The room was cool, William's mouth hot.
Shane was used to alcohol slowing his thoughts, but never making them silent. Right now the only sound was the slip of wet lips as William led them across the room, his tongue delving deeper with each stride. He reached the edge of the bed and groaned, pulling Shane down, rolling over top of him. The pillows smelled like his woodsy aftershave; Shane went slack against the sheets, lost in the scent, in the feel of his hands sliding over William's velvety-soft scalp. He had no concept of time. Just long, hot kisses, and William's heavy chest on his.
It wasn't like last time, when they'd rushed to bed in a flurry of grappling zippers. Tonight they'd brought home the languid, steamy atmosphere of the spa, and Shane liked this pace. A lot. He liked William's bedroom with its neat, king-sized bed and dark masculine furniture. He liked how anchoring those heavy silhouettes were, the way they kept him in the moment.
William rolled to his side, tugging Shane to face him. The lights were off but the door ajar, a faint glow emitting from the kitchen and filling the room with shadows. With a soft sigh, William tucked an arm under Shane's neck and cradled his head, the other hand lazily stroking up and down his side.
"I've been moving too recklessly, Shane. Show me how you need me."
In the short time they'd known one another, there'd been so many moments William had felt like a shield against the harshness of the world. But tonight, tucked into the heat of his embrace, Shane felt more than protected.
He felt truly, deeply safe.
"Been an idiot," he whispered.
William tucked closer, fingers sliding an inch under the hem of Shane's shirt. "Me too."
"You?" A shiver trailed down Shane's back. "How? You've been…"
Way more forgiving than I deserve.
"Because," said William, hand sliding further up his shirt. "If I were smarter, I'd have figured out that you don't do things half-assed."
His lips brushed Shane's forehead, the corner of his eye, then down to his mouth where he worked them slow and hungry once more.
Shane wasn't as smooth or practiced as his lover. But so what? Here in this bubble of safety, it didn't matter. He felt no fear of rejection as his hands explored William's neck and torso, not even when he experimentally slipped a finger into the waistband of his pants.
William gave a hmmm of approval, hips shifting closer.
Shane tucked another finger into the band, heart thumping as he touched the bare skin. William pressed into his thigh, forcing him to feel the hard bulge beneath his jeans. "It's okay," he whispered. "It feels good."
Good? More like surreal.
But it wasn't like other surreal moments in Shane's life, when he disappeared into disconnection and apathy. Tonight was like falling into a dream where he could function the way he wanted, without overthinking or poisoning the moment.
He drew his fingers out of the waistband and grabbed the hem of William's shirt. Sensing what he wanted, William reached behind his neck and jerked it off.
"Touch me," he demanded, tossing it to the side. "Wherever you want, okay? I like it."
Shane had adjusted to the low light and could see William's figure perfectly: the muscles, the outline of his tattoos. He stroked the firm bicep, and thought of all the afternoons he'd watched him working the fields from afar. About the time William stitched his brow on the porch, bare chested, when Shane's eyes had danced over his ink and scars.
Since when was this allowed? Why was it okay to lay in bed touching any man—let alone one who set his emotions on fire—without a barrage of toxic voices in his head? The only voice here was William's.
Shane slid his hand back, feeling the rivets along William's spine. He thought of the story he'd listened to in the spa, how parasites had lived in him while he was stuck in wet ground and surrounded by other men's scattered limbs. The image was dark and grotesque, something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. Yet god—if touching those bumps didn't make Shane harder.
"I covered them," William said quietly. "Used to be when I was in recovery, people would stare. Go to the beach? It's like I could feel eyes on them. Ugly puckered welts that told the world I was a gimpy fuck."
An echo of heartache rang under the simple words.
So the tattoos weren't just a preference. They were a way to hide, because William hated what other people saw.
If there was anything so fucking relatable…
Shane didn't tell William they weren't ugly, and he didn't tell him that while touching those bumps, he felt more attuned to him than ever. It was hard not to make that sound messed up. He just ran his fingers down each ridge, unable to keep his eyes off the man in front of him.
William was, in this moment, so damn human.
It was an odd thing to think. Of course he was human. Yet until now, even in the midst of all their touches, he'd felt untouchable to Shane.
"If it weren't for this," Shane said, fingers trailing to the next rivet, "you probably wouldn't be here."
William watched his face.
"Maybe. Mostly it's because I didn't want my grandpa's land to be eaten by shitty relatives. But yeah. If I hadn't been injured, I wouldn't have needed a place to stay, either."
Shitty relatives. Guess everybody had some of those. Images popped into Shane's head, first Corey and Trudy in the hospital room, and then a snapshot of William, Angie, and Henry at the fair. He remembered thinking how far below William's world he was that day. And out in public, that was probably still true. But here alone in his bedroom, touching the parts William wanted to keep hidden from that world?
"Don't like being seen either," he whispered.
William softly threaded fingers through his hair. "You know what I see when I look at you?"
Shane shook his head.
"I see someone like me. I see a man who was given a shit hand, and has done his best." William eased onto his back, guiding Shane's hand to the eagle wing tattooed on his pec. "Someone who doesn't flinch when they see my dark side. Someone I could…" He swallowed. "Someone who could mean a lot to me, if he thought I was worth the effort."
Shane stared at the eagle, at the trail of broken feathers that led down to sleek hipbones and disappeared beneath William's jeans.
If Shane took off his own shirt, William would see a softer, hairier chest, and a beer belly pushing over his waistband—a body that didn't have a prayer of matching, even with all the improvements from physical labor these last few months.
Was he shallow? Browsing online or in magazines, he'd always gravitated to men like William and Garrett. Fit, beautiful, smooth men; never average messes like himself.
He remembered calling William a faggot on their first meeting, and tried to think what had possessed him to say that to a total stranger. Something about having a deathwish. Rude people who invaded space bubbles, and not caring whether he lived or died that night. Then he remembered what he'd told William in the spa…about why he liked being hit.
"Thinking too much," he mumbled.
There was a beat of silence. Right as Shane wondered if he'd been heard, William surged up, and in a single swift motion flipped Shane to his back with the same effort he'd use to toss a fifty-pound bag of feed.
"Ask me what I want," he ordered, settling between Shane's thighs.
Shane swallowed, heart in his throat. "W-what do you want?"
"I want you to kiss me."
Without missing a beat, he took Shane's mouth in a hard, powerful kiss, and with the same force gripped his hip to grind their erections together.
"Know what else I want?" he panted, pulling back.
The room spun; Shane shook his head and William ground harder, letting him feel every inch of his bulge.
"I want to take off your pants and give that poor cock of yours a break from all that thinking."
On cue, Shane's dick jumped. He licked his lips, eyes going back and forth between William's. "Last time…" he whispered.
The grinding slowed.
"Last time," William agreed, brushing a thumb over his eyebrow. "Last time…you said you didn't know what it meant." He took a deep breath, then laid his head on Shane's shoulder. "It means that I want to be with you, Shane."
"Even if I'm not out."
"Yes."
Even if I'm stunted. And inexperienced. And feel like a goddamn teenager again.
"Even if you're starting at, like, point zero," Shane stressed, uncertain.
"No bad habits to untrain," William said matter-of-factly, propping up on one elbow.
"But I might suck. You're agreeing to this and you don't even know how fucking bad I might suck."
William grinned. "Babe, I'm sort of hoping you're going to really like sucking, so…not a dealbreaker."
Shane rolled his head to look at the nightstand, surprised to see it empty. He needed booze. Last time they'd fooled around, they'd been so wasted. But this current mild drunkenness, and these thoughts of William in his mouth, that made him both very scared and very hard…
"Need more whiskey," he mumbled.
William's body was thrumming. Whiskey? At this stage in the game there wasn't a thing booze would do other than ruin their perfectly good hard-ons. He ran fingers down Shane's cheek, his needs making his focus sharp.
"Babe, no. Trust me. We're in a good spot right here."
Experimentally, William slid his hand down the lightly furred chest. He could feel Shane's heart going rabbit-fast. "You remember what you said? About pain?"
"Yeah..."
In the stillness of the room, Shane's word had the impact of a sigh.
William took an inch of skin between his thumb and forefinger, pinching. He increased the pressure, heart pounding in anticipation. The effect was beautiful. Shane's breathing hitched, an expression of tranquility washing over the nervousness on his face.
So this is what you need, William thought, twisting the pinch sharper. The flesh was soft and would bruise as he broke blood vessels under the skin. Unlike their previous encounter, this dark stain would linger. William might be Shane's secret, but he wouldn't be someone Shane could ignore. His shirt would cover the mark, but he'd see the effect of their connection every time he had to shower or change.
As William tortured the skin, Shane's body painted his submission. Yet, his eyes took on an air of challenge, as if to say, Do better.
So he did. He let go of the red, marked skin with his fingers and leaned down, biting into the tender flesh. Shane sucked in air, curling towards the pain, then relaxing as William turned the bite into a suck. It wasn't the gentle and accidental hickey that someone would leave after a clumsy make-out session. It was the intentional marking of ownership.
William traced Shane's long cock against his pants. As soon as he sucked harder on the bruise Shane's body arched, groin pressing up against William's exploratory fingers. He was rock hard.
Good.
William leaned back, blowing cool air over the bruise. "Ask me what I want."
"What do you want?" Shane panted.
William stroked the needy cock. "I want to taste you. Tell me I can."
Underneath his other hand, Shane's heart rate was rapid.
"You can…" he said, voice breathy.
Consent acquired, William opened his jeans and yanked them down. He bent over to take Shane's cock between his lips, wetting the head with his tongue. He tasted clean, skin soft from the hot water of the spa. William rubbed his bearded cheek over the shaft before kissing the base and dragging to the tip. When he raised his eyes to check in, Shane was watching him, entranced.
William kept his gaze as he went down, pulling hot flesh between his lips. He cupped throbbing balls, letting his mouth make wet sucking sounds as he took him deeper, rubbing his tongue along that pulsing vein. He held the cock still with his mouth and slid one hand over Shane's hip and back to his purpling flesh, then dug his thumb into the bruise.
Shane covered his eyes with one arm, swallowing back a moan. His other hand closed on William's neck, a plea to continue.
William abandoned the bruise, both hands going to Shane's hips. He twisted his mouth, coaxing harder and harder. The fingers curling against his neck urged him faster.
Cocksucking was an art. One didn't just shove their mouth down and suck the root like a popsicle. It was also a hand job with love. A well-performed cocksucking would give a partner an orgasm and make him feel cared for. William replayed how Shane liked to be touched and stroked. He took his time, paying attention to the bottom and moving all the way back to the tip. He was long, so William used his fist to keep the friction consistent and unrelenting. He raised his gaze, meeting Shane's when his mouth was full.
Shane didn't moan or talk. He was all breaths, twitches, and writhing against the bed. But it was a language, if William could learn it. Each roll of his body was a sentence, each new burst of sweat and tightening of fingers on his neck an essay of how much he wanted this. When he shoved his silent partner over that edge, it was going to be hard and fast.
William's cock strained for relief, the loose workout pants giving it plenty of room to grow and seek. He ground his hips into the bed and relaxed his throat to swallow Shane deeper, fist tight around the base—earning his first audible groan of pleasure.
The moan felt like a victory, pulled out of Shane's shy mouth against his will. Shane's balls tightened in warning and he jerked, one hand gripping the sheets.
William wasn't going to let him come in his mouth. They hadn't been tested yet, and fluid-sharing this early in a relationship wasn't wise, even if Shane was a virgin. He could taste the salty hint of pre-come, and common sense told him to pull off.
Few more seconds…just a little longer…
He lost himself in the act, coaxing out barely-heard cries that made him push for more. He was going to stop after he had him on the edge. He was going to finish him with his hand and be smart. He was in control, and could quit any time he wanted. Then Shane began to arch and William realized it was too late: a hot and musky load shot onto his tongue, and he jerked his head up, gasping, swallowing out of habit and instinct.
Any regret for not having more self control died the moment he tasted him.
In for a copper, in for a gold. Whatever happened, they'd get through it together. He pumped Shane, watching him with possessive satisfaction. He let the second and third stripe cross his chest, painting himself in Shane's beautiful release. Underneath, Shane was gasping and panting, his body twitching. It was primal, the most free he'd ever seen him.
Gently, William released Shane's over-sensitive cock and crawled over him, seeking his lips, needing to give reassurance. He pressed Shane down against the bed and rubbed the creamy spend into his bare skin, letting him feel what they'd done together. He let the kiss tell him things, things neither of them had managed to figure out with words. That he was important. That he mattered. That he wasn't going to let him go.
Shane clung back to the demands. It was a silent promise that he could take what William gave him, a begging not to stop. Only when William knew they needed to breathe did he release his lips, a cloud of shared wheezes between their mouths while their bodies remained tight and close.
"S-sorry," Shane stammered. "T-tried to warn you…"
William kissed his forehead, pushing acceptance into the touch, then flopped onto his bare chest and snaked an arm around him.
"Tskay," he said between his own breaths. "It was good. Really good."
He pulled the blanket at the foot of the bed over them, tucking Shane into a spoon. His cock throbbed with need but he ignored it. He didn't want to rush him. He wanted Shane to be able to roll in it, to know he was safe.
For a while it was enough, the closeness, the heat. Yet, as the silence lingered, William began to drift. Afraid he was going to fall asleep like the first time, he ran his hand down, stroking the bruise he'd made on Shane's chest, the barest touch and reminder that he existed.
"Talk to me," William whispered. "Tell me what's in that spaghetti warehouse...keep me here, Shane."
The walls breathed. Shane's nipple was hot and throbbing from the bite, his cock so sensitive the air hurt. Talk to him? No thanks. The spaghetti warehouse was closed. William had dumped all its contents into a blender.
He shut his eyes, still breathing hard, for once letting the sensations roll through his body without trying to make sense of them. William didn't press him to speak, just tucked him close as a final drops leaked from the tip of his dick. Shane shivered, staying quiet in his arms until he'd begun to soften.
He licked his lips.
"I want…I mean, maybe I could…"
"Tell me," William ordered, gentle.
Shane was exhausted. He wanted to swim in this closeness and comfort he'd been denied last time, to bathe in this warm reassurance that it was more than a fling. But he also knew if he stayed in William's snug hold any longer he'd pass out, and as his thoughts trickled back in, there was one at the forefront: he needed to make William feel as good as he did.
Uncertainly, Shane moved his hand to William's waist and slipped one finger behind the belt.
William crooked a smile.
"I get it," he crooned, bass rumbling through the room. He rolled his hips to give Shane more space. "You like to show, not tell."
Shane's focus on his own pleasure melted at the sight of William's mass pushing against his jeans.
Before he could stop for doubts, he sat up and reached for the belt. Not used to undoing pants from this angle, his stupid, clumsy hands made several attempts before the buckle fell open with a metallic clink. He fumbled with the button, then the zipper, which snagged twice. His cheeks reddened as he worked it down.
"Sorry…"
William shifted his hips so he could be pulled free.
"I told you," he said, guiding Shane's hand over the head of his cock. "No bad habits to unlearn. It's okay."
William's fingers wrapped over his, beginning to stroke with both their hands.
It shouldn't have been a big deal. Shane had a cock of his own; he didn't need a fucking instruction manual on how to use one. But he'd never touched another before William's, and his felt silkier than Shane's, and so much thicker too. Last time they'd done this it was all William, Shane only cupping the tip. But this time…
"Feels good," William whispered.
His eyes drifted shut and he released Shane's hand, giving him the freedom to lead. It didn't take long for instinct to kick in. Shane rubbed faster, finding a rhythm, gaining confidence with each flex of William's hips. Before he could overthink it, he leaned in and wrapped his lips around the head of his cock.
Warm. Musky.
William gave a low, gravelly groan, hand winding around Shane's neck. When Shane slid to take him deeper, he pushed into the heat of his mouth.
"That's good," he said, deep and strained, as though biting back another moan. "Just like that…"
Though Shane had already had his turn, William's stupidly hot voice—his stupidly hot taste and smell—turned him on all over again. On one of the thrusts, his dick hit the back of Shane's throat. He gagged but it wasn't enough to make him stop; the sound turned him on almost as much as William's noises and he went for it again, holding longer, coughing then pulling back with a string of saliva.
One deep gasp of air, then right back to sucking.
He cupped William's heavy balls, pushing against their swollen base. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in the sensation of his mouth being filled for the first time. It was better than he'd hoped, William thick and already tasting of salt. It was making him long to be hard again. It was—
"I'm close," William growled.
Shane didn't stop, up and down, his tongue working over the firm shaft. William squeezed the back of his neck.
"Not in your mouth," he gasped, yanking Shane off on the upstroke. "H—haven't been tested in over six months…"
He was trembling from holding back, and Shane was determined not to ruin the rhythm. He kept thrusting his fist over the ready-to-burst member as he climbed onto William's lap, aiming at his already-soiled shirt.
William gripped his shoulder, crying out and shooting a thick, pearly stream.
Twice more he painted Shane's shirt, then shuddered and sagged, his legs falling open. Shane didn't know what was better: the musk he could taste on his lips, or the sight of the boneless, breathless man in front of him.
William tugged his wrist, pulling him down into an embrace.
"That was mindblowing," he whispered, shaky.
Shane sagged, closing his eyes as William pressed a sloppy kiss to his forehead. Something stirred deep inside of him.
It wasn't just the sensation of William's warm lips on his skin. It wasn't just the afterglow of their orgasms. It was everything. Whatever had been holding Shane together began to unravel.
William said he wanted to be with him, and these touches felt like promises. Yet Shane knew 'be with' could mean different things to different people. For him, it meant wanting William as far into the future as he dared to dream possible. But for William, who called him babe and kissed his forehead, did it mean the same thing?
"How much longer you got before you have to go home?" William asked.
Shane closed his eyes. "Not long enough."
"Do you like it?" William pulled the blanket higher. "It's gotta be nice, not to be alone at home. People around. Someone to cook…"
Shane didn't know how to answer. The truth was, more often than not, he'd fantasized about living alone, having no one rely on him, and no one to disappoint.
"It's…better than what I had before," he admitted.
"What was it like before?"
Several seconds passed.
"Shitty."
Shane didn't want to get into this now. Not here, in this place of kisses and blankets and warm arms, of woodsy musky pillows, where everything felt so good.
"Know about shitty," William said. Then his voice went quieter. "Can I tell you something?"
"Yeah, 'course."
"When I'm around you, things suck less."
Shane played with the corner of the blanket. "Don't like living there, Will. But makes me feel like an ungrateful piece of shit to say that. I'm lucky. But it's just…it's not like being around you."
"You're not ungrateful for wanting to fit somewhere," William said, tucking him closer.
It'd been years since Shane had talked to someone like this. Back before the crash, and losing the one person who listened. Before he'd turned into the barely functioning alcoholic he was now. Before he'd had to move back to that toxic shithole he'd grown up in, and learn that it was even more toxic as an adult.
He shook his head against William's chest. "Marnie drives me nuts, okay. But she got me and Jas out of a bad fucking situation, and she's put up with a ton of my crap since. So yeah, I'm an ungrateful shit. I've put her through the wringer."
William was quiet.
"Jas is a good kid," he said at last. "And I don't care, you know? So you have a little girl. So what? Doesn't bug me to be with a guy who's a parent."
A new, uncomfortable sensation crept down Shane's spine. How had he never thought about that before? It was the truth. He was a guy with a kid. A parent. He had baggage, and didn't need experience in the dating world to know that was usually a bad thing.
But then, William was saying it was okay.
"Be with," Shane repeated, rolling the corner of the blanket. "You said it'd been six months since you've…since you…"
He focused on the fabric, rolling it tighter, fingertips going white. The thought of William lying in bed with anyone else drove him crazy.
"If we do this, it's just us?" he finally blurted. "Just me and you?"
William pulled back, zeroing in on his face. "If we do this? It's just us. I'm not a cheater, Shane."
Shane's cheeks grew warm. "I wasn't saying that. Just, maybe you had a different idea. I wouldn't blame you. I'm not out. How can I ask you to only see me, when this is all I can do?"
William shrugged.
"It's not a bad idea to clarify, Shane. I've not exactly found someone worth sticking around in the past four years. And my last exclusive relationship ended when my ex threw my shit out the window. Which happened to be my fault. So maybe instead of asking why I'm willing to come visit your closet, you should be wondering why a slice of dick like me is still single."
Shane shot him a look. "Joke all you want. Maybe you should be wondering why you're going after a guy who's been single for thirty years. Some would call that a red fucking flag."
In a flash William rolled over top of him, folding his hands on his chest.
"Shane," he said, resting his chin there, staring down in amusement. "Red is my favorite color."
Well, that was good, considering it was the color Shane's face turned every time William talked to him. He didn't smile though, just quietly looked up.
"Cameron threw your shit out?"
William sighed. He rolled off, putting an arm over his face. "Yup."
Shane thought back to the conversation he'd overheard in the hay loft. Back then, he'd thought William was the one who'd broken it off, while Cam still harbored an ocean-liner of feelings, and in his jealousy, Shane had imagined a hundred different scenarios of how it'd gone down.
Not in one of them did Cam chuck William's shit out a window.
He didn't want to confess to eavesdropping, but it'd be wrong to pretend he knew nothing.
"So," he said, letting his eyes drift to the ceiling. "You're supposed to be honest and shit. When you're dating someone."
He paused, waiting for some small acknowledgment that it was okay to use the d-word.
"Alright," William said, tone flat. Then, as though buckling in for a story: "I told you I was addicted to heroin, right?"
Shane's heart sank at realizing he'd misinterpreted that as a request.
"Yeah…"
"So it didn't start out that way. Used to just be painkillers from surgery, stuff they give you when you're post-op. Well, it didn't last. My body fast metabolizes or some shit. And Cameron is a nurse practitioner. He could prescribe medications, like a doctor."
As if it would assist his confession, William reached up and began petting Shane's head.
Shane ignored the rustling thoughts, the painful memories stirring at the touch. This was was allowed to feel these things for the man running fingers through his hair.
"So anyway," William said, oblivious. "Cam is clueless about where he leaves his shit. Pens, notebooks, workout clothes. Bus passes and car keys. You name it, he could lose it. So one day after his night shift, I took his script pad. Forged a bunch of refills, and then, you know…nearly lost him his license."
The words dropped heavy as barbells. Shane remembered being in the spa, touching the rivets from William's surgery. Cam had seen firsthand the vulnerability under those scars, and whatever Shane's opinion of the shoulder-sweatered socialite, he knew the truth: Cameron had loved William. He and Shane were two of the only people in the world to understand that beneath the unbreakable exterior, he was human.
But there was one thing Cameron couldn't understand.
The need for a fix clawed through your entire being. What addict hadn't been an asshole? What addict hadn't lied, hurt, and scared loved ones?
Shane was all out of stones, too.
"I dunno," he said at last. "Maybe I shouldn't have an opinion about him. Don't know the whole story."
William shrugged. "Shit between me and Cam has been dead a long time, but he just got out of an abusive marriage. For some fucked up reason, he sees me not burning my life from both ends like the bad old days, and comes sniffing around like we have a chance."
He rolled onto his side, looking at Shane. "I can't go back to that, babe. I can't just turn on feelings we both killed. I'm not the same dependent fucker who couldn't wipe his own ass or hold down a job. And you don't try to change me. You don't think I'm a useless piece of shit because of my past. That's why I'll move into your damn closet, and order us some take-out, okay? Because this? It's not anything I've felt before with anyone else."
With anyone else.
"What I said, about being honest," Shane began, the words burning in his chest. "I wasn't trying to pry into that. I was trying to tell you I was there in the loft, the day he came over. Overheard you guys talking in the barn and froze up."
William blinked, looking stunned. "Oh."
"Sorry," Shane mumbled. "Should've told you sooner. Asshole thing to do, listen in."
The stunned look didn't last long. William resumed the head petting.
"I'm sorry you had to see that go down. I'm not at my best when I'm fighting with him."
"You just…seemed so uncomfortable."
"Most people would see that sort of thing as a red flag. Did you worry about getting involved with me after watching us fight?"
"What? Why would I? Will, I'm a fucking walking red flag. I was only worried about him bothering you..."
William kissed his forehead. "Do you know that outside of my mom, no one worries about me?"
"Didn't like him touching you," Shane said, ears growing warm.
"Then don't let anyone else touch me again. Because if you don't care about red flags, I don't care about closets. I want you to give me a shot."
The idea that had haunted Shane for months surfaced again: too good to be true. This time, though, it held no water. It was as if his brain had provided those words out of reflex. He was lying in the bed of a man he'd completely fallen for, sweaty and messy from sex, listening to how much he wanted them to be together.
Maybe you just had to find someone whose red flags matched yours.
Shane kissed him.
William let the kiss linger, but didn't chase it. After it was done he tucked Shane in as the little spoon.
"Is that a yes?" he whispered, voice gravelly in Shane's ear.
He knew what William meant. But part of him—a dumb, young, stupid part—wanted so badly to hear the words.
"A yes what?" he asked, heart beating fast.
"Will you be my boyfriend?"
Shane closed his eyes. He hugged William's thick forearm to his chest, the world still and quiet.
"Yes."
William brushed off the leaves from his jeans. He'd been deadheading and pruning the new rose plant at his grandparents' memorial. The hardy strain of flowers thrived with minimum care, and blended into the older plants that Pops had put in ten years ago. In the spring, the multicolored blooms gave softness and life to the stone altar. Yet, even with the thorny bushes dead, William found the stark site comforting. His grandfather's kindness was only evident to those who got to know him. The monument reflected that same need for discovery.
Four candles were lit, framing the carved Joseph David Bauer and Gloria Anne Bauer.
William wiped down the granite, shining up the glossy finish. His grandfather had taught him how to care for the altar during summers. He'd explained it all while lovingly cleaning Gloria's etchings and caring for her flowers. The memorial was a project of the heart. His grandfather had found the stone, polished it himself, and then planted every shade of red and pink rose he could find. They were her favorites. When William had inherited The Bowery, he'd commissioned Pops' name next to hers. Inseparable in death, as they'd been in life.
Pops had told him a lot of stories about his grandmother out here. How they'd met, all the times she'd caught his father misbehaving. All the ways she'd made life worth living. After all those days of talking about their marriage, it felt the perfect place to explain his own new relationship.
"You'd have liked him," he told his grandparents as he dusted leaves into the compost bucket. "He's quiet. Steady. And you always said I needed someone steady."
The wind drifted through the trees and for a moment he thought he could smell the rich waft of his grandfather's tobacco and cologne.
"It's not going to be an easy road, but he's real," William said, straightening with the bin. "And comfortable. Like when you two would sit on those old porch swings. Like when Ma and Dad are together."
A flush rose to his neck at saying it out loud.
He looked around before turning away from the memorial to fetch the hose. After power-washing off a year's worth of dirt, he couldn't help the smile that stretched his face. Shane had put that smile there.
Two years ago, William'd arrived in this town, a lost dog in search of home. Now? He felt like that myth of adulthood was within reach. He'd learned how to farm. He'd learned how to take care of animals, and to get by on his own sheer grit. And if Shane didn't get spooked and leave him again, he was going to learn how to be someone's partner.
"Maybe putting the cart before the horse," he murmured, turning off the hose and winding it.
But then again, maybe not.
Who else had he been with in the last ten years that made him feel like an equal? Who else stood boot-to-boot on his property, saw his vision, and not only carried it out, but knew how to make it easier?
Shane. That was who.
He stacked the hose in the wheelbarrow that he'd hauled the supplies out in, then spread pine straw around the base of the bushes.
When he looked up from the mulching, he could see a flicker of color deep in the brambles. There was a living rose—a late bloomer, and the last one of the year. It was smaller than the roses that came out in the spring, but no less vivid and bright. All he had to do was work around the thorns.
Slow and careful, William pulled a few branches left and right until he'd opened a path. Some of the needle-sharp bushes scratched through his shirt as he worked. He aimed his shears and took a breath, then cut the flower free of its thorns.
The petals were deep red, perfectly formed. He drew it out, not wanting to ruin it on the removal. Once untangled from the barbs, he held it up. It was beautiful.
He tucked the treasure to the side and finished the cleaning. As he pushed the wheelbarrow towards his house, the flower in his front pocket, his mind rested on how good it was with Shane.
Despite his issues, Shane was like that rose. Vibrant and soft, if only you could pull back the thorns.
Worth the effort.
"I'll probably go with Juniper," Jas said, sniping Shane's military commander square in the forehead.
The man with the blond buzz-cut crumpled in a pool of blood on screen. For weeks, Shane had stuck with the busty secretary character in an attempt to remove any reminder of William. But tonight, he was back to his old tattooed favorite.
Playing him again under Jas's nose felt taboo.
It was a familiar feeling these days. Like coming home after work, speaking to his family with William's kisses on his lips. Or keeping the shirt William had lent him for the spa, then wearing it under his hoodie while out making liquor runs. Or rushing to the farm on Saturday to help with an 'emergency,' like his boss's dick being too dry.
William was everywhere, yet no one suspected.
"Or maybe Misty," Jas continued, oblivious. "Or Mercedes!"
Shane gave her a squinty side-eye. "Mercedes the cat?"
"Well, William named his cat Ingrid," she pointed out, as if that were the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.
Before having to admit that he very much liked the name Ingrid, the bedroom door creaked open and Shane saw Marnie standing with her hand on the frame.
"Change of plans for supper. Lewis is going to drop by with a pizza from Gus's." She glanced at Shane. "Just a heads up, if you…had other plans."
Other plans, like preferring to eat one of Gus's pizzas at a solo table in the saloon.
Ever since the trip to the hospital, things between Shane and his aunt had taken a turn for the better. Or at least, they had once he'd gotten his head out of his ass about William. Apparently Marnie had ascribed those dark days to Shane seeing his dad, and after he'd resurfaced, she'd been treating him with newfound respect. She shared knowing looks with him, ones that said they were on the same page. She honored his privacy more. And now, when Lewis came over, she gave him proper warnings in case he'd rather be alone.
Strangely, that made the visits easier to stomach.
Shane leaned back against the cushions, waiting on his player to resurrect. "No plans."
Marnie's shoulders relaxed and she smiled. "Good. Now, when you two fini—"
Then her smile dropped as she noticed the game, and the halo of blood around Shane's dead character. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"For goodness sake," she muttered, turning toward the hall. "Come out when you're done being morbid!"
Shane looked at Jas, who looked back at him and giggled.
The season was changing. It seemed like yesterday that William had nudged Shane's elbow on their walk to the spa, suggesting the leaves were about to drop. Now the ground was covered in red, orange, and yellow. On cold mornings frost turned it into a crunchy mosaic, thawing in the late autumn sun.
The Bowery's fields grew emptier, the same way Joja's stock had trickled off the shelves in its final days. Plot by plot, crops died and flattened the land. Piece by piece, equipment was used for the last time then hauled to the shed to be cleaned and stored. William talked to Shane about the new work they'd be taking on. Winterizing the property. Preparing for calving next month. Dealing with the surplus of artisan goods from their abundant harvest. Most exciting, William was going to teach Shane his home brewing process. Together they'd expand the business, earning better profits and giving more people access to The Good Shit.
After another morning of hard, dirty labor it was lunchtime. They returned to the house and kicked off their boots, William grabbing a glass of water while Shane pulled out leftovers from the fridge. In the corner of his eye, he saw a single red rose on the center of the table.
It was tiny but beautiful, the bright burst of life a welcome sight after so many shriveled crops.
Trying to be casual, Shane nodded at the flower.
"Another admirer from the fair?"
William, who'd just pulled off his sweaty shirt, proceeded to throw it at Shane's head. Shane ducked, his cheeks turning pink as always when they swapped from work to play. He grabbed his steaming dish from the microwave and settled at the table.
"From your mom?" he asked, more seriously.
"Nah." William popped his own plate in the microwave. "Ma buys flowers, she doesn't pick them."
He busied himself at the counter, bare back on display. It was like he knew his ink still had the power to drive Shane crazy. When the food was done he sat down across from him, finally meeting his eyes.
"When I was cleaning up Pops' spot, I saw that there was one rose left in the bush. Last bloom of the season." William speared a potato, shrugging. "Reminded me of you."
Shane looked at the flower and blinked.
"Oh," was all he could manage.
But his face flushed from pink to as red as the petals.
He couldn't stop staring at the rose during lunch. He thought about it all afternoon, and it was still on his mind come quitting time.
They sat down on the porch steps, William offering the neck of his bottle to clink against Shane's. They drank, then Shane leaned against William's broad shoulder. A gold sunset descended on the horizon and turned the farmland to bronze.
Quitting time had always been his favorite part of the day. Before becoming William's secret, he'd loved the shared beers and conversation after work. But lately, it was more. It was breathless kisses and desperate hands. It was a red rose on the center of the table; a rose that reminded William of Shane, and sat in his kitchen where anyone could see it.
He thought, unexpectedly, of Lewis. Shane had once hated him for keeping his relationship with Marnie a secret. But last night, Lewis had joined the Daniels for supper, and Marnie had glowed with a smile as warm as the sunset in front of Shane now. It was the same smile she'd worn at the Stardew Valley Fair, when Lewis had walked hand-in-hand with her through the square.
Then he thought again of the flower on the table. Hidden in plain sight. Like him.
Shane reached over, taking his boyfriend's hand and intertwining their fingers.
One day, he'd be brave enough. The season was changing.
Hey everyone! Thank you so, so much for joining us on this journey. Unfortunately, this is the end of William and Shane's story. For now.
See, Star Burst was originally planned as the first book in a four book series. As a team of two writers, we have had a blast writing together. However, we are also writers who want to make this our living one day. Rather than continue in the avenue of fanfiction, we are going the way of original fiction. If you'd like to see what we have coming (including rewriting Star Burst and continuing this as an original series), please, please find us on tumblr, gingerdrakewrites. We also have a discord you can find from there, or message us about. We've loved sharing this story with you, and whether you follow us in the future or end here, thank you so much for reading! Best wishes into the new year.