Ames nods, and after giving him his meds, I grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom. When I come back, he’s removed his sling and is trying to pull his shirt off one-handed while his right arm—his dominant arm—is tucked stiffly to his chest.
“Here, let me.” I set the washcloth down and kneel beside him on the couch.
I carefully work the hem of his shirt up and over his injured arm first, moving slowly so I don’t jostle him too much. Once his right arm’s free, I pull the shirt over his head and down his left arm.
Then Ames is sitting there on my sofa, shirtless in the lamplight, and I have to take a second to remember how to breathe.
I think of all the times we’ve been together exactly like this—no big deal, just bros—and I don’t know how I didn’t see it.
The constellation of freckles across his shoulders. The way his collarbones—studded with dark bruises—stand out beneath his skin. The flat plane of his stomach. The trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
My mouth waters with the need to taste his skin. My fingertips tingle with the desire to touch him.
And that’s even before I notice that his nipples are tight against his skin.
Fuck.
I swallow hard and reach for the washcloth, focusing on his injured arm first. I work in slow, gentle circles, wiping away the adhesive residue the hospital left behind.
“You’re so good at this,” he sighs.
“Washing arms?” I laugh. “Years of practice.” I lift my own in demonstration.
“No. I meant taking care of me.” He gives me a lopsided smile, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s feeling the same high from me touching him that I’m feeling, or because of the meds I gave him.
I move to his shoulders, wiping away grime and soot the hospital didn’t quite get. His muscles bunch and shift under my hands, tensing when the cloth passes over abruise, then relaxing again. He sighs a little, and I blow out a breath.
It’s exactly like I told Anna—I want to make him feel good. For now, that means easing his aches and soothing his hurts. But someday?—
Still getting ahead of ourselves, I remind myself sternly.
When I grab a fresh washcloth for his face, he tips his head back slightly, trusting me. I wipe across his forehead, down his temples, along his stubbled jaw. The whole time, wide blue eyes track my movements.
“Close your eyes,” I murmur hoarsely, and he does.
I wash his eyelids gently, then down the bridge of his nose. His lips part slightly as I move the cloth over them, and when I move down to his neck, he manages to tilt it a little to give me better access. His pulse jumps under my fingertips, fast and unsteady—just like mine.
I don’t think Ames has ever been this passive and quiet in his entire life, and it feels like a gift. A reminder that this is what we are to each other… and a promise that maybe we can be more.
Ames opens his eyes, and for a long moment, we just look at each other. His pupils are dilated—from the meds, I tell myself firmly, though I really want to believe there’s something there too.
“Thanks, Rob,” he says softly.
I clear my throat. “My pleasure, Amesie. Always.”
This is enough for now, I tell myself.You’ve waited sixteen years to get this far; you can wait until he’s well.
But not twelve hours later, that resolution gets tested.
“Just getme in the shower, and I’ll take care of the rest,” Ames insists. “That’s why True brought over the shower bench.”
He’s propped on the closed toilet, fully clothed and glaring at me. Unfortunately, he’s also got bed hair—or, I guess, couch hair, since that’s where both of us ended up sleeping last night—and three full days of rough beard growth, which combine with his lethal glare to make him look like a sexy, disgruntled pirate kitten.
It’s fucking hot.
Meanwhile, I’m busy stripping off my shirt and pajama pants. When I’m in nothing but boxers, Ames shifts his glare to the glass shower door, which is already getting foggy with steam.
“If you can think of a way to wash your hair and body without lifting your arms, I’d love to hear it.” I fold my own arms over my chest. “You said even your left arm doesn’t like it when you lift it that high.”
