.
Ethan moved away to look and came back with a small bottle of lube. Danny took it and shifted him around so he lay flat on his back, head and shoulders propped by pillows. Danny stretched out along his side, the length of their bodies pressed hot together.
All of Ethan's attention narrowed to Danny's hands. Flipping the lid. Rubbing the clear liquid around his fingers. His own heart pounded so loud with anticipation he almost couldn't hear Danny's, and all of a sudden want spiked through his body.
"Danny."
Touch me.
Danny urged him to bend the closest knee.
He pressed his eyes shut as a hand slid along the back of his thigh. Gasped as a finger touched the tight ring of muscle and started to press, gentle, gentle.
"Shh, relax," Danny whispered against his cheek.
The burn arced up his spine, and he turned toward Danny, panting.
"Okay?"
God, yes. Ethan nodded. Made some sound. He took a long, slow breath. And then Danny started to move his hand. Simple slide.
In.
Out.
Ethan bit his lower lip, gripped the sheets in one hand and the back of his knee with the other. The burn eased, and he raised his hips to meet the next thrust, pressing harder. Danny bit lightly on his shoulder and added a second finger with infuriating care.
Ethan's mouth fell open with a short moan. He fought the urge to touch himself, to hurry them along. But he ached, God, already. When the fingers inside him scissors, Ethan bucked up with a gasp; his legs went liquid. Quivering fire.
He whimpered slightly and writhed, grinding himself down.
He released his knee and groped for Danny's cock. Found him hard and hot and stroked with a dry hand. Danny hissed, flexed, and surged into Ethan's tight grip.
"Please," Ethan breathed, stroking up, swirling his thumb around the tip.
Danny took a shuddering breath and swallowed. "We have time."
Time! Jesus, God. He didn't want time, he wanted. Wanted.
Ethan rocked his hips, begging for the fingers inside him to go deeper. He caught Danny in a kiss and stroked, teased, pulled until his partner moaned.
Danny gave in. He slid one hand beneath Ethan's neck and hooked his other arm under Ethan's raised knee. Ethan pressed up into his lover's clever hand as it pinched a nipple and then stopped above his sternum. It felt . . . like being cradled. Oddly safe.
Shockingly intimate.
He forgot how to breathe.
Danny gazed down at him, a raw, vulnerable expression on his face that seemed on the edge of saying more. Ethan lifted up to kiss him, one hand buried in his hair and the other drawing shapes along his cheek in reassurance, then shifted so their hips aligned.
He felt Danny's cock rub along his ass and reached down to help guide him. One heavy, aching moment of breaching, and Danny swore. Slowly, so slowly.
Incoherent sounds poured from Ethan's lips as he dug his fingers into his partner's back.
It did feel different. Hotter, softer. Like perfection.
Danny's breath hitched, and his hips snapped forward, bottoming out suddenly. Ethan grunted and dug his nails into Danny's back.
"Sorry," Danny muttered into his shoulder. "Sorry."
"S'okay." He panted. "Surprised."
He needed friction. Movement. Like the pull of the moon, he needed and made small, desperate sounds. Danny—blesséd, loving—settled a hand on his chest, pressing him down, and moved.
The first thrust made him ache with fire. Burned his spine.
The second, forged pleasure into sound, spilling out of him.
Danny sealed their mouths together on the third, and Ethan tasted the groan of pleasure that passed through him. He bucked and twisted, wringing his hand in the sheets. His fingers slipped on damp skin. He licked sweat from Danny's neck and arched hard when he hit just the right spot.
Ethan canted his hips with a muttered, "There, right there," and writhed at the short, quick strokes.
Black stars burst across his vision. Perfect.
He shook. Shuddered. Danny scattered his pieces, and he cried out in full voice, unashamed.
When Danny wrapped a hand around his dick, Ethan fairly whined and lost all sense of rhythm.
"I can't," he panted. "Can't . . ."
"It's okay."
Danny was everywhere. In him, around him. Kissing. Touching. Coaxing him higher.
Red energy boiled in his veins, popping as Danny thrust in, gathering as left. Ethan bucked up, trembling at the mounting pressure. He could not, could not. A sharp breath, and he jolted as the energy exploded, his whole body convulsing. The sensation rushed from the soles of his feet to the tingling tip of his tongue. Cum painted his torso, and he turned, torn between kissing Danny and trying to catch his breath.
Danny dropped his head to Ethan's shoulder and quickened his pace, chasing climax. He was quiet when he made love, all harsh breaths and barely spoken words. Ethan squeezed down on him, earning a "Fuck," before Danny set his teeth against his skin.
He had to be close. By the sound of his heart and the sweat and the strain. Ethan reached for him, found a nipple, and grazed it with his nail, pleased at the whine he got in reply. Teeth would have been better; he couldn't angle himself.
He pinched harder.
Danny gasped and jerked. He bit down on the sensitive flesh beneath him as he came, and Ethan felt a strange warming inside that he hadn't ever before.
He buried his hand in Danny's hair and held on until the last of his partner's tremors had stopped. Danny let his shoulder go and kissed the spot of red skin.
For a second they laid in silence, still connected and breathing each other's air Danny nuzzled close to Ethan's ear.
"Reach under the bed."
He moved to comply and bit his lip at the sense of loss when Danny slipped out of him. He found towels just under the side of the bed. Warm, soft towels.
Ethan turned to stare at him. "How did you—"
"Handwarmer packet," Danny drawled smugly.
Ethan cleaned them both a little and got up to finish the job in the bathroom. Thank God his birthday had fallen on a date night.
When he returned to the cozy glow of the bedroom, he found that Danny had grabbed a comforter from somewhere and turned down a corner, waiting for him. Ethan smiled slowly.
"You think I'm sappy," Danny said, a lazy contentment in his voice.
"You are sappy," Ethan replied. He slipped under the covers. Soft cotton. Soft skin. "I like sappy."
Danny settled against his side, wrapping their legs together. He traced patterns on Ethan's chest. Ethan brushed his fingers through Danny's damp hair.
"You feel like you're thinking," Danny said after a while.
Ethan's fingers stilled. "It's nothing."
Danny lifted his head. "Tell me."
Affection flooded Ethan's body, and his throat burned to say something true.
"Just . . . that you're so much better than me."
"What?" Danny popped up and gazed down at him, worry etched on his face.
Wrong thing to say. Ethan shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing."
"Who said that?" Danny's voice was suddenly hard and serious.
"What? No one. It's nothing." He touched Danny's arm soothingly.
"Who said that to you?"
"No one," Ethan insisted.
Danny frowned down at him. "Then why would you say that?"
Ethan cupped Danny's cheek in his palm and tried to smooth the worry away. "Because you'd never hurt anyone," he said softly, and drew back his hand.
It earned him another frown. "You would?"
Ice pierced Ethan's chest, and his voice grew very small. "I have . . ."
He didn't want to see whatever look might be in Danny's eyes. To his surprise, Danny lowered himself back down and pillowed his head on his shoulder.
"You haven't hurt me," Danny said.
Something bittersweet twisted in Ethan's gut. He hurried to press a kiss to Danny's forehead before more truth leaked out and tugged him as close as he could.
"Thank you for doing this," he whispered.
Danny huffed a laugh. "Are you kidding? Thank you for asking."
Lay with me, said Virtue, that you may know me better and learn to bear my mark.