“Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do for you. In fact, I can say the same to you for last night.”
That hung there.
Finally, Graham spoke.
“I don’t know what to call you,” he admitted. “You signed the note with Michael. I don’t know him,” he admitted. “I only know D’Artangnan. I guess a lot has happened in the seven and a half years.”
Yes, yes, a lot had.
But then again, it still felt the same.
That confused the hell out of Michael.
It really did.
He was perched between Graham’s legs, and his back was against the man’s chest. It was so goddamn familiar, and he wanted to weep.
Once, he’d had a nightmare, and woke up to thrashing around. Graham had put him in this position, with his legs over his hips and around his waist to keep him safe and hold him locked to his body.
Restrictive, but protective.
In that moment, he felt…safe.
Again.
The man had saved him, and now, so many feelings and emotions were stirred up—much like in that hideous lake water.
He was grateful that Graham had been there, and was now keeping him warm.
He could feel his nakedness against him, and it was like the seven and a half years apart never happened. Michael was back in that small apartment with the person he’d given his heart to out of love and trust.
“Yo-u-u sav-v-ved me.”
Yes, yes, he did.
And he would have died in his place. Only, after last night, he didn’t go there. Instead, he fought to stay in the here and now.
You couldn’t change the past.
No matter how much you wanted to.
For now, this was about that moment, and Graham had to play the cards that the universe had dealt him.
“You were always worth saving,” he said, softly, and then regretted even saying it out loud.
Why?
Well, maybe because this man had moved on, and there was no point in getting attached to him again.
That ship had sailed.
The silence from D’Artangnan was poignant and it left little to the imagination.
Well, he might as well make a total arse of himself while he had the chance.
Why not?
His ego liked a proper thrashing on a daily basis.
