Page 50 of We Are Just Us

Rory gentled his touch immediately, working him through the aftershocks with slow strokes, murmuring praise that landed as a hum against his skin rather than actual words.

When Kieran could finally move his limbs again, he returned his focus to Rory. He took him deep, hollowing his cheeks and working with single-minded intent, wanting Rory to feel even half as drained as he did.

It didn’t take long. Rory’s hips stuttered against the mattress, his thighs going completely rigid beneath Kieran’s legs.

“Kieran.” Rory’s voice came out strangled, desperate. “Oh, you’re gonna make me come.”

Kieran didn’t pull off. He sucked harder, his tongue pressing flat, and Rory came with a broken, guttural sound, his thighs clamping closed as he spilled his load.

Kieran swallowed him down, eased off carefully, and then collapsed sideways onto the bed. They were side by side, breathing hard, trembling, the sheets damp and tangled beneath them. The bedroom smelled heavily of sex, sweat, and the clean laundry detergent on Kieran’s pillowcase.

“Wow,” Kieran managed after a long, silent moment.

Rory laughed. “Yeah.”

“Well.” Kieran’s voice was completely hoarse. “That happened.”

Rory’s laugh came again, sudden, bright, and breathless. “Yeah. It did.”

Kieran opened his eyes. Rory was already looking at him, and the expression on his face was so relaxed it made Kieran’s chest ache—wonder, maybe, or the terrified cousin of it.

Rory leaned over and kissed him like they had nowhere else to be in the world. It was a slow, thorough kiss, tasting like both of them. Then he reached over the side of the bed, his hand sweeping the floor until he grabbed a stray piece of fabric. “Is this a towel or a shirt?”

Kieran squinted at it through the dim light. “Does it matter?”

“Not even a little bit.”

He cleaned them both up with the same practical care he brought to everything—no awkwardness, no performance, no sudden distance. Kieran watched him through the gloom and felt a heavy wall he’d been holding up for months quietly, finally, give way.

“That was hot,” Rory murmured, his voice completely wrecked.

Kieran let out a breathless, weak laugh, throwing an arm over his eyes to hide his burning face. “Shut up.”

“No, I mean it,” Rory said. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around Kieran’s wrist, gently pulling his arm away from his face so he could look him in the eyes. The teasing dropped out of his voice. “You’re hot, Kieran. But…it’s more than that. Being with you like this…I haven’t felt this dialed into another person in a really long time.”

Kieran’s stomach did a slow, heavy flip that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with the look in Rory’s eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Rory whispered, his thumb tracing the inside of Kieran’s wrist.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The silence between them had texture to it—full, and slightly fragile, the way all brand-new things were.

Kieran cataloged the small details. The solid weight of him, how the mattress dipped heavily toward his side of the bed. The fact that his heartbeat was still faster than it should be given how still he was lying. The pulse beat against Kieran’s cheek, rapid and insistent, entirely betraying the calm Rory was performing.

Rory shifted slightly, and brushed his lips against Kieran’s forehead. It was barely a kiss. More like a confirmation. Still here. Still choosing this.

Then Rory’s thumb began to gently graze the inside of Kieran’s elbow, his movement slowing over the three small, dark dots tattooed there.

“What are these?” Rory asked quietly.

“Orion’s belt. Supposed to mean cosmic balance or something,” Kieran said, a small, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. “Strength. Serendipity. The artist gave me a whole speech, and I was nineteen, so of course I thought it was incredibly profound.”

Kieran waited for the joke. The deflection. The signature, Rory-branded quip that would let them both off the hook of the moment.

It didn’t come.

The silence stretched long enough that Kieran tilted his head up to look at him. Rory’s face was soft in a way Kieran had never seen before—the usual sharp charm was gone, the constant hum of social performance switched completely off. He looked younger in the dim light. Startled. Like he’d walked into a dark room and found exactly what he wanted, and had absolutely no idea what to do now that he was holding it.

“What?” Kieran asked.