When Cade helped him under the hot spray, Tristan tucked his head under his chin and wrapped his arms around his waist. Cade soaped up Tristan's back, shoulders and ass, absorbing the contented sighs and hums of pleasure, and experienced another surge of satisfaction that this man reacted to him this way and trusted him so implicitly.
He didn't deserve it, but he wished he did.
Rotating Tristan's body, he pressed his chest to the other man's back, then reached around to wash off his chest and stomach. He moved his hand down, intending to do a cursory pass over Tristan's dick and balls, but when he pulled away, there was a grunt of protest.
Leaning down, he whispered, "What?"
"Do that again," was the soft, murmured reply.
"What? This?" he teased, stroking his soapy hand up Tristan's soft cock from base to tip.
"Mmm."
"Fuck, Tris, you're insatiable. You want me to keep going?"
"Feels good."
"Yeah?" Cade asked, shocked that this man craved his touch, even when exhausted and recently ruined. He continued his long, slow strokes, fascinated by the cock growing hard in his palm.
"Mmm. Love your hands."
Chucking, he asked, "You like when they touch you?"
"Yes, so much," Tristan answered, his voice breathy.
"Yeah? Should I keep going? Make you come again?"
"Yes. Don't stop."
"You're so greedy."
As Tristan hummed and lazily fucked into his hand, Cade continued to tease and pull until he heard a gasp, then felt warm cum coat his fist. He stopped when the redhead hissed from overstimulation, then rinsed off his hand and washed him properly this time.
When Tristan was clean and not begging for any more hand jobs, Cade dried him off, rubbed lotion on his reddened wrists, and gave him more painkillers. Back at the bed, he helped Tristan under the covers and then slid between the sheets. The other man's warm body immediately snuggled up to him, and Cade reached out an arm and pulled him close.
Though Tristan slept, Cade was wide awake, thinking about the last couple of days and trying to decipher the emotions that swelled and twisted into a jumbled mess. He had tried to keep things uncomplicated, to stay away from Tristan, but had failed miserably. Yesterday, he had broken down, revealing way too much of himself, somehow clinging to this man, desperate for something real and solid.
In the outside world, Tristan was in danger, and Cade was his shield. But in this cabin, Tristan was his kryptonite, making himfeel tender emotions he had never experienced before, making him feel weak. When he said please, Cade wanted to give him everything, to do anything to make him happy; he wanted to hold and protect and care for him — after he wrecked him.
His instincts screamed that this man belonged to him and only him.
Was that selfish? Sure.
Was it unhealthy? Definitely.
Was it fucking insane? He didn't care.
Mine.His caveman brain was utterly clear on that point.
Was that love or obsession? Was there a difference? He had no fucking clue.
But none of it mattered because he could never give Tristan what he needed. He had nothing of value to offer someone, not stability or respectability, not a family or morality. All he could offer was protection and some damn good sex, and that wasn't enough to build a future on.
He had no right to ask Tristan to stay with him, no right to keep him here in this shitshow excuse of a life.
So he knew, when the time came, he'd let him go.
The awkwardness Cade sensed earlier in the day, before Annabeth's phone call that afternoon, resumed as they ate a late dinner. Tristan was still uncharacteristically quiet, and when they sat down to watch a baseball game, he kept throwing surreptitious glances in Cade's direction. His bouncing leg was a strong tell that he was nervous, and his anxiety was contagious. A couple of times, he stared at himas if he was thinking hard about something important, but when he opened his mouth, it was only to comment on the game.
