by E M Lindsey
“Brown,” Ryan said, and his breath hitched when Cole rubbed a lock of hair between his thumb and fingers. “There’s some lighter highlights, especially in summer. It’ll go grey soon though. My granddad was fully white by the time he was fifty.”
Cole’s lips twitched into a grin. “Yeah?”
He felt Ryan shrug. “I always thought he looked distinguished.”
“What about your eyes?” Cole asked. He let his hand gingerly brush along Ryan’s short lashes, feeling them flutter like a butterfly kiss.
“Blue. Plain blue, which is funny because both my parents and my brother all have brown eyes. When I was in middle school, I begged my mom for brown contacts so I could blend in. My brother used to tell me it was because I was secretly adopted, and I believed him for years.”
“That’s…unkind,” Cole said. “You may be wrong in your assessment of his being better than you are in that regard.”
After a moment, with some hesitation in his voice, Ryan asked, “What about yours?”
Cole felt himself startle at the unexpected question. “My eyes?”
He heard Ryan let out a slow breath, then he said, “You don’t have to answer that. I know they’re not…I know you don’t have them anymore. But I just wondered.”
Cole hadn’t ever prepared himself for that question. Most of the people who knew him avoided directly confronting his blindness, and those who weren’t afraid of it avoided anything to do with his eyes—or the lack of them. He thought maybe the question should hurt, or bother him, or make him miss what he no longer had. Instead, he felt a profound sense of relief that at least one person in the world wasn’t afraid to ask. “They were blue. Dark blue. My daughter has eyes like that as well.”
Ryan dragged Cole’s hand to his mouth, held his finger, and nipped the pad. “Do you want to know more?”
Cole smiled and let himself feel the sharp points of Ryan’s canines. “I want to know everything. Things I can feel, and the things I can’t.”
“Okay.” Ryan nipped his finger again. “I have very straight teeth from years of wearing braces. I have a scar on my lower lip from where I tripped and fell off a low brick wall, but you can only see it when I smile. I have six pock-marks from middle-school acne along my temples. Those you can probably feel.”
Cole examined them himself and could, gentle dips in otherwise smooth skin.
“I have a scar on my elbow from trying to climb a fence to sneak into the neighbor’s pool. I had to get nineteen stitches. I also broke my nose when I fell off that fence and I have a tiny lump right in the middle.” Cole felt along the bump again, confirming for himself. “I have the world’s patchiest chest hair—no matter what I did, I could never grow it in. My beard is also a disaster, so I just shave.”
Cole laughed, pressing his forehead down to Ryan’s collarbone. “Anything else?”
“I have fat toes. My brother always called them Fred Flintstone feet, and I was so self-conscious about them, I started getting pedicures in secret when I was in high school,” Ryan told him, then lifted Cole by the chin and kissed him, soft, slow, gentle. When he pulled back, it was to give himself just enough room to be heard. “The way I look has never been able to make up for the fact that I’ve never been a great person.”
“I think you might not give yourself enough credit,” Cole told him as he shifted back to lay against the pillow. “I don’t know you well enough yet, but I’ve been forced to rely on the rest of my senses to judge character and I’ve come to realize that sight is deceiving. Good looks are charming, distracting, they hide all manner of sins.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asked, his voice a little tight. Cole felt him shift, then felt Ryan take his hand between them.
“I don’t get an uneasy feeling with you. You might have made mistakes, but they don’t have to define you. And you don’t seem to be eager to repeat them.” Cole let his thumb brush along the side of Ryan’s.
“Man, you are great for a guy’s ego,” Ryan said. It was obvious in his tone, with his attempt at humor, that Cole had gone too deep, so he allowed the moment to pass.
“I think I need to shower,” Cole said. “D’you want to join me?”
Ryan released him with a slow drag of fingers. “I,” he said, and stopped for a second. “I think I’ll go clean up the kitchen while you do that. If that’s alright with you?”
Cole heard the unspoken need to be alone in Ryan’s voice, and it matched his own. He didn’t want to separate, but he knew he needed a moment to breathe, to process the intensity of what should have been just sex with a near-stranger. “I trust you,” he told him.
He felt Ryan’s warm breath, then a hand on his cheek before lips descended on his own for a drawn-out, sweeter than expected kiss. “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen so you can inspect my work.”
Cole said nothing, just listened to the sound of Ryan rising, pulling on something to wear, then stepping out of the room. When he was alone, Cole fell back to the sheets and put a hand over his face. He didn’t regret what he’d done—how could he? It had never been that good. But he couldn’t stop wondering now, where was this meant to go?
***
Ryan noticed the shaking in his hands as he gathered the plates from the table. His entire body was still humming with sensation, his mind warring with itself because more than anything, he wanted to strip back out of his boxers and join Cole in the shower.
But he needed this space. The night hadn’t exactly gone to plan. He had started out not even sure if Cole liked men and had ended with one of the most all-consuming orgasms Ryan had ever experienced. He’d been madly in love with Noah, but it had never been like that between them. With Max, the sex was hot and forbidden, but never had he lost himself in the moment the way he just had with Cole. He was craving more, wanting more, willing to make unreasonable compromises for the promise that they could do this again.
And that was dangerous. Feelings were dangerous. He liked Cole way too much to put him at risk with his inevitable fucking-up. And the things Cole had said, the way he’d touched his face and had systematically laid cracks along the walls Ryan had erected years ago? Not even Noah had gotten that close. No one he knew even dared to talk to him about his inferiority complex he carried about Rhys, and Cole had laid his reasoning out flat with one verbal punch.
With a breath, Ryan carefully stacked the dishes by the sink and began to scrape them into the disposal. He spotted the dishwasher and found it empty but spotted with hard water, so it was clearly used. He quickly loaded everything in, then rummaged around until he found some containers to store what was left. He was fairly sure everything was in its place—Cole had already done most of the work as they were cooking, so he shouldn’t be too lost.
Walking to the fridge, Ryan opened it and saw everything laid out with military precision—neat rows of product grouped together and precisely spaced. He realized it wasn’t military training that had Cole so fastidious, but necessity, and he hesitated with the leftovers. In the end, he shut the door and set it on the counter and took up a sponge to clean up the splatters of sauce and bits of chopped garlic which hadn’t made it into the pan.
His mind was finally starting to settle, though the low hum of desire just under the surface of his skin showed no signs of leaving. He was in deep—much deeper than he had ever expected to be with anyone, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Cole didn’t seem put off by anything Ryan had said. When Ryan had implied that relationships were a bad idea, the other man hadn’t argued.
Did that mean Ryan could have this—whatever it was—without putting them at risk with commitment? It seemed too good to be true.
He was just wiping the table down when he heard a small cough and turned to see Cole leaning against the kitchen door frame. He was dressed in loose flannel bottoms and a t-shirt, his hair damp, and most surprisingly he was without his compression sleeve. Ryan was able to see the shining skin, thick with scars, though they looked better than they might have withou
t the sleeve.
Cole looked nervous as he stood there, his temple twitching with the tension in his jaw, and his fingers were playing gently with the worn wood near the latch. “Do you need any help?”
Ryan shook his head. “No, it’s all finished. I used your dishwasher, I hope that’s okay.”
At that, Cole laughed which confused Ryan until he said, “The one thing I’ll give Americans is the dishwasher. I don’t think I can ever go back.”
Ryan’s eyebrows flew up. “You don’t have those in England?”
Cole laughed again, taking a step into the room. His hand found the fridge and he turned to lean against it. “No. Our kitchens have sinks, fridges, sometimes a table, and usually a washing machine. For clothes,” he added.
Ryan blinked. “Wait…you wash your clothes in the kitchen?”
Cole shrugged and stepped away from the fridge, one hand out like he was asking for Ryan to take it. Ryan didn’t hesitate and he didn’t miss the way Cole brightened a little at his touch. “Yes, we do, and it’s not weird if you’re English.”
“Well I’m American,” Ryan said, leaning in to brush a kiss to the corner of Cole’s mouth, “so I’m allowed to think that shit is strange.” He dropped the sponge he’d been using and set both hands on Cole’s waist. “It’s late. I uh…I should…”
“I’ve some extra pajamas,” Cole said, interrupting his awkward flow of words. “And the shower’s free. If you want to stay.”
Ryan swallowed thickly. “You’d be okay with that? I mean, I’d like to. Tonight was amazing and I’m frankly looking forward to tomorrow morning after we’ve refreshed. But I also don’t want to be all up in your space. I know how hard it is to have a stranger here, and Wes told me what it can be like for vets to sleep with someone new.”
“I reckon people like Wes and Adrian definitely have a difficult time of it,” Cole said, reaching to cup Ryan’s face gently. “But they had a very different experience to mine. I was locked in small rooms surrounded by computers and nerdy tech guys trying to decode and decrypt. The blast I took was the first time I was ever near open fire, and we were lured there on purpose.” He gently stroked the side of Ryan’s face. “That’s not to say I don’t have trauma over it, but it’s not the same. I’d…I’d like to have you here. I feel the same way. About tomorrow morning,” he finished in a soft whisper.
Ryan felt his dick give a brave effort to come back to life, though he didn’t have the stamina of a twenty-year-old any longer. Instead, he dipped his head forward and took Cole’s mouth in another kiss, this one far less sweet than the last. “Okay. Then I’ll stay. I’ll shower and meet you in bed?”
“Perfect,” Cole murmured, his mouth seeking more.
Ryan was happy to oblige, backing Cole up until his ass hit the fridge, and then he kissed him until neither of them were breathing properly. “There’s leftovers on the counter directly to the right of the fridge,” Ryan said once he’d composed himself a little and had taken a short step backward. “I didn’t know where you might want them, so I thought you could put them away.”
Cole’s lips curled into a smile and he let Ryan go. “For future reference,” he said as his hands felt along the counter for the container, “I always put them on the bottom shelf, furthest to the right.”
For future reference. The words pinged around his brain and lodged there. For future reference. Ryan wanted to be petrified, knew he should want to run, but instead he let himself smile, and for the first time in far too long, he let himself hope.
6.
The last place in the world Ryan wanted to be was at the office. If he hadn’t been due in court that afternoon, he would have told his entire schedule to go fuck itself and would have stayed in bed with Cole. It had been almost a decade since Ryan had woken up to someone spooned around him, and there was something to be said about a thick cock brushing between his thighs that made it a very good morning.
Cole had seemed to agree with the sentiment, fumbling for the lube, then getting Ryan’s thighs slick enough so he could thrust into them. The way his cock bumped up just behind his balls had been nearly enough to send Ryan over the edge, and as it was, it only took a few strokes of his cock before he spilled onto the sheets.
The shower was necessary, and he had to decline the coffee so he would have enough time to pop home and change, but they shared a slow, lingering kiss in the doorway before they parted ways. Ryan found himself sitting in his car watching as Cole headed down the street, his cane in one hand, Kevin’s leash in the other, tight sweats hugging his ass in all the right places, and the wrap-around shades making his sharp jaw even sharper.
He was one of the sexiest men Ryan had ever slept with, and he had both a phone number to text and a promise they would do it again to carry him through the day. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately for his productivity—work was consuming enough he didn’t have time to sit around and think about the way Cole’s dick felt in his hand, or in his mouth. The way Cole had fucked his face was enough to send him on the edge of coming just by thinking about it, so the all-day meetings with his team was probably a blessing.
It was around lunch, just when he was contemplating sending off a sext—and whether or not Cole would be able to enjoy it read out by some mechanical voice on his phone—when there was a knock on his office door and the creepy face of McCaig peered around his door.
“Have you got a minute?”
Ryan bit back a sigh and nodded, gesturing to his free chair. “Of course. What can I help you with?”
“Just a couple of notes here,” McCaig said, holding a file folder out in front of him. He eased his weirdly elongated body into the chair and set the folder in front of himself. “Specifically on the Goodwin case.”
Ryan winced a little. It had been the toughest one he had, and part of him had been glad to give it up. A domestic violence case where the mother had refused to press charges, but because the two children and the mother had been attacked at the eldest child’s school, it was out of her hands. The family had clearly been dealing with the abusive father for far too many years, and the mother was still trying to defend the father’s actions in spite of evidence contrary to what she claimed. Currently, the children were residing in temporary homes as the mother would not comply with the mandated separation from her husband, and it killed Ryan every time he had to see her.
“Yeah, I probably should have warned you about that one,” Ryan admitted. “That one has been dragging on for a while, and the mother still won’t cooperate.”
“It says that CPS has been attempting to reunite the family,” McCaig said.
Ryan frowned. “They’ve been attempting to get the mother to agree to counseling and to agree to the protective order the State took out against the husband on behalf of the children.”
McCaig tapped his chin. “Defense notes here claim that the children may have been coached to speak against the father. How are you countering that argument? Is there definitive proof that they’re not lying simply to exact some revenge against a punishment or perceived slight?”
Ryan blinked at him, a little stunned and a little sick to his stomach. “Well, the evidence is all there in the case file. The children were undernourished, had months’ worth of healing injuries, and the father’s public assault was caught on security footage. He tested positive for several different intoxicants and he’s already dropped dirty twice while awaiting his hearing.”
McCaig merely stroked his chin. “But could we consider that circumstantial?”
“With witnesses?” Ryan asked, feeling his entire body tense. He sat back and glanced over at his phone, fighting a mad urge to pick it up and phone in his boss to have McCaig ripped off this case. “Are you sure DV is the best department for you?”
“It’s always been my area of focus,” McCaig said with a small smile, his beady eyes going more narrow. “I’m not trying to say the children are liars, but I’ve seen my share of cases end up that way.”
“I
’m not sure how it works wherever the fuck you’re from,” Ryan said, his voice rising a little.
“Glasgow,” McCaig said smoothly.
Ryan blinked, then shook his head. “…but I can tell you that here, cases of child abuse and domestic violence don’t make it to our desks unless there is substantial proof.”
McCaig sat back and spread his hands. “Fair enough, I dinnae mean to be contrary. Just trying to get my feet wet and all that.”
Ryan licked his lips, then shook his head. “It’s…it’s fine,” he muttered, though he was absolutely lying. “I’ve been working that case for a while and it’s difficult to divorce myself from my emotions.”
“Ah, so it does make sense why the case was transferred to me. I never seem to have that problem,” he offered with a slick grin.
Ryan tried to check his revulsion so it didn’t show on his face. I bet you don’t, he thought to himself. “Well I can assure you there is substantial evidence to convict Mr. Goodwin. It’s just a matter of the plea agreement, but we can’t meet with the defense until CPS has finished their investigation and until there’s an agreement between them and the mother. Or until rights have been severed.”
McCaig looked thoughtful, but instead of saying anything, he just nodded. “I appreciate the insight.” Before Ryan could respond, McCaig said, “We dinnae ken each other very well, dae we?”
Ryan was startled by the statement. “Ah. No, I guess not?”
Folding his arms over his chest, McCaig said, “Tell me about yourself.”
Ryan had been working as an ASA long enough there that everyone knew him. He’d never really officially come out to them, but he hadn’t kept it a secret. Yet somehow, looking at this guy, he felt like a scared teen facing down a hyper-masculine PE teacher who was ready to make him do pushups until he puked to sweat the gay out. “There’s not a lot to tell. I’m single,” though he wasn’t sure how true that was right then, “I own a condo, and most of my waking hours are spent at work.”
