The hut.
He pulled the boat up at the jetty, expecting to see the small wooden structure shrouded in darkness, but there was a light on inside, and before he could wonder what the hell was going on, a huge man filled the doorway.
Otis.
He came out toward them, grinning, meeting them on the jetty. “Thought you might like the turndown service,” he said. “Fire, and food for the human.”
Oh man.
Ciaran helped Sawyer step off the boat first, then fist bumped the big guy. “Thank you.”
Sawyer, duffle bag in hand, seemed preoccupied by the hut, the surrounding forest, the river. “This place is awesome. I should have brought my fishing rod,” he mumbled. Only when he looked back at Ciaran did he notice them both staring at him. “Oh, thank you, Otis. The human appreciates it.”
Fray laughed. “Now he can rail you without any fire-making delay.”
Ciaran shot him a dirty glare, but Sawyer simply grinned. “Fuck yes, he can,” he said, clapping Otis on the arm as he walked past him toward the hut. “Don’t wait up, guys.”
Both Fray and Otis laughed, and something warm and lovely burned inside Ciaran. Fondness. Happiness. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t care. He wanted it to consume him. “Thank you,” he said to them. “I should go. I’m on a schedule, apparently.”
Fray snorted. “Yes, you are. I’ll be back in two days.”
“Make it three,” Ciaran said, and hell, he wasn’t even sure if three days would be long enough. “Unless you need me. Come get me if you do. Don’t put it off. If something happens, ifanything happens, come straight out. Please.”
“It’s not you I’m scared to interrupt,” Fray said, nodding to where Sawyer was disappearing into the hut. “He’s feisty.”
Ciaran sighed. “I mean it. I’ll be more pissed if you don’t interrupt me if shit goes down than if you do. Okay?”
Fray’s eyes met Ciaran’s, and he gave a nod. He spent a lot of his life joking, as was his way, but he knew when to be serious. “Okay.”
But then he took out his phone and snapped a photo of Ciaran standing on the jetty. “Just getting the last pic ever of you as a single man.”
Ciaran rolled his eyes, and Otis laughed.
“I would say have fun,” Otis said. “But I think we all know it’s a given.”
Ciaran reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out his middle finger. They both cracked up laughing, so Ciaran turned on his heel and headed toward the hut. He did give Fray and Otis a wave over his shoulder but didn’t look back to see if they saw.
He adored his brothers, but he had something else on his mind: Sawyer inside the hut, waiting, wanting.
And Ciaran couldn’t fucking wait.
He stepped in through the door to find Sawyer pulling the mattress off one of the beds and dropping it next to the first, which he’d obviously already pulled off the other bed.
“What are you doing?”
He grinned, a little breathless. “Single beds? I don’t think so.” He pushed the mattresses together with his foot. “This is much better. Bigger, more room. The fire was a nice touch. Remind me to thank Otis again when we get back.” Then he pulled off his sweater and T-shirt in one go, and, now half-dressed and half-smiling at Ciaran, he dropped them to the floor. He scanned Ciaran from head to foot, and he hummed. “You’re awfully far away.”
Ciaran stood there for a beat, as if his feet were stuck to the floor, his hearts thrumming. The urge to morph into freeformwas so fucking intense, an itch under his skin. He barely held onto restraint, onto his human form, and he knew he shimmered because he saw it in Sawyer’s eyes.
Pure heat.
“Oh fuck,” Sawyer breathed. “Ciaran.”
Hearing his name, hearing Sawyer whisper it like an ode to the gods, had Ciaran moving. He crossed the room and collected Sawyer in his arms, and holy fuck—his body, his warmth, his smell, his everything—was the only thing Ciaran would ever need for the rest of his life.
Fingers dug into skin, rough and demanding, tongues collided, cocks straining. Ciaran needed him so freaking bad, he could barely contain it.
He couldn’t contain it. Not anymore.
