“Nope.”
Javier snickered. “You want me to go get a washcloth?”
“Yep,” Bowie said breathlessly, giving him a thumbs up.
Javier laughed and rolled off the bed, his footsteps slowing as he realized they hadn’t really talked about STIs or condoms. They’d sort of rocketed past that whole conversation. Javier imagined if Bowie had contracted something from his assault—or even before—he likely would have said something. Javier was negative, got checked regularly. Took PrEP. He wasn’t going to bring it up now, not when Bowie was clearly relaxed. They could talk about it in the morning. Nothing would change between them, regardless of the answer.
Once they were both cleaned up, he discarded the washcloth and climbed back into bed, Bowie ducking under his arm, resting his head on Javier’s chest. “You sure you’re okay, angel?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Better than good, I think.” Javier’s heart rate slowly returned to a normal pace until Bowie asked, “Why’d you do it?”
He knew he wasn’t talking about what they’d just done; he knew exactly what he was asking. Still, he said, “Do what?”
“It. Him.Did you do it for me…or did you just do it because it needed doing?”
Javier had done it for Bowie. There were a million bad men out there and Javier wished there was a way for him to take each one of them out personally, but he had mostly put that life behind him. Until Bowie. “That’s kind of a convoluted answer. Would one make you feel better than the other?”
Bowie shivered against him, kissing the spot just above Javier’s nipple. “I’m just glad he’s dead.”
Javier took a deep breath and let it out. “I am too, angel.”
Once more, silence stretched between them before Bowie broke it by saying, “I’m sorry that all the physical stuff is like training wheels.”
Javier glanced down at the top of Bowie’s head. “What do you mean?”
Bowie’s hand traced the tattoo across Javier’s belly, making the muscles beneath twitch against his will. “Like, I’m sorry we can’t just have sex like a normal couple.”
Javier laughed. “You know a normal couple?”
Bowie’s timid laugh joined his. “No, I guess not.”
“Listen, I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t bring you here for that. I mean, this was hot. Like, lava levels of hot, but I would have been happy just knowing you were sleeping next to me in the same bed.”
Silence stretched between them before Bowie said, “You’re awfully…suave…for a criminal,” Bowie said. “It’s kind of hot.”
“Are you saying I’m a…smooth criminal?” Javier asked, glancing down to gauge Bowie’s reaction to his lame joke.
Bowie groaned, burying his face against Javier’s chest. “Oh, my God. You did not just say that.”
“Still think I’m hot?” Javier teased.
“No. This is over. I can’t be with somebody who makes dad jokes,” Bowie said, pretending to roll out of bed. Javier grabbed his hand, tugging him back in and threading their fingers together.
Bowie leaned down and gave him a chaste kiss. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too, angel. Me too.”
“Did you come home just for me?”
Bowie sat, legs crossed, on Javier’s bed, munching on a piece of avocado toast, watching as Javier blinked open bleary eyes to gaze at him. “Huh? What time is it? Why do you have clothes on?”
“Six,” Bowie said, only feeling the need to answer one of the questions Javier fired at him. His voice was rough and sexy from sleep. It made Bowie regret that he’d gotten dressed.
“In the morning?” Javier groaned. “Why are you awake? I thought today was your day off.”
“It is. It’s Sunday. That’s why I slept in until five thirty.”
Bowie watched Javier roll onto his stomach before stretching his arms overhead, the muscles of his back and ass tightening in a way that made Bowie wish he’d made Javier his breakfast.
