Mal glanced back sharply at that. He seemed to want to say something, his lips slightly parted, but even after a long pause in which Griff pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers to try to regain some composure, the blond didn’t breathe a word.
So Griff went on, steadier again, “I would have apologized before now, but you’ve been so distant since you came home from Thrallkeld. I didn’t think you wanted to hear it. And then last night … I thought you finally saw me. I thought you loved me too. But now, once again, I’m not entirely sure what to think.”
When Mal spoke, there was some heat still burning in his voice. “First of all, I don’t care about my scars. They’re not your fault, anyway. But you didn’t just break my heart, you left it smoldering in the wreckage of my life, and I did what I could to survive that. I thought—that day, what you said, what you called me—I thought you didn’t want me any kind of way, let alone love me. I didn’t know what you felt, and perhaps I should have, but you could have told me too. Anytime, you could have told me.”
The glimmer of unshed tears in Griff’s eyes must have been too much for Mal, as he averted his gaze again to stare hard at thegrass. “I don’t want you to leave anymore. I’ve told you so many times—I want you to stay. I’m telling you now, I fucking love you,” Mal choked out. “But you weren’t my friend or my enemy or anything when we were apart. You were just … gone, and I couldn’t tell you anything then.”
With that, he tipped his head back toward the morning sky, eyes narrowing balefully against the brightness as if he were admonishing the sun for its very nature.
Slowly, carefully, Griff shifted closer, putting his arms around Mal and drawing him into a warm embrace. Last night, with the help of the wine, he had understood how to be what Mal needed, but he didn’t think he needed the wine for that anymore. He could just be here. That seemed to be enough.
“I love you too, and you can tell me anything now,” he insisted gently. “So go on, Mal. Go ahead and tell me how mad you were back then. How mad you are. Tell me all the ways I’ve completely fucked up. But since I’m here to stay, at least let me hold you through it. Let me be the one to hold you through everything from now on.” Softer, he added, “And when you’re done telling me why I’m the worst, please tell me you love me again.”
Mal brought his arms up around the ones that held him and buried his face in the dark hair near Griff’s cheek, though Griff still caught a glimmer of tears before his face was hidden. “You’re the worst friend I’ve ever had,” Mal confided hoarsely. “You chose fancy elf parties and singing their sad songs over me.” A frustrated exhale gusted over Griff’s cheek before he continued, “I used to think about you sometimes in Thrallkeld. About our hunting trips with the hounds, and swimming together in the Wood—and every time I did, I wanted to hurl myself in the river because I knew you were somewhere else hating my very existence. But I just couldn’t give you the satisfaction.”
Griff held Mal a little tighter, and those wiry arms drew him in closer in return.
“You acted like you were so much better than me, with your nice shiny boyfriends and your stupid straight jobs, and I would have punched every tooth out of your mouth if Wynnie would have let me,” Mal declared with fiery certainty. “I truly hated you.” His fingers curled upward, tangling in Griff’s hair, damp eyes finally meeting his again as he finished. “And I loved you, even then. I love you now. I wouldn’t have minded if you’d come for me, to Thrallkeld, even when it was too late.”
It felt to Griff like someone had knocked the wind from him as one of his longest-held fears and deepest regrets was confirmed. “I won’t make any of those mistakes again,” he vowed quietly, taking his time so his voice wouldn’t crack. “I should have told you how I felt a long time ago, no matter what I feared would happen. I should have listened to myself and ridden to Thrallkeld anyway. You’re worth it—you and your big plans, your foul mouth and worse temper.” At last, Griff smiled despite his long-held anguish still simmering near the surface. “I want all of it. Even when you didn’t know it, you were everything to me. You still are.”
“You are so getting a horse when we get back to Linden,” Mal murmured into Griff’s hair, the assessment of his temper and other qualities bringing a half grin back to his lips. He ran a hand along Griff’s thigh, stopping above the bandages there. “You’re probably going to need it, with a busted leg like this.”
Griff’s smile widened. “I love you too. Enough to write a really sad elf-song about it. But I’d rather hold you, and …” Gently, he kissed along Mal’s jaw, eventually making his way to the other man’s lips. “By the way, this wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant if you’d punched out all my teeth.”
Mal snorted against his lips. “Not for you, anyway,” he muttered, teasing in his own way before deepening the kiss, like he was trying to make up for the one he had all but rejected earlier. “And don’t you dare sing any sad elf-songs about me.”
“Right,” Griff murmured into their slow kisses as Mal delivered that command. “Only dirty ones, and heroic ballads. Challenge accepted. Who wants easy, anyway?”
“Not me,” Mal said emphatically before catching Griff’s lower lip between his teeth.
“You must know what it does to me, the way you run your mouth,” Griff murmured, his bitten lips forming a smile against Mal’s. “Maybe I’ll write a song about that.”
“So that’s what you really mean, every time you call me an absolute shit,” Mal mused, running his tongue along Griff’s bottom lip to soothe any sting there. “You clearly learned your flowery way with words in the elves’ library.”
Last night, there had been a certain haste in Griff’s movements inspired by too many years of wanting. This morning, it was tempered by his finally having had Mal in his arms for many hours already. Although he hungrily returned each kiss, he took his time with each one too, savoring the taste, encouraging Mal to focus on him rather than his need to get back on the road as if that treasure were suddenly going somewhere. His fingers were in no hurry either as they ruffled Mal’s hair until it was even more unruly than it had been when they woke.
Mal responded to that exploration of his hair with the shut-eyed groan of an animal being stroked just the right way, his tongue melting in the heat of each slow kiss, his hand at the base of Griff’s neck urging him closer, his other hand inviting Griff’s fingers to roam freely over his bare, toned chest.
It was a thoughtless moan from Griff’s own throat that eventually spurred him back into action, disentangling himself from Mal just enough to guide him gently down to the ground on top of his own discarded shirt. He trailed his lips softly down Mal’s stomach while his fingers hooked into the waist of Mal’s trousers and gave an impatient tug, the buttons having mostly been lost the night before and the remaining few giving easily at the touch.
“Hmm,” he said, darting a grin up at Mal as he sucked a kiss over one of his now-bare hips, “And here I thought you liked things with teeth …” He grazed them gently over the skin beneath him as he moved lower still, causing Mal’s lips to part in anticipation. “So which is it?”
“I was wrong and you were right,” Mal breathed for perhaps the first time in his life, his eyes fluttering and his words running together. “I do like your teeth right where they are after all. Nice teeth. Good teeth.” He wove his fingers through Griff’s hair, not pushing him lower with any impatience but making his own explorations in the meantime—first of those dark curls again, and then down along Griff’s shoulders.
“Ooh,” Griff growled over Mal’s inner thigh. “I like it when you tell me I’m right. I aim to impress. Now let me wake you up the way I should have done in the first place.”
As he started to run his tongue along the length of him, teasing the sensitive head with little licks and plenty of kisses, he gently squeezed Mal’s ass with both hands. And when he was rewarded with a groan and a shimmy of the thief’s hips, he took a few inches of Mal into his mouth while trailing a slow, gentle finger into his cleft, caressing and teasing just like he was doing with his tongue. Feeling Mal start to tense slightly, he immediately withdrew his hand, pulling off of him to pant, “Is this okay?”
“I … um. I’ve only done it the other way. And I … I think it’s my turn to impress you this morning,” Mal declared with a low growl of effort, drawing Griff back up into his arms and away from his spit-soaked hardness still in need of attention.
“Okay,” Griff reassured him softly, understanding more than what was being spoken. This was too new, and Mal had never been touched like that before. Never trusted like that before, or let himself be so vulnerable. Griff wouldn’t bring it up again; he would wait until Mal was ready, and he would be there if or when that time came, because he planned on staying.
Eager to find out exactly what Mal had in mind instead, he settled into the warmth of the other man and watched as his lover spit into his hand, then took hold of them together in his tight, slick fist and gave a few slow, delicious strokes. “Learned a thing or two about this while I was alone in Thrallkeld. Trust me.” Lips seeking Griff’s neck, he muttered against the skin there as he started up a slow rhythm between them, “Let me know when you’re starting to feel … impressed.”
And Griff did, when he found his voice again amid the wonder of all the tricks that hand knew, of the thrill of his own heat right up against Mal’s and the toe-curling friction they were creating together.
A little of last night’s urgency returned as the rhythm grew faster. Slicker, too, with both of them aching and dripping into the clench of Mal’s hand.
