A/N: Hey all, thank you so much for still reading! Just a quick trigger warning for this chapter: there is a semi-graphic description of animal death. If you are squeamish about such things, please read with caution or shoot us a PM for any questions.

"You're a nervous sort around people, hmm?"

As Angie spoke, a knife slipped from Shane's hand and clanged onto his plate of silverware. He flushed and adjusted it on the stack.

Of all the worries to plague his walk to the farm that morning, being trapped with William's mother hadn't been one of them. Yet here they were, cleaning the kitchen together on her second visit in less than three weeks.

"That's okay, dear," she continued, carrying her wine glass and a dish of potatoes to the counter. "I promise I don't bite."

Maybe not, but the last time they'd spoken she'd offered him a lawyer named Henry.

He was afraid of this woman. Angie's motherly words were a sheath that hid sharpness. She was too observant, and had eyes that looked into people rather than through them—a Bauer specialty, apparently.

Shane wasn't just an employee anymore, but a man who'd made out with her son. After witnessing that scene in the barn, he'd spent all morning fighting images of what Cam would do in private. And, he realized, he was possessive of privacy with William. It felt so fucking wrong for another man to have that privilege.

Could she sense those things?

Angie dug in a cupboard and pulled out a pair of floral gloves that most certainly did not belong to her son. Humming, she filled the sink with hot water.

"How have the last few weeks been?" she asked. "Will is so unpredictable at times."

Shane stacked plates. "Um. They've been good."

"Will said he met your family the other day. He didn't go into detail. Do they live close by?"

How much do you guys talk?

"Er—yeah," he said. "Fifteen, twenty minute walk."

Angie dunked a glass into the sudsy water. "So who do you live with?"

"My, um. My aunt." He carried the dishes over and set them on the counter. "And my goddaughter. She's nine."

"Oh! But a child is such a blessing!" She flashed him a brilliant smile, then nodded at a cloth on the counter. "Here, Shane. Please dry."

He was grateful she'd given him a set chore, and that she'd latched onto the topic of kids. Kids were not dangerous. The tightness in his chest eased as he wiped down the first dish.

She turned back to the sink, sighing. "I always wanted a lot of kids, but the good lord just gave me William. You said she's nine? What's her name?"

"Jas. And yeah, she turned nine this summer."

"Hmm! That's a good age. They're so smart and inquisitive. William was a bit too inquisitive at that age, unfortunately. Always getting into scrapes." She handed him another dish. "What does she like to do?"

"Lots of things. She's really smart."

Shane was surprised by the surge of pride that accompanied saying this aloud. He'd never bragged about her before. There'd never been much opportunity. Encouraged, he continued.

"She loves to read and stuff, but she's a country kid too. Likes the barn cats and chickens. Horses are her favorite."

"Oh, I love horses," said Angie brightly. "My sisters and I were a part of an equestrian club growing up. There is nothing like the freedom on horseback. It makes you feel like you can't be held down by anything."

With a pang below his ribs, Shane thought she sounded like Marnie—except after hurting her back, Marnie couldn't ride anymore.

"What types of books does Jas like?" Angie asked.

"She's, um, getting into chapter books. Those early reader ones? Animal stories, talking dogs, that kinda shi—"

He cut off, too late to catch the word.

"Sorry," he said, flushing again.

Angie made an amused clicking sound. "You boys and your swears. It's alright, dear. Will is much worse." She unplugged the drain, letting some of the water spiral down. "Does she like coloring? Art? Or just reading?"

"All of it. Still at that age where she likes everything about school."

"That's wonderful."

Shane wasn't used to talking about Jas with anyone except Marnie. It was nice. Not only because the topic kept his nerves at bay, but because Angie's enthusiasm felt so sincere.

"I imagine she's very adventurous," she said, scrubbing a pot. "Is she a little girl who likes dresses, or more of a tomboy?"

"She's into all the princess stuff, but more of a tomboy on the ranch." Shane frowned. "Sees things that would make most kids squeamish. Animals giving birth, dying and stuff…"

"Children have the most intriguing interests," Angie said, sidestepping his morbid detour. She rinsed her pot under running water. "So, do you have a person in your life, Shane? Someone important to help you with this precious little girl?"

The plate Shane was wiping slipped from his hands. He snatched it—barely—before it hit the counter.

"Just my aunt," he mumbled. "She watches her while I work."

And on the weekends. And the evenings. And all the nights I'm too drunk to run her bath.

"Ah!" Angie brightened. "So you're single?"

Shane set his plate on the stack of dry ones, face growing hot. "Um. Yes."

A car door slammed outside.

William.

"How…fortunate," she murmured.

The sound of familiar boots came up the steps, then the door burst open, William stomping inside.

"Ma, got your dog walked and your car gassed up."

Angie sighed. "Can't you two just be adults about this?"

"I dunno. Can we?"

Shane hadn't realized how fucking strange the house felt without William. It was unnatural and empty without his booming voice to fill the room. Now, the world was right again.

"You're impossible," said Angie. She pulled a rag from the sink, squeezed out the excess water, and tossed it to her son. "Make yourself useful and wipe the table."

William slapped the wet cloth down, aggravation in every swipe.

"Where is Cam?" Angie asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Walking," said William.

"Walking?!"

He looked up from wiping the table. "Whoops. Did I say I was going to drive him back?"

She stomped one foot on his tile. "Where did you abandon him?"

"Relax, Ma. It's just the other side of the farm. I keep a gas tank there for the equipment."

Shane focused on drying the final dish. He knew exactly where that tank was kept. Not just the other side of the farm, but as far from the rest of William's structures as possible, to protect against an accidental leak. It was immensely satisfying to picture Cam walking the fields in those expensive loafers, sweating through his pink shirt in the midday sun.

"Besides," William continued. "He needed to like, burn calories and shit."

"William Jo—"

"—seph Bauer," he mocked. "Language."

"You get this from your father's side, you know." She turned to Shane. "Do not let this one influence you into such terrible behavior, Shane. I swear, William, if I hadn't given birth to you myself I'd think you were hatched."

"Swapped at birth is still an option, Ma. I could get a DNA test."

Angie did not find this amusing. She stalked to her purse and pulled out her phone. "This is a fine way to end Cameron's first visit."

"That's what I thought too."

She slipped the purse over her arm, offering her cheek for a kiss. "I'd better go rescue the poor thing."

"He's been through boot, Ma," William said, delivering it. "He'll live."

"Your father and I taught you better when it came to dealing with old friends and guests. But if you're determined to be impossible, so be it."

As she walked out, he leaned back and hooked his fingers in his belt loops. "Bye Ma! See you at brunch next week!"

Her answer was shutting the car door. William's shoulders relaxed.

"Jesusfuck," he muttered, stalking across the room. "She's going to take a year off my life with every surprise pop-in."

"She wasn't so bad," Shane said, stacking dry plates in the cupboard.

The clink of ceramic was too loud in the empty kitchen. It made Shane aware of how alone they were now. Like this morning, when William had kissed his bruise in the milking barn.

William opened the fridge and cocked his head at the row of brown bottles. "It would probably be irresponsible to have another, huh?"

Shane slowly closed the cupboard door. Two at lunch, and now a third?

He licked his lips. "I'm, uh…good with irresponsible."

William grabbed the beers and handed one to him, leaning his hip against the counter. He clinked their bottle necks together.

"To irresponsible."

They tilted them back, and as cold liquid ran down Shane's throat he recalled lunch, when William had stared at Cam and chugged an entire beer. How after he was done, he'd winked at Shane like it was an inside joke between them.

Half of him desperately wanted to ask about Cam. The other half wanted to forget he existed.

"Ma didn't try to get all in your business, did she?" William asked.

Shane shoved back the echo of Cam's voice; his words about how he wouldn't be scared off.

"She was okay," he said. "Spent most of the time talking about Jas."

"That's a good way to keep her out of your hair. She loves kids."

"Said she wanted lots of them, but just got you."

William chuckled. "Only-child problems, right? No one else to share her crazy with."

"Yeah, I guess so."

He slid a bit closer. "You know," he said, toying with his bottle. "If you want to get back to work, we can. Or…we could take a minute to celebrate our mother-less survival." He slipped an arm over Shane's shoulder. "On the couch."

Shane's heart took off.

"O-oh," he said, forcing the word from his suddenly dry lips. "Okay."

He wanted to kick himself. His stupid ass, barely able to form a coherent fucking sentence, when William's bubbly and charismatic ex had probably been talking his ear off.

"You know," William mused, walking slow with him into the living room. "It's tough being her only kid. All that attention and focus. It's like a damn laser waiting to cook you."

They sank onto the couch. Shane wasn't sure if he was more relieved or bothered when the arm slid off his shoulder. He tried to focus on William's words and not the way they sat with thighs almost touching.

Laser.

Angie's laser must've been relentless to live under. A painting where the eyes followed, no matter which direction you stepped. Shane couldn't relate. Corey's laser didn't focus like that. It ignored you, unless you were careless and bumped into one of the intricate red lines of his traps—then it zeroed in to scorch.

Somehow, that seemed preferable to William's 24/7 version. Constant surveillance and expectation? Sounded like fucking hell.

"Dunno how you deal with it," Shane said.

"When it's the only thing you've ever known, you manage." William shrugged. "Parties you didn't know were happening? Suck it up and smile, Will. Play nice for the mayor. Or the school board, or the chamber, or whoever else got invited over that day."

Shane wondered if he'd have learned to survive in William's world, had he grown up that way. Given the choice now? He'd gladly take the closet all over again.

"What happened if you didn't suck it up and smile?" he asked. "Ever find out?"

"Once. I was ten. Embarrassed her and dealt with the consequences." William shook his head, swirling his beer. "After that? Yeah, I made an effort. Didn't like the idea of Ma getting fucking dragged through the mud just because I couldn't get in line." He took a long drink, eyes on the wall. "Dad did it, even though I knew he didn't care for her parties. If he could do it, so could I."

Shane rubbed his thumb over the bottle, focused on a bubble trapped in the glass. "Your dad easier than your mom?"

"Yeah. Mom grew up where appearances mattered a lot. Dad, not so much." William cocked his head. "What about you? You've said your family wasn't great. That include your parents?"

Shane knew he should've anticipated this. Sitting down for a beer and family questions? Of course William would take an interest right back. It'd happened before, that time he'd asked about Marnie—and Shane had thrown a fucking temper tantrum about it.

"Yeah," he agreed, ears burning at the memory. "Not much of a family."

William met him with a careful look. "You okay? It's cool if you don't want to talk about it."

We could take a minute to celebrate our continued mother-less survival.

While determined not to repeat history with another freak-out, Shane didn't think delving into Corey and Jessica was quite what William meant.

"It's fine," he said, hoping to sound casual. "Just not very interesting."

William didn't press. Instead, he reached over to gently tilt Shane's head, running his thumb over the sensitive skin. "Swelling has gone down. Is it hurting you?"

Shane held very still. "It's okay."

He'd had dull headaches throbbing in and out all day, but nothing he couldn't handle. Right now, the softness of the touch was a portal: it took him back to yesterday afternoon, when he'd sat with stars behind his vision while William massaged in the cream. It was so quiet he could hear his pulse swish.

William slowly let his hand drop. "Marnie buy the accident angle?"

"She asked if we'd been fighting again," Shane admitted. "Told her it was a post. Said she could come look at the new fence if she wanted."

William leaned back, rubbing the hand over his mouth. "Shouldn't have hit you."

Shane blinked. "But I asked you to."

"No you didn't. You dared me. It was a heated moment and I just—I lost control. I'm sorry."

He finished his beer in one swallow, then stood and walked to the kitchen, where Shane heard him toss his empty.

"I did ask you," he whispered, too quiet for William to hear.

He felt sick. Had William gone the whole night regretting what they'd done? Was he worried he'd hurt Shane too much? Did he not understand how perfectly he'd read the situation?

The cushion sank and Shane looked up, nervous.

"I wondered, you know." William's lips gave a humorless twist. "If you'd come back to work. Days like today probably make you wish you'd woken up with a cold."

Sweat dripped from an icy new bottle in his hand. Shane thought of the sweat that had run down William's forehead yesterday while he towered over his pinned body.

"I'm really sorry," he mumbled.

William shot him a confused look. "For what?"

"Kinda make a habit out of it, don't I? Running off after shit…can't fucking blame you."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Or, maybe, the right thing.

William put down his beer. Closing the inches between them, he gripped the back of Shane's neck. "Look at me," he demanded.

Eyes heavy, Shane did.

William cupped his chin and kissed him, slow and careful. The pressure was light, giving him the opportunity to pull back if he wanted, and Shane's heart hammered.

"You're sure?" he whispered through their touching lips.

"About you? Yeah, I'm sure." William eased back. He ran another gentle thumb over the bruise, and let out a warm, boozy breath. "Why don't we head back to work though? The cows will need their second milking soon."

Despite his words, his face still lingered in Shane's space.

Kiss him back.

But he couldn't. Even right fucking here in front of him, waiting, he couldn't. All Shane had to do was tip forward and William would catch him, but his body and brain wouldn't connect.

"Yeah," he finally managed. "We're probably a little behind anyway."

William nodded. Hooking the neck of his beer between two fingers, he stood and headed for the door.

You fucking idiot.

Shane drained the rest of his bottle and followed him out—because just like that, work was waiting.

William was on one of the porch chairs, pulling on his boots. Shane bent over and carefully placed his empty in the recycling bucket. Usually when drinking they chucked them, but this moment felt too soft for that. Then he grabbed his own boots and sat in the opposite chair.

William jerked his laces tight. "You wanna hang out after?"

Shane paused the knot he was tying, warmth creeping up his neck. "Yes."

He couldn't believe he'd actually said it. It'd been in his head, but since when did his mouth cooperate with his thoughts?

He finished tying his second boot, and when he looked up William was waiting, holding out a hand.

A secret, Shane remembered. Just figuring things out, nice and easy.

Feeling strangely vulnerable—more than when he'd been pinned beneath him and punched—Shane took his hand. William pulled him up and in one swift motion they were eye to eye.

Before Shane could think, he was being kissed.

"Work fast then," William said, voice husky as he let go.

With that he slipped his fingers in his pockets and headed toward the outer fields. Shane watched him grow smaller and smaller, still dizzy in his wake.

William finished sketching out, measuring, and prepping his grange display at five. Half an hour later he went to the porch and kicked off his muddy boots, plans of the festival dominating his thoughts. Every year the Stardew Valley Fair held a contest for best grange display. He'd never heard of the artistic competitions before, and on the first year had displayed his best fruits and vegetables, assuming they would carry him. His grange had been high quality, but simple.

After setting it up he'd wandered over to Pierre's box, and stared in awe at the geometrical masterwork that had won the year's gold metal.

Spurned by the failure, William focused hard for his next attempt and managed to squeak into second place. If the offerings from the other farmers hadn't been so lackluster, he probably wouldn't have made it that far. This year? He did research. He'd gone to more fairs, seen different winning granges, and had worked on the design for months. His display wasn't just a feast for the stomach, but for the eyes as well. He'd saved wheat that still had seed on the stalk. While canning, he'd focused on lining the beans and vegetables up perfectly. Making jams and jellies, he'd used symmetrical jars that would create the ideal field of product. Every item had been produced on his farm, chosen from the harvests to showcase the most beautiful examples.

Add in Shane's help over the last few weeks? The gold medal was his for sure.

His thoughts of the fair slowed when he saw Shane coming out of the barns, arms empty of the hoses he'd dropped off for cleaning. William snagged a bottle of whiskey from inside, taking a self-medicating swig as he waited for him to approach.

Friday had been confirmation they were electric. Monday, Shane's desperate mouth proved how good it could be. For the hundredth time, William replayed the way he'd melted into the shared embrace. If he could angle for more today he'd go for it, no hesitation.

When Shane stepped up, he held the whiskey in mute invitation.

Instead of his normal wooden guardedness, Shane appeared shy accepting the bottle. He swallowed well, and William leaned into his chair, mind playing wicked fantasies about what else he could convince him to wrap his lips around.

"So," he said, after they were seated. "Did Ma tell embarrassing stories about me when you were trapped with her?"

Shane paused over the bottle.

"Just...said you got into lots of scrapes as a kid." He glanced up, black eye prominent. "Don't believe it."

William chuckled and snapped for the whiskey.

"Babe, I stayed suspended. I was in detention so often they practically had my name spray painted to a chair. Me and my big mouth were always getting into trouble." He raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"Just suspended once."

William waited for him to elaborate.

Crickets.

"For what?" he probed. "Not answering a question when someone asked you?"

Shane picked at dirty fingernails. "Believe me if I said it was because of my own big mouth?"

"Okay, now this I got to hear."

"Not much to tell. Showed up drunk to a lab. Broke a bunch of glass tubes and shit. Told the teacher 'fuck chemistry'. The end."

William tried to picture it. Drunk, he could believe. William had been drunk all the time in high school, especially if there was a party the night before. Telling the teacher to fuck off? Ballsy. He let out a low whistle.

"Don't you know you never tell the teachers to fuck off to their face? I always just got into it with classmates." He tossed him the whiskey back, then stretched out his legs and rested socked feet on Shane's chair. "I'm impressed."

Shane met his gaze as he caught the bottle. "Bet you won every fight."

William shivered. Had anyone ever looked at him the way Shane did right now? With admiration?

"Not by a long shot. Got my arm broke in the 10th grade for being stupid. Bit off more than I could chew." He focused on the shadows stretching across the porch. They reminded him of pillars, long and straight. "Still. Managed a pretty baller cast out of it, so win/win, right?"

"Never had a cast," Shane said, the whiskey passing between them. "What's the broken arm story?"

William groaned, the remembered stupidity burning through his face. He debated sharing. It was a point of pride with some gay guys to have never dated women. And William hadn't been with girls exactly, but he hadn't been technically single either. Still, Shane hadn't judged him yet.

"So, before I came out—before I'd figured out I didn't like women—I was dating this girl. It was innocent shit. School dances, driving her around with our friends. Making sure no one bothered her at parties, nothing serious."

It hadn't been sexual. Lenore Brown. A sweet faced girl who had never pressured him. They'd gotten along well, his self-proclaimed fag-hag in high school.

"Long drama short, she was being messed with by some guys from her neighborhood. And since I was fifteen and tough shit, I thought, 'Sure, four guys at once? What's the worst that could happen?'"

The entire event had been a bad deal. If either one of them had possessed the brain God gave a rock, they would have called the police about the excessive bullying, or at least told their parents. But no. William had felt it his fucking duty.

"It was a shit show," he said. "Dumb odds. Dumb choices. Story of my fucking life."

This was the part where most guys laughed. Shane didn't.

"Four guys at once on some girl?" he said, rolling the whiskey bottle between his fingers. "Would've been harder to live with if you ignored it. You had a good reason."

It was odd for William to hear someone defend his hotheaded actions. And in all fairness, no one should. He'd hurt plenty of people with his dumbass mouth and knee-jerk temper. He frowned, studying the bruise Shane wore.

Because he'd hurt him too, hadn't he?

"This might sound shocking, but I don't always have good reasons for losing my temper," William muttered.

Shane shook his head. "You were gonna let it go, that first night. I'm the one who followed you outside."

William stared at him, heart rate increasing. The bar? Yeah…he'd been doused with water. He'd backed off, hadn't he? It'd been Shane who had torn out of The Stardrop, all sexy fury and anger.

"This?" Shane said, pointing at his eye. "I asked for, and you fucking know it. Not your fault I'm fucked up too."

Best one I ever had...which probably sounds weirder, since I was the one eating dirt.

It was more than William had hoped, the words opening up paths and possibilities he'd not let himself consider out of pure self-preservation. But despite the reassurance, he knew in his gut this wasn't how it was supposed to work. It was too dangerous to just give a guy blanket permission, wasn't it?

"Most of the time when someone wants you to hurt him, there is a safe word," William said. "I've never given you a way to make me stop."

"You stopped when it went far enough." Shane took a drink. "Been on the other side of that before. Big difference."

William was unsure how to take that; it was foreign for someone to trust his control and assume he had restraint. He plucked the bottle from Shane's lap and let his chair slide closer. "Did the other side of that break your nose?"

"Yup."

William nudged him with his toe and raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Shane asked.

"Spill the story, you close-mouthed shithead. You don't get to hear all about my four-on-one beatdown and only give me a yup when I ask about your busted snozz."

Shane snagged the whiskey back, and if William hadn't known better he'd risk calling it playful. However, once it was in his hands, Shane's face dropped into solemn lines as he stared down at the bottle.

"It's a fucked up story."

"Not your fault I'm fucked up too," William said, resting his chin on his palm. He mentally traced the set of Shane's shoulders, the way his hair fell in an unruly shag over his eyes. He wanted to remember this, to burn the image into his mind so he could return to it later.

"Grew up in a bad part of Zuzu," Shane said at last. "My neighborhood wasn't the worst of it, but lots of gangs close by. Hood parties in the middle of the street. Meth was a problem…"

William had been to rough areas of Zuzu before. He'd practically lived there when homeless and using. Dirty streets that the sweeper had ignored. Abandoned houses where he'd squatted. Those dark zones were no place for a child.

Shane pulled out a knife from his jeans. It was nothing like the pocketknife on William's utilitool. If knives were people, William's blades were uniform every-men. Shane's looked like art. Closed, it made a rectangular package of silver with a subdued design etched into the halves of the hilt.

"I dunno," he said, running his fingers over the flat surface like a worry stone. "I was a dumbass kid. Didn't like staying home so I walked around a lot. Streets were bad, but if you kept your head screwed on you didn't usually pick up trouble. But one time…there's this fucking dog, right?"

He glanced up, as if asking whether or not to continue. William knew with an animal involved this would not have a pretty ending, but he drank, giving him silent consent to go on.

Shane leaned forward, shoulders like dry rubber bands. He rolled the handle in his palm.

"Stray. No tags. Matted as shit. Hit by a car or something, and couldn't move any of his legs." A blend of sorrow and disgust crossed his face. "He's on the side of the road, and no one is around. I can't just fucking leave him there. Some homeless dog ain't gonna come back from that shit."

It was easy to visualize. Shane was preternaturally aware of the animals on the farm. He had a sixth sense with the heifers, reading their body language as clearly as if they were talking to him. He spoke softly to the chickens, like they were people. And Ingrid, recalcitrant feline though she was, never failed to show him true affection.

With a flick of his wrist Shane opened the knife. Early evening sun glinted off the sharp blade, a deadly little jewel capable of drawing pain as much as admiration.

"Was fifteen," he said, studying it. "Always carried some kind of pocketknife around. Not this one. Just, basic utility knife…"

William's chest hurt as he predicted what was coming.

People like Shane were never meant to be in those dilemmas. They needed people like William, who had sanded off their soft parts and replaced them with steel. People who knew how to make decisions about taking life without losing sleep after.

"He was just fucking laying there," Shane continued, voice gruff. "So one quick, clean mercy stab, you know?"

William did know. He pictured the impossible decision. Imagined the way the knife would slip in a sweaty palm.

"But then after…I can't just leave him there, so I go to move him to this wooded area behind the row of houses. Here comes this kid, outta fucking nowhere. Had to be on drugs. Snaps and starts screaming how I'm a sick fuck and killed his dog, and he's gonna fucking kill me."

He lifted his head, meeting William's eyes. "Wasn't his dog. That dog hadn't seen the inside of a home in at least five years."

William tensed. He'd been around plenty of fucking junkies. You could always tell the look. Dirty and torn clothes. Eyes hollow from too many missed meals. Hair matted with grime and sweat. When you were that far gone, you and reality were ex-lovers who had each other blocked. The fucker had likely been tripping hard; had seen Shane take the mercy kill and interpreted something else. He discarded the urge to touch Shane, to comfort. It was too soon for that.

"That's when he broke your nose?" he asked.

Shane nodded. "Sucker-punched. I mean, if you can still call it that when they come up raving at you. I end up on the ground, and the guy starts trying to throw these big fucking rocks at me. But his aim was shit, and I still had the knife on me…'course I pull it out on instinct…"

He opened and closed the blade several times, the movement as captivating as his quiet, resonate voice.

"Then this gunshot goes off in the distance. The kid freaks out harder. Starts backing up, still going on about how I'm fucking dead. But it spooked him. He runs, and I hear someone else calling me from a few houses down. Older guy. Seen him around loads of times, always just chilling on his porch. Fired a blank to scare the fucker off."

Shane flicked the knife again. The movement was faster and more intricate this time, handle and blade in three twirling spokes. It danced between his fingers like a deadly little bird. William's eyes followed the blur until it flipped closed, the handle acting as a sheath.

"Name was Jerry," Shane said, staring at it, as though it was giving him the rest of the story. "Told me he'd seen me around. Said I did a good job keeping to myself, then scolded the fucking shit out of me for pulling my knife. Said if I'd done it to the wrong guy, I'd be laying out there with the dog."

He did another trick, this one twice as long. The spokes crossed, like a quarter rolling between his knuckles instead of a blade. It reminded William of the first time Shane had caught his bottle opener, when he'd marveled at the reflexes.

He'd been holding back.

"Guess this old fucker was like, gang vet," he continued. "Gave me the rest of his bottle of vodka, and an old t-shirt to mop up my nose. Talked to me while I was sitting through the worst of it. Liked me, for some reason…"

He trailed off, letting the knife dangle back and forth on the hinge.

"I'm glad he was there for you," William said.

The heat of the whiskey flowed through him, and along with it the burden of Shane's story. It was humbling to be trusted with something so painful. Nothing he could say would make it better. Shit like that happened, and no amount of post-event comfort changed it.

"When they hand you your gun, it's drilled through your head to be prepared to use it if you pull it out. Knife ain't different. But the dog? Shane, you did the right thing. Trust me." His jaw clenched. "If you were the one laying out there with a broken back covered in filth, you'd probably want someone to do you in too. It was a fucking kindness."

"Thanks," Shane said, the word barely a whisper. "Fucking hated doing it. Didn't even have a good life first, you know? Just…one piece of shit to another."

William pulled his feet down from Shane's chair and put the bottle to the side. Words couldn't make this better, but there was something to be said for physical comfort in the wake of trauma.

He leaned forward, cradling Shane's face.

"Life sucks. Sometimes it sucks more for other people. That dog? He had two choices. Die slow or die fast. You made the right call, but it's okay to not be okay with that."

Shane's eyes were dry, but William wondered if when he was younger, he'd let it out for that poor dog. His thumb ran down Shane's cheek, tracing the ghost of old tears, and he kissed his forehead.

The atmosphere reminded him of the spa—the woodsy scent of whiskey thick in the humid air. William knew he ought to take it slow, let them sink into comfort for this secret tryst. However, logic was rarely his friend, and he was starving to open up. He wanted them to crawl inside each other, sharing painful burdens.

He kissed Shane's mouth, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck to lock him close.

They melted together, swimming in sensation. He heard the 'click' of the knife, Shane squeezing it shut as he pressed into the touch, opening to William's attention. He ached for validation, and Shane accepting this made his heart race.

It had never been like this with his multiple partners of the week.

During even their best months, it hadn't been like this with Cameron.

It wasn't like this with anyone else.

Shane was like him. Someone who'd been given his own version of a shit hand and yet, when William had delivered war, Shane delivered mercy.

They tasted, delving into one another, lips moving and breaths mingling. William's logical mind gave way to his instincts, and those urges demanded closeness. Connection. Completion.

Touch led to movement and they were on their feet, swaying with a fluid grace only the inebriated could manage. Steps liquid, Shane followed his lead, stumbling and correcting backwards as they kissed. William reeled with the electricity running through each caress and hungry gasp. He knew they were going fast, but he couldn't stop. It was like they'd plugged into a lightning bolt and he was being towed along, unable to see anything but Shane.

Damn the consequences. He wanted this. When Shane looked at him, he wasn't blinded by his failures, and he craved sinking into a person who didn't call him a garbage pile.

They made out like teenagers, all messy tongues, searching fingers, and grinding bodies. It was a dance of need, a rhythm they followed seamlessly, and behind them the door banged open. Shane never missed a beat, his mouth obeying William's silent demands as they staggered into his bedroom.

It was a dark, cool cave of comfort, his sanctuary on the worst days, and now he was sharing it. He wanted to offer Shane that same security; to give him the relief that came from hiding in bed behind a closed door. He kissed him as if each touch could build a wall against the awful things they'd both seen and experienced.

When they hit the mattress, William laughed, delighted. They rolled and he straddled Shane, digging his fingers into unruly dark hair, kissing him again before pulling back, panting.

Shane gave a nervous laugh, his face flushed.

William was entranced. Had he ever heard him laugh before? It reminded him of being young and falling off a merry-go-round after it had spun too fast. His heart surged and he leaned on his elbows, caging Shane's head.

"Hmmmm…" William said, leaning in, trailing kisses down his neck. "I want to do things to you. The only question is, are you going to let me?"

His thumb chased after shivers his lips created, at the pulse fluttering against ruddy skin. Shane's neck tasted like salty nirvana. William rolled his erection along his length; it was bigger than he'd anticipated, growing by the second.

God, he's thick.

"You feel that?" he whispered in Shane's ear, nipping the fleshy lobe, addicted to the way he squirmed.

Shane turned his head at the words, and William saw it—the slight hesitation, the search for reassurance in his eyes.

Just like at the fence. When Shane asked, he had to give.

William pressed his lips against his open mouth, swallowing whatever noises that tried to escape. He slid his hand over his head, fingers digging possessive circles against his scalp until Shane softened again.

Slapping his other hand against the nightstand, he jerked open a drawer, found his lube, and dropped it next to Shane's head. His gut said Shane wasn't as experienced, so he wasn't going to ruin this with a dry and lazy prep.

He made space between them, seeking buttons and zippers, looking for a gate to their pleasure.

"Let me help you feel good, Shane…I want you to feel so good," he panted, kissing his neck as he arched his hips. His spine protested the move, but he was drunk off whiskey and passion; back pain was negligible.

Shane tilted his throat into the kiss. William took the racing pulse against his lips as a plea for more. He squeezed a coin of lube into his palm, then freed their cocks from the confines of their clothes, exploring the soft velvet over pulsing hardness.

Comparisons couldn't be helped. Shane was longer than he'd appeared through his pants. William was shorter but thick, and it was a good contrast as they throbbed together, his hand working them simultaneously. He went easy at first to find the right level of pressure, taking Shane's tongue in his mouth and treating it with the same care as the dick in his fist.

Shane's eyes closed as they kissed. With each thrust William drove them faster and faster, until Shane had lost himself, bucking into the grip with delicious heat. Their shared friction was becoming too much.

"Yeah," William groaned. "Oh god, yeah Shane, like that."

He shoved his forehead into Shane's shoulder, knees bracing so he could piston his hips, matching his tempo.

"Touch me," he said, body bowing. "Put your hand over my fist. I want to feel it too."

William held tighter, almost to the point of pain, and Shane clasped his hand over top. His palm bumped into the heads of their cocks, letting William set the pace. When a sudden moan escaped his mouth, Shane turned his head and bit his lip, as though swallowing back any more sounds that threatened to come out.

Encouraged, unable to hold back, William pushed faster. Shane's hand brushing the head was driving him near the edge. He felt his balls tighten and shuddered harder, harder, harder and with a shout he came on his own chest. A coil of seed burned across his skin. With renewed motivation he pumped their hands in a frenzy, determined to drag Shane over the edge with him.

Shane tucked his head into the cradle of William's shoulder, stubble rough against his chest. Where William had given up one thick burst, Shane shot four thin stripes, legs jerking with each one as he trembled out his own completion. As the last drips oozed he dropped against the bed, mouth open, ragged breaths escaping.

Their hands were still overlapping. Slowly they released, and their cocks fell free of the grip.

The room spun as William heaved in air, floating. With a herculean effort he stripped his shirt and wiped them off, then mindful of buttons and zippers, tucked them to rights.

He flopped next to Shane, boneless. His walls were moving, swirling over his head in a kaleidoscope of weary exhilaration. Had it ever felt so good before?

I'll just...close my eyes...for a minute, he decided, mind fuzzy from the hard release. One of the best orgasms he'd had since…when? He couldn't remember.

He drifted off, fingers locked into Shane's shirt, one leg curled over as he sank into the boozy pool of exhaustion.

At first it'd been white noise chaos: panting and kisses, whispers and shivers, walls breathing, drunken spinning, and his heartbeat rushing through his ears.

Now, it was quiet.

Shane stared at the dark ceiling, listening to the tiny ticks of his watch. Soft little clicks, like those odd moments in life when he could hear himself blink. Each pause between seconds was more ominous than the last. An odd, hollow feeling dripped into his body, and ever so slowly he turned his head.

William, shirtless, passed the fuck out at his side.

He swallowed and turned back to the ceiling.

It grew worse. The longer he stared, the more the pit in his stomach expanded, until it was a great empty cavern in his chest.

It's the whiskey. You drank too much.

Except Shane had been sick off booze enough fucking times in his life to know that was a lie.

He'd felt this emptiness before; the drop after masturbating. Totally normal. Why should he expect any different just because someone else's fist had been around his cock? It was just…they'd kissed so short a time. Shane couldn't wrap his head around how fast everything had gone down. Making out on the porch one moment, then a small hurricane later and William was wiping come off his stomach; the stomach that now twisted around a void.

It was like a giant ball of depression had sunk into one concentrated spot in his body.

He's right there. He's still touching you. You're fine.

But Shane wasn't fine. William's leg was over his, but he was asleep and might as well have been a hundred miles away, because he wasn't here. Not where Shane was, staring at a rippling ceiling.

He closed his eyes.

Was it supposed to be like this?

A few days ago he'd just had his first real kiss, deep and responsive. Then today that kiss led him into its bedroom, pulled down Shane's pants, and for a few lawless minutes thrust him so hard into his body that he couldn't overthink it.

But now here he was, laying on these sheets…what did it mean? What did it mean when you kissed a guy three separate times in one day, and called him babe, and brought him back to your bedroom? William said they were a secret, but a secret what? Secret exploration? Secret boyfriends?

Secret fuckbuddies?

The last thought made Shane want to hurl.

You just had sex. Your stupid virgin ass finally hooked up with someone. Any other guy would be fucking happy. They'd enjoy it and pass out, and not sit here on the edge of tears like a fucking baby.

He pushed the heel of his hand into his eyes.

Most men got accused of thinking with the wrong head, but Shane didn't relate to that. He never dreamed of being fucked by some attractive guy on the street. Growing up, he'd always jerked to abstract fantasies, faceless men. Eventually those fantasies turned more specific, but were always with the same person—Shane preferring the familiarity of Garrett's imagined arms over the primal excitement of a random hot body. Then after his death, he'd gone back to the faceless men.

Until he met William.

Shane wanted so badly to wake him. To have him do his William-thing, where he made whatever Shane was going through better. Like on his porch, when he let Shane scream and didn't leave his side. He needed him present, and not even for a scream. A whisper would be enough. One or two words of reassurance. Because Shane wasn't fucking ready for this, or at least not this version of events, where he didn't get to find out what it meant.

After what they just did, he should be able to curl into William's side. That was allowed, right?

But he didn't. He couldn't. That's what clingy teenagers did. One intimate moment shared, and suddenly slapping labels on shit, planning their weddings. He'd been one of those idiot teens once.

He felt so young and stupid.

It was still preternaturally silent in that dim, cool bedroom. Shane closed his eyes, listening to the ticking of his watch for far too long, until William's breathing grew loud enough to join it. Between the two noises, his restless brain finally passed out.