After the End

by Alex Kidwell

  A few beats later and he pulled back, hair in disarray, lips curving downwards. “You said… at the hospital.”

  Ah. I’d kind of wondered if he’d even heard, honestly, and with everything else that’d been going on, I’d put it aside. Whether or not Brady and his family were okay was far more important than declarations. Rubbing my thumb across his cheek, I tried for a smile, feeling nervous. “I did.”

  His eyes searched mine. “Did you mean it?”

  I didn’t answer flippantly. He wasn’t asking lightly, and I knew if I told him I don’t know, he’d accept that. I’d been so scared, so frantic, and then he’d been there. Not lost, not still and small and gone, but there, and Brady would write off what I’d said as just relief. So I thought about it, searching through my feelings, trying to find the truth of them. Trying to test them, to make sure they were real.

  “I love you,” I whispered, and a smile touched his lips, relieved and hopeful, absolutely beautiful. “I am in love with you, Brady Banner.”

  “I love you too, Quinn O’Malley,” Brady murmured. The words were nearly lost as I leaned in, as I caught them in a kiss. We sank into one another, Brady’s hands curving around the sides of my neck, my fingers buried into his hair. He pulled me toward him and I went happily, the kiss turning from sweet to needy as his mouth opened under mine, as our tongues tangled together in a wet, heated pant of want.

  “There’s….” I paused, fumbling for the words. “There’s lube and condoms in the bedroom. I, um, I got them. For us.”

  Was this right? Brady’s sister was in the hospital, he was upset, there was uneaten soup cooling on the table next to us. Maybe the time wasn’t right. Maybe Brady needed something else. But he grabbed my hand and wordlessly pulled me after him. Winston was firmly nudged out of the way as he closed the door, as he looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

  Wonder, I realized all at once. He looked awed. Heat flushed my skin, and I reached out for him; Brady met me halfway and we came together in a kiss so sweet and soft it made me ache. I moved to undo his pants, and Brady kicked them aside. His shirt followed, and I stopped him when he went to undress me in turn. “Wait,” I murmured. “I want to see you.”

  He was gorgeous. Stomach just barely defined narrowed down to hips and legs that were almost a shame to cover up. His shoulders were broad, his chest absolutely lickable, and as I nudged him to sit on the bed, as I knelt between his legs, I found a faint constellation of freckles along his ribs I tasted with my tongue, following them down to his thighs.

  Shuddering out a low breath, he murmured my name restlessly. I answered by kissing the head of his cock, smiling as he gasped at the contact. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked slowly, teasing my mouth down further along the delicious thick length of him. He was velvet smooth on my tongue, and I loved how I could feel him hardening under my attentions. Brady’s leg shook and his head fell back, lips cupped open into a perfect O.

  I wanted him inside of me. In every way possible, I wanted Brady in me, to feel him grow and swell and come buried so deep I couldn’t help but be swept away in it as well. Kissing his thighs, his knees, the curve of his stomach, I grinned as his eager hands came to tug off my shirt. I helped, shucking my slacks off into the corner and sprawling on him. Our hips slid together and we were both moaning at the friction, kisses turning frantic and hungry as he turned us, as I hooked both legs around his waist.

  “Lube.” My grin was positively wicked as I bit his lip, as I mouthed my way down his neck. “First drawer on the nightstand.”

  Brady fumbled a bit, cursing as his knuckles hit the wall, but he managed to grab what we needed. I was absorbed in mapping out the dips and contours of his collarbone, teasing kisses against his skin. I felt his hands paint down my back, fingertips brushing along my ass and then down to my thighs, gently tugging my legs further apart.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, breathless.

  Looking up at him in the dark of my room, his hair in wild curls across his forehead, I couldn’t find the words. Instead I tugged him down for another kiss, parting my lips under his, moaning softly as his tongue swept inside my mouth. Nodding, I grabbed the lube and managed to slick one finger, then reached between us to press inside myself.

  It’d been a while. A fact which came rushing back as the pressure overwhelmed me, as I had to pause and grimace at the tightness. Brady was right there, soothing me with soft kisses, his hand stroking my cock, helping me relax. “Slowly, babe,” he murmured, ducking his head to suck lightly on my neck, finding that sensitive spot just at the hollow of my throat. “Let me help.”

  Together we opened me up; together we turned pain into anticipatory pleasure. My finger alone at first while he teased along my cock, while he sent arousal in waves through me. Then his finger joined mine and the two of us together fucked me. Brady was so gentle I nearly forgot how long it’d been, that we’d never done this together, the two of us. He coaxed my body into bliss, and I was begging him by the end, rocking back against his hand, my arms flung around his shoulders as I groaned for more.

  Brady pulled back and I grumbled, reaching for him. “Patience, grasshopper,” he teased, and I managed to make a face at him, though my eyes, dark with need, might have made it a little less effective.

  Our gazes met, his nose brushing against mine, his breath a hot pant against my cheek. Leaning over me, he thrust inside, watching my every expression. I winced and I could feel my body tighten. He was beautifully big, but I couldn’t stop myself from tensing as the pleasant hum of arousal faded and the tight burn took over. Brady kissed me, stopping completely and rubbing the small of my back until I managed to melt again into the warmth of his body, into the delicious taste of his mouth.

  Inch by inch he eased inside, and when I finally took him all, I gasped a little when he moved, eyes fluttering shut. “God, Brady,” I moaned, biting my lip, concentrating on how he felt. How every rock of his hips sent jolts of pleasure through me.

  It didn’t take long before I was pressing back with every thrust. I wanted more. He met my eager motions, hitching one of my legs up further around his hip. The change in angle rubbed his cock along my prostate whenever he fucked into me, and I gasped his name, my fingers digging into his back as I desperately moved with him.

  We found our pace, our rhythm, and there was nothing other than us. The entire world faded and ended around us, falling down in gray streaks against the window, and all we knew was the heat of skin, the sweat-slick movement of our bodies, the way Brady filled me up completely. The mattress squeaked under us as I hooked one knee over his shoulder and he moved faster, taking me, giving me everything I was begging for in breathless moans.

  He was over me and inside of me, and I was wound up in him so tightly it felt like our hearts were beating as one. My moans teased out into his whispered words, his endearments and dirty pleas and promises for a thousand nights of this. We were writhing together on the sheets as the rain tumbled down outside, as the day and the years washed over us and were driven out by our need.

  I came nearly silently, arching up into him, hand thrown back to grab at pillows, to clench and shudder with the force of how deeply I felt him. He moved through it, and every jolt of pressure, every delicious rub of friction, catapulted me higher. I touched stars and they were in his eyes. I caressed the moon of his lips, the endless heights of his skin.

  Brady followed after me and I could feel his every sigh and shake. We collapsed together, heaving in breaths and tangled in one another.

  And I loved him.

  I WOKE before Brady, spread across half the bed, Brady’s arm flung across my back. Winston was crying outside the door, sounding as though he were inches away from dying if someone didn’t show him some attention very soon. Sighing, I studied Brady in the low light, and I smiled faintly. He slept with the same abandon he lived life; he was deeply asleep, limbs sprawled everywhere, taking up most of the pillows and definitely more than his fair share of
blankets. I liked it, though. I liked the way he filled up the empty space of the bed, of the room, with so much ease. Rubbing my fingers along his cheek, I kissed his shoulder and eased out from under his arm.

  Padding to the door, I opened it and stepped back out of the way of the pale streak of fur. Winston hopped up onto the bed, grumbling the whole time, turning in a delicate circle and huffing out a breath before he collapsed. Shaking my head, I went to the kitchen to find a drink of water, treading lightly in an effort to not wake Brady.

  The sun was just barely starting to creep in under the curtains, pale and wan, no warmth at all in it. It was too early to be awake, and I sluggishly poured myself some water, contemplating my bare toes against the chilly floor. I waited to feel the aching sadness that seemed to tinge my mornings now. And it was there, in the back of my mind, that quiet grief, but it wasn’t all there was. Like before, like Brady had slowly thawed out pieces of me, I felt more than sorrow. There was contentment, too. Hope. I was worried about Brady’s family and concerned over how he’d handle things. I wanted to call Tracy and Annabeth, I wanted to work, I wanted to take Brady out for lunch and make him laugh just to hear the sound of it.

  I wanted. I wanted things and places Aaron had never been. I wanted people he’d never met. There were stories in me he’d never hear. Yes, it hurt. I was stretching beyond my old skin, my comfortable existence, and it hurt. Brady was in my bed, in the bed Aaron had never lain in, and that was new and beautiful and terrifying and sad. It was more than just grief; it was bigger than who I’d been before.

  I loved him. Not the same as I’d loved Aaron, but not less, either. It was Brady’s love, only his, and Aaron’s love only belonged to him. I held them both in my heart, in my very breath, and I wasn’t torn apart from it.

  I was sad, yes. Perhaps I’d always be a little bit sad. But there was more to me than the sorrow.

  I padded back to bed and collapsed in with a sigh, shivering a bit from the cold morning. Tucking myself back under the blankets, I curled up into Brady’s side, Winston sleeping between our legs. Brady smiled, half-awake, sleepily dragging his lips along my arm.

  “Good morning,” he mumbled.

  I kissed his cheek. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

  For a few moments, he looked content. His fingers found mine and he tugged me in closer. We were all wound up in one another, warm and lazy, and Brady seemed happy. A frown flickered across his face, though, and he drew in a ragged breath, remembering. The bandage on his forehead, the ache in his neck; I could see the realization trickle in bit by bit.

  Reaching across him, I grabbed his phone and handed it to him. I sat up against the headboard, tugging him with me to rest against my chest, wrapping him in my arms as tightly as I could. “No messages,” he told me, quiet worry thrumming in his tone.

  “That could mean they’re still sleeping. It’s pretty early.” I pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Why don’t you go shower? I’ll make some coffee and call us a cab.”

  He nodded, grimacing as he touched long fingers to his forehead. “I should probably rewrap this too,” he said, apologetic.

  “There’s gauze in the medicine cabinet.” I fussed over him, easing us out of bed and going to the closet to find him clothes. “Do you remember where the towels are?”

  “Yes.” I heard a faint smile in his voice and looked over my shoulder to find him watching me. “What would I do without you?”

  I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. No answer seemed good enough, so I went to him, sat on the edge of the bed, and drew him in for a long kiss. “We take care of each other,” I finally managed. “That’s what we do. Pie crust and filling, remember?”

  He sighed, pulling me in for a hug. “Pie crusts and filling,” he agreed.

  “You know,” I told him, rubbing a hand through his hair before getting up and going back to digging through my drawers, “you really should keep some stuff here or something. I’m not sure if these jeans are going to be long enough for you.” I held them up to myself, frowning down at them. They were a little too big for me, so maybe they wouldn’t look ridiculous on his longer legs.

  “Maybe I will,” he ventured, and I looked up to find those brown eyes studying me intently.

  Taking a slow breath in, I held his gaze for a moment. Yeah, I realized what the implications were. What it would mean. But I could do this. More than that, I wanted to. So, casually, I scooped out some T-shirts and put them into another drawer, emptying the top one in the dresser. “So you have room,” I told him, suddenly unsure. God, it’d been a while since I’d done anything like this. What if I was messing it all up?

  But Brady smiled at me and moved over to stand behind me, slid his arms around my waist, and propped his chin on my shoulder. “That’s a good drawer,” he rumbled and I laughed.

  “Only the best for you,” I told him solemnly. “Can’t have you using an inferior drawer space.”

  He kissed me, slowly, and I reached up to cup his cheek. The embrace sent warm curls all through me; the kiss left tingles on my lips as he pulled back. “I love you,” he told me seriously, eyes sweeping my face like he was trying to memorize every expression.

  Drawing him back in, it was my turn to instigate the kiss, to slide my tongue along his with a soft moan of contentment. “I love you too,” I assured him, feeling his smile against my mouth, chasing it with one of my own.

  We finally untangled from one another, Brady went off to shower, and I went to make us coffee. Winston, grumpy that his human heating pads had abandoned him, sashayed after me and bitched until I appeased him with some wet cat food. Mug in my hand, I slid down to sit on the floor next to him, back resting against the fridge. There I sipped my coffee and petted the cat. I thought. Dreamed. Imagined a drawer of Brady’s stuff next to my own, a second toothbrush in the bathroom, his shoes by the door.

  It was a good mental picture.

  When Brady came out, all damp hair in curls and sleepy smiles, I passed my mug to him and went to take my own shower. We got dressed and drank coffee, and by the time the cab got there, some of the pinched lines of worry on Brady’s face had eased. We held hands on the silent ride to the hospital, but I hung back as we walked onto the floor where Beatrice was when Brady went to greet his family with tight hugs.

  “She’s not awake yet,” his mother was saying and I wondered if I should stay. If this was too personal. Last night had been a flurry of fear and needing to be close to Brady, but now, perhaps this wasn’t something I should intrude on.

  That thought died a quick death when Claire hauled me into a hug as well. “I’m so glad you came,” she told me, and Brittany was next, hugging me tightly, followed by Belinda. Even Bruno shook my hand. I was introduced to George and Clint, and we all huddled down together, Brady sitting with me, holding my hand. Clint brought everyone coffee and then hauled Brittany in close, arms around her while she rested her head wearily on his shoulder. Belinda was holding George’s hand, texting with the other, updating us all on what aunts and cousins and uncles were saying. Bruno and Claire were slumped together, Bruno’s arm around his wife’s shoulders. It was like we needed that. They all needed someone close, someone to hold on to for reassurance.

  And I was that person for Brady. It made me feel… good. Needed. Like I was part of this, of this messy, loud, beautiful family.

  The hours passed with a numbing slowness. The updates we got were all the same—Beatrice was still not awake, her vitals were stable. We were waiting and hoping for the best. After calling around to figure out where Brady’s car had wound up, I finally tracked it down in a police impound lot across town. Dutifully scribbling notes, I made arrangements for it to be released to a tow truck to take it to a local garage, after which I called Brady’s insurance company and put him on the phone. That conversation was a ten-minute distraction, after which everyone fell into a kind of stupor once again.

  Tracy and Anna were texting me back and forth. I’d let them know what was going
on that morning, and now the both of them were checking in every half hour or so, wanting to know if Brady was all right, asking after Beatrice. I tilted the screen to let Brady see each one, and there was a flicker of a smile, an acknowledgement, but it was short-lived. What did you say to “are you all right” over and over again? The answer would always be “no” until the Banners knew if Beatrice would recover.

  I’d packed a few things to bring. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was hole up in a hospital. So I had a deck of cards, some books, some magazines, my sketchpad; I offered them to the rest of the group.

  “I didn’t even think to bring anything,” Brittany admitted, taking the cards.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time in this place,” I shrugged. “You get to know some tricks along the way.”

  I could feel the questions they weren’t asking. Belinda picked up a magazine and flipped through it before setting it aside in favor of the game of Go Fish Brittany was starting. “Were you sick?” Belinda was the one to finally voice it.

  Brady’s arm went around me, and he looked like he was going to shut down that line of conversation. But I answered it, because Brady had a drawer, now, and I was invited to Christmas. They should know. “No. My partner was. He had cancer, and towards the end he got sick a lot. So I kind of learned how to make the time pass a little better.”

  They were quiet while I flipped open my sketchpad, trying not to look like a widower or a man who was going to die alone and be eaten by my cat, as Tracy had warned me about so often before she’d set me up with Brady. Brady tugged me a little closer, kissed my temple, and I gave him a slight smile.

  “I’m so sorry, dear,” Claire said, and I looked up to find sympathetic expressions all around.

  “Thank you,” I told her sincerely.

  After another beat of awkward silence, Clint picked up a book of crossword puzzles. “What do you say, Mama Claire?” he asked, waving it around. “I bet I can beat you in these.”