“Why couldn’t I understand that forcing what I think is right on someone who doesn’t want it is wrong?”
Treno’s blue and purple gaze lands on mine, and he’s so fucking shattered inside, the anguish is bleeding out of his every feature like a sieve. I reach up and cup his face, my thumb caressing his cheekbone gently. I wish I could make this hurt less for him. I wish he had been born to a better family and never did anything that I know will haunt him longer than he deserves. He leans into my hand, and I feel my defenses crack just a little. Gone is the angry, spiteful Treno, and in his place is this vulnerable, adrift person.
“We all do the best we can with what we have, Treno. You see the other side now, and you’ll do better. I know that doesn’t change what happened. That it doesn’t immediately relieve the pain, but I hope it helps you find peace in some small way.”
“I don’t deserve peace,” he confesses quietly, his voice cracking with emotion.
My eyes prick with tears as I watch him attempt to swallow the hurt down.
“What I did to you, Falon,” he starts, and I catch a tear that escapes down his cheek with the back of my fingers.
“Hey,” I soothe. “What happened sucked...for both of us. I know it wasn’t easy on you, Treno. The whole mate thing on top of what was happening with your brother wouldn’t have been easy for anyone, but you’ve been figuring it out, and I’m here,” I reassure him.
“Are you?” he questions, and just when I think his eyes can’t fill with anymore sadness, they do. “I watch you interact with us like you’re waiting for one of us to slip back into the way we were before. There’s a barrier that separates you from me that was never a factor between us, and I despise myself for knowing that armor was forged in my anger and tested by my wrath.”
I drop my eyes from his, not sure what to say. My natural reaction is to tell him that it’sokay. To dismiss what was done and how I was treated, in an effort to lessen his hurt, but I can’t do that. I can’t pretend it wasokay, because it wasn’t. I can understand why it happened and where it all came from, but none of that makes me any more deserving of what happened.
“That,” he tells me, placing a knuckle under my chin and coaxing it up so that my eyes meet his again. “Thatis what I mean, and I loathe that I created it. You should always be able to look at me, to trust me…” he trails off for a moment, and his eyes take on a faraway look.
“When you tried to sever our bond…” he starts, and I take a deep breath, readying myself for the ache I know his words are going to lure out of my chest. “I didn’t know how badly I’d been hurting you until that moment. I felt you tear away from everything that I am, and I knew I’d never recover. That I would do everything in my power to fix it, because what was left of me wasn’t enough anymore. I’d felt what it was like to be yours and for you to be mine, and I knew I could never go back to anything else,” he tells me, the back of his fingers capturing the tear that tries to escape down my cheek.
“It would have been a half-life not worth living, flower,” he confesses, stepping closer to me, his eyes pleading as he fits me against him like I’m a lock and he’s the key. “Never again, flower. I know you’re watching, expecting the fury and frustration to return, but I will never give you reason to arm yourself against me again.”
His words throw me off. I’m not sure what to say, or if I even can, my throat is tight with emotion and hurt.
“Take this off,” he tells me gently.
At first I’m confused because I think he’s talking about my shirt, and quite frankly, that’s pretty presumptuous, but he grabs at something a couple of inches away from the tunic that I’m wearing and pretends to heft it off my shoulders. He mimes that it’s heavy as fuck and looks relieved when he drops the imaginary weight to the ground.
“And this,” he adds, repeating his motion over my other shoulder. “This too,” he declares, faux knocking on my chest and then pretending to undo the armor he’s imagining is there.
One by one, he goes over my body, meticulously removing nonexistent armor as though I’m some great knight retiring after battle and he’s my squire. I smile as he gets to his knees and pulls off my imaginary sabatons and greaves. And then all at once, I realize that the make-believe armor doesn’t feel so unreal. With each motion, I can feel myself getting lighter, letting go, and just breathing freely now that the tight bands are coming off my chest.
Tears drip steadily down my face as Treno helps me take off the weight I’ve been carrying, and one by one drops pieces of my armor to the floor. He gets back to his feet, and looking down at me, his eyes filled with so much care and warmth, he takes off the last piece. He drops the imagined helmet, and his eyes light up.
“There you are, mate,” he whispers reverently, his eyes brimming with tender affection.
Then he closes the distance slowly before his lips touch mine, and just like that, his key opens my lock.
19
The kiss starts out vulnerable and delicate. Like it’s this fragile thing that could be shattered if rushed or not cared for. Treno bends my head back and devours my offered mouth, but it doesn’t feel dominating or possessive, it’s gentle in aI have you, and I always willkind of way.
I’m floored by the raw emotion I taste on both of our lips, and I tell my brain to let go of all thewhat happens nows that are floating around in my mind, waiting for me to snatch them up and fling them at Treno and then examine them myself. I tell my head to sweep away thebut what does this meansand shove eachthere’s no going back from thisnext to them on the shelf.
I just got all of that armor of doubt, second-guessing, and hurt off, and I’m not putting it back on for anything.
His lips are benevolent, his tongue contrite, and even though he doesn’t speak an apology into existence between us, I can feel it in the way he holds me and taste it in his kiss. My mouth and body offer absolution, and my nimble fingers make quick work of the laces that hold the neck of his shirt closed.
My needy hands skim down his torso until I find the hem of his tunic and pull it up. Our kiss breaks as he pulls my shirt off too, and then we both hurriedly move to each other’s pants. Mine come away and drop to my ankles with no issue, but my tongue stalls against his expert guidance as his crotch laces become literal cock blocks.
“Fucking hell, what did you do, tie a bunch of damn sailing knots down here?” I demand, pulling from his lips so I can focus all my concentration on the ties of his pants. “Are these of Celtic origin or blessed by nuns, because this is some bullshit,” I grumble when I still can’t get them undone.
Treno laughs and then immediately chokes on it when I call on help in the form of a Nike swoosh blade. “Whoa!” he calls out, his hips jumping away from me, and I growl at the misbehavior.
I take a minute and assess that I did just get mad when he wouldn’t let me attempt to cut him out of his pants, and Pigeon flashes me the tumbleweed desert image again. I roll my eyes but decide to put the gnarly looking black blades away.
“You’ll hear no complaints from me about your eagerness, but one slip of the grip on those blades and neither one of us would be happy for averylong time,” he tells me on a chuckle, but it soon turns into a growl when he can’t get the ties of his pants undone either.
