“Okay. I just… I wanted to make sure. I couldn’t stand it if I fucked this up, Coke.”
“Come where I can see you.” He wanted to do this face to face even if they had to move the food.
“Okay.” Dillon crawled across the bed, then knelt in front of him, sort of hovering, moving the tray out of the way.
He reached up, wrapped his arms around his lover, bandages creaking as he stared into Dillon’s eyes. “You ain’t got to worry. I’m lots of shit—grumpy and temperamental, beat up and not the smartest man you’ll ever know, but I ain’t fickle. Not one single inch of me. You’re mine now, so you’d best just get used to it. I’m too old to change my mind.”
Dillon stared right back, blue eyes serious as a heart attack. Then Dillon grinned for him, huge and bright and happy. “Good. You always said I was your people.”
“You are, cowboy.” And he was going to have a little prayer meeting with David Donaldson, too, about how a married man ought to keep all his pet names for his woman.
No more Lonnie for him and Dillon. Lonnie. Jesus.
Dillon kissed him again, lips soft and easy on his. “It goes both ways.”
“Good.” He chuckled, fingers sliding down to love on Dillon’s backside. “Anyone ever tell you that you got the prettiest ass in bull riding?”
“I think someone might have. This bullfighter I know, and he actually gets to feel me up.” Dillon moved back and forth, getting more of his touch.
“Lucky bastard.” He relaxed into the pillows, petting happily.
“Yep.” Dillon moved a tiny bit closer, but not enough to lean. “Don’t wear yourself out.”
He just tugged, got all of Dillon’s weight on him, on the right side.
“Mmm. Oh, Coke. Good.” Snuggling in, Dillon stroked his ribs. “I needed this. To feel you all over.”
“Yeah.” The touch wasn’t sexual, not really, but it felt like heaven, just to have the contact, the heat, the pressure against him. Especially on his stupid legs that didn’t want to stay still.
“Shh. I got you.” One of Dillon’s legs slid over top of his, settling them right down. It was like they’d just needed to be told what to do.
“Oh, thank you.” He moaned as his lower back relaxed. “Sweet Jesus. I needed that.”
“Seemed like it. Like all your synapses are misfiring, huh?” Smiling, Dillon kissed his chest, his shoulder, not pressing down, just making him melt.
“Yeah. Things are having to reroute some. Last time? I sprung a happy for nine weeks.”
“Oh, man. I missed that?” Glancing up, Dillon gave him waggly brows. “I thought if you had one that lasted more than four hours, you had to see a doctor.”
“I spent hours packing it in ice. It was fucking ridiculous.”
“Coke. That sounds horrible.” One hand came up to pet his belly, stroking in little circles, just hard enough not to tickle.
“Nate and Coop didn’t think so. They kept buying me scarves for it. I got a whole drawer full of them.” He grinned, chuckled a little. They’d had fun with that.
“Lord. Those two.” Dillon was laughing, though, almost enough to rock the boat, but it didn’t hurt.
“Yep.” He tried to nod again, stopped. “Man, I got to stop that.”
“You do. No hurting. Just learn to say, ‘Ayep’.”
“That’s awful Yankee sounding. I haven’t felt this good since… I can’t remember the number of the bull. It was piss-yellow and mean, though.”
“I’m sorry, Coke. I should have been there. If I hadn’t been so stupid…” Dillon sighed, still petting him.
“Shh. Folks gotta have the shitty parts.” He waited for Dillon to meet his eyes. “You know, so we can have make up nookie.”
“I’ve never had make-up nookie.” Dillon cackled. “I like the sound of it.”
