“Coke?” Sleepy and rough, Dillon’s voice floated out from the bedroom, as if on cue. “Where are you, babe?”
“Uh… In the hallway.”
Took maybe two seconds for a very naked Dillon to come running, everything bouncing everywhichways. “Coke! Did you fall?”
“No. I was trying to be smart and… Well, you can see how that worked for me.”
God, Dillon was fine.
Just fucking beautiful.
Coke found himself grinning up, tickled pink.
“What are you grinning at?” Dillon was smiling back, though, bending to get the tray with the glass in it.
“You. You look good.” He reached out with his good hand, touched one thigh.
“Yeah?” Those muscles stuttered under his fingers, Dillon gasping and jerking. “You feel good. I missed you, babe.”
“Good.” He let his hand slide in a little, let himself touch.
“Coke. Babe. Let me dump this glass, huh? Before I tip it over on you.” Dillon smiled, the grin as fond as could be. “Then I’ll help you up, and you can touch as much as you want.”
“Works for me.” He chuckled. There was no way he could touch as much as he needed to, not like this.
The sound of glass hitting the bottom of his empty trash can rang out, then Dillon was trotting back to him, sizing up his position. “We’re going to have to get you a trapeze or something for the hall.”
“Oh, now. That would be fun. You could use it to amuse me.” He could just stay down, actually. It was cool, quiet. Glass-free.
“You think I could join the circus?” Dillon did an impromptu back flip, which tickled the shit out of him, since it showcased all that naked…
Coke hooted, slapping his hand on his thigh in applause.
“Ta da! Okay, babe. Let’s get you up. Now, if I remember right from when Sam broke his neck, I have to get you here.”Dillon had been there for all of that and caught him under the arm and at the hip, levering him up. It was hard, painful work, and by the time he was upright, he was sweating but good, little lights flashing in his eyes.
“I got you. Come on, babe. Let’s go back to bed, and I can make us some food, and we can both rest.” Dillon sounded out of breath, too.
“Sorry. This one’s a little harder than the last one.” He was five years older.
“I would imagine this is never easy. Stop apologizing, eh?” Dillon got him to his pulleys, got him set right and tight. “What kind of food do you want?”
“Adam said there was enchiladas and King Ranch in the fridge from Granny Taggart. Blackberry cobbler, too. I’d love some casserole.”
Granny Taggart was a queen among mortal woman. Sorta like Missy Gardner.
“I can do that. Gimme five minutes.” Dropping a kiss on his mouth before bouncing off, Dillon whistled all the way down the hall, normal as anything. Just like before, when he’d come to stay.
They’d said a bunch earlier and Coke figured he’d told Dillon stuff he’d never told no one else. Nate and Bax’d call him a fool, but he believed Dillon. Hehadto. He had for a long time.
Dillon came back with two plates, two bowls and two drinks, all balanced on the ridiculous little tray that had been his granny’s, all painted with flowers. It worked, though, with its little fold out legs.
“Smells good.” He rolled his shoulders carefully, wincing at the grind in his collarbone. “Glad you’re here.”
He knew Dillon couldn’t stay terrible long, but it was Cowboy Christmas.
“Me too.” Those too-pretty-to-be-real eyes met his. “We’re good, right?”
“Yes, cowboy. I got you. You got me. We’ll beat Nattie a little.” Although he knew Nate. Once he explained, that boy would be more embarrassed than anything.
