by Lynda Aicher
Ignore it. Forget his desires. Put Finn first.
Their friendship.
The path curved, and he caught sight of the flesh-colored earpiece tucked in Finn’s ear, his phone strapped to his bicep. The ticking app or music?
He had so much to relearn about Finn. So much to unravel and rebuild.
The incline steepened and the heavy dampness of rot and mold washed in to carry his concerns away. There was nothing he wouldn’t do or give for Finn. Nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice to bring his brother back to himself.
Including his own damn heart—which Finn already owned.
Chapter 8
His arms shook, his shoulder blades screamed for mercy, and still Finn pushed. One more dip and up. Another. He gritted his teeth against the agony blazing down his back, dug his fingertips into the soft dirt beneath his palms. The tendons on his neck strained under the force it took to do yet another rep.
“Make me,” he grunted out, gravel grinding over his vocal cords.
“Fucking do it, Marine,” Tanner barked at his side. “You’re not a fucking pussy, are you? Not a scumbag weakling who doesn’t deserve the title of Marine.” The jeers inflamed the determined spark that’d been ignited at boot camp twenty years ago and had never gone out. “Dig, Marine.”
The last yell motivated him to drop once more, Tanner pacing him until Finn’s arms trembled, faltered, and finally gave out.
He dropped to the ground, chest heaving, arms aching. Fucking shit. He flopped to his back, uncaring of the dirt and wetness meshing with the sweat that already soaked his clothes. Tanner had hounded him through the last half-mile, his drill-instructor imitation a damn annoyance and better motivator than his physical therapist had ever been.
“Another set?” Finn asked around his slowing gasps. He sat up, unwilling to give in even though every part of his body was begging him to.
Tanner chuckled as he continued his own reps, a sweat barely formed on his forehead. Finn took him in, appreciation flaring, while his gaze lingered on the firm muscles defined in detail beneath his moisture-wicking compression gear. Tanner was bulked up through the chest, biceps, and thighs, but not overly so. Physically fit and still at his prime even though he was closing in on forty. “Vital” was the word that came to mind. Something Finn used to be, and was far from now.
A spark of envy flared and went out. He wouldn’t allow the useless emotion to spread. Not when Tanner was giving him so much. His time off. His support. His unwavering loyalty when Finn questioned his own worth. The trust and connection he’d dared to need and had feared, severed with Chris’s death.
Tanner was so damn strong, inside and out.
And all that hidden power and strength had been spooned against Finn last night. Hot silky skin layered over defined muscles, smooth beneath his palm. The fine hair on his legs tickling Finn’s foot. The firm roundness of his ass snuggled against Finn’s erection, hard yet yielding.
The memory swooped in to smack him in the gut, lust springing up to mock him. Really? Now? He squeezed his eyes closed and forced the thoughts away before his dick decided to get into the memory-lane trip. That’d be really uncool of him. Sporting a boner for his best friend—his brother—was wrong.
“You’ve pushed enough.” Tanner shoved back to a squat, his voice not even winded. His smile softened the tone that made the words sound too much like an order.
Finn stared into the woods, thoughts frayed yet catchable. His desires were wrong—yet disgust didn’t coil in his chest. Revulsion didn’t simmer next to his morals. Longing was there, though. And love.
His ass was wet. That thread snapped in to override the others. The ground was soggy and the damp had soaked through his tights. Would the material wick the moisture away when he stood up or would he be stuck walking back with an uncomfortable wet ass? And aching thighs. And—
“Finn. Hey.”
He snapped his head around, threads realigning to snag on Tanner. He stood before Finn now, hand extended to help him up. Right. They’d been having a conversation about…
Tick. Tick. Tick. He locked into the consistency and centered himself. He dug through the random threads fluttering in his head, dismissed them with each tick until he found the one he needed.
They’d been talking about him. That he’d pushed his body enough.
He took the offered assistance and used Tanner’s counterweight to stand. His legs trembled, a spike of pain shooting up his back. He grunted, caught his weight on his good leg, and hunched over, hands braced on his knees.
It sucked that Tanner was right. He didn’t have much left, even though he was still way below the entry-level fitness standards for all Marines. The ones he’d blown out of the water the first day he’d run them in boot camp—twenty years ago.
“You can keep going.” He motioned up the trail with his chin. Stopping now ate at the already small nugget of self-confidence he had left, but he wouldn’t show Tanner that.
Tanner looked up the path, longing flashing before he shut it down. “I should walk you back.”
“Go,” Finn insisted, and shoved up straight. He winced, caught himself when another shot of pain wrapped around his hip. “Fuck, this sucks.” His forced laugh didn’t hide the frustration burning just below the surface, but at least he hadn’t let it loose on Tanner like he’d done last night.
“It’ll take time.” Tanner stretched an arm across his chest, repeated the action with the other arm before he shook them out.
“Easy for you to say,” Finn scoffed, then bit his tongue. “Fuck. Go on.” He waved up the hill. “You’ll probably beat me to the cabin, given how long it’s going to take me to stumble back down the hill.”
The trail formed an eight-mile loop through his property, with spots like this for randomly added calisthenics. He’d made it a whopping two miles, the last at granny pace when he used to complete the entire circuit in just over an hour.
“And I should see that you get there safely,” Tanner insisted.
“Fuck off.” Finn glared at him, his pride taking another hit. “I can fucking walk back to the cabin on my own. If I wanted a damn mother hen, I would’ve brought my therapist.” He clenched his teeth and dared Tanner to defy him. He could do this. He needed to do this, on his own.
Tanner glared right back, questions flying between them on the silent communication network they’d mastered years before.
Are you sure?
Fuck, yes.
What if—
I’ll be fine.
Tanner lowered his gaze, looked away. A group of birds raised a chirping ruckus before they scattered into flight, the silence even more ominous after their departure. Please just go. I need you to go. I have to do this without you hovering.
Finn’s plea had been silent and Tanner was still staring into the distance. But a grin spread over his face when he finally looked back, the spark of deviousness a clear warning before he spoke.
“Loser makes breakfast.”
Finn scowled, relief swamping him. He hid that and jumped on the normalcy extended by Tanner. “Seriously?”
He waggled his brows, already backing up the path. “I want bacon and eggs.”
“I want an omelet,” Finn countered.
“Then you’d better hustle.” Tanner took off, his solid thighs flexing as he dug into the ground, his ass cheeks too gorgeous not to stare at. “Slowpoke,” he called over his shoulder before he disappeared around a bend.
“Don’t trip on any roots, Toe Pick,” he yelled back.
“Fuck you, Gravy.” The echoing retort cut through the trees to reach Finn. Laughter burst from his chest in a release of gratitude. This bait-and-challenge routine was ingrained in their friendship and placed them as equals, both capable of winning and neither willing to lose.
“Gravy,” Finn’s nickname, lingered in the air and exposed the warm spot in his heart where he treasured moments like this. As for Tanner’s nickname, it was courtesy of his last name, Dorsey, and a bu
lldog of a female sergeant who’d loved old chick flicks and had had no issues with tripping him when he’d gotten cocky during PT.
The entire company had ripped on him for months, “Toe Pick” overriding every prior nickname Tanner had acquired.
The sun broke through the lingering fog, the rays gleaming on the water droplets clinging to the leaves and grass. He lifted his face, savored the warmth on his cheeks. The trees buffered the wind to provide an alcove of calm.
This was exactly what he needed. Fresh air and everything that was comfortingly old in a world that was frighteningly new. Five weeks of this—if he could monopolize Tanner for his entire leave—and maybe he’d finally be healed.
Only he had no clue what that meant, or if he would ever be completely whole again.
He could be normal, though. He could be the brother Tanner expected him to be and not the lust-crazed jerk whose dick had decided it was time to play when the little shit had been inactive and unresponsive since his coma.
He had to remember what was important. Friendship. Trust. A bond that extended years and had held strong through so many challenges. Chris’s death was just another one. A kick to the nuts they were both still reeling from.
He started back down the trail, each step igniting a fresh ache through his legs. Running outdoors on an uneven dirt path with random inclines and descents was a ton more grueling than his treadmill. But it was good. This was all good.
Being with Tanner. Having his brother on his right back. The fresh air and exercise. He just had to keep his head straight.
He laughed at that, his bark breaking through the forest with a wry pitch. Right. His head was in worse shape than his body, but he could hide that—for the most part.
Which meant no more cuddling. No more erotic thoughts of Tanner. No more erections for the brother he couldn’t afford to lose. The man he loved more than anything. He wouldn’t risk endangering that love—Tanner’s trust—by acting on a desire he’d squelched years ago.
He picked up his pace, eyes focused on the path, steps matching the ticking rhythm in his ear. Keep moving forward. Maintain the equilibrium. Keep the camaraderie flowing.
They were brothers. Guys who harassed each other and hugged too. Ones who didn’t need to talk to fill the silence. But there’d be no more cuddling. More dares—sure. Challenges laid down—definitely. Friendly smack-talk—always.
But he couldn’t let his wayward longings ruin his friendship with Tanner, especially now that Chris was gone.
Chapter 9
Tanner pounded down the stairs, unworried about waking Finn. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine over the last week that started with a morning run-workout followed by the “winner’s breakfast,” as they’d started calling it. Finn had lost every day, which had opened Tanner’s eyes to exactly how far he’d fallen. But he wouldn’t let him win.
That’d go against every brother code they had.
It killed him, though, to watch Finn struggle to run even two miles or to finish twenty push-ups. His sit-ups were better, but pull-ups highlighted exactly how much upper body strength he’d lost.
The weather had sucked more than it didn’t, but Finn had insisted on going out no matter what. Winter on the Oregon Coast was a wet, biting bitch some days, a foggy, damp witch on others, and a calm, sweet mistress when she played. The unpredictability only added to the challenges both of them still thrived on. Thank fuck that hadn’t changed.
He bounded into the family room, grin in place despite his lack of sleep. Dreams, both violent and erotic, had plagued him every night without Finn beside him. An event that hadn’t been repeated after that first night. Yes, he could’ve gone to Finn and been welcomed into his bed—though not for sex.
Which wasn’t the problem. He just refused to put any more on Finn. Especially his own stresses and worries. The ones hounding him about his choices and his future when he’d spent his entire adult life focused on the present.
“Ready to lose again?” he joked, bending into a stretch. Dodging or avoiding Finn’s physical limitations wouldn’t help him; Finn had hammered that home the first day. “I’m thinking pancakes today.” He twisted his upper body, his spine cracking. “And eggs.”
Blocking Finn firmly into the “friend” category was old hat, but the absence of Chris made it harder. His buffer was gone, and his heart ached every damn day for the empty space Chris had left on his left. His daily admonishments did little to ease his steadily growing desire, which then shifted to shame.
He’d never have more than this with Finn. A fact he’d resigned himself to long ago. But here, now, it was damn hard to remember why.
“I’m thinking today is the day you’re going to make me that omelet.”
The confidence in Finn’s voice brought a grin out of Tanner. “You think so?” He stretched his neck and finally took a full look at Finn, something he’d been trying hard not to do too much.
Still tall, still handsome, still vital despite all he’d been through. How could he not find that attractive? A week of close proximity, of trips down memory lane with Chris as their guide, of digging up feelings he’d shut down because they had no place in his life, had left him on edge.
Finn’s smirk was layered with that devious thread that kicked at Tanner’s heart and set off a dozen warning signals. A faint shadow darkened his cheeks, his whiskers lending that sinister aura that’d prevailed on every one of their missions when shaving hadn’t been a priority.
Shit.
“What?” Tanner demanded, hiding the longing shredding his principles. He narrowed his eyes and pointed at Finn. “I don’t trust that look.”
“Why?” Finn grinned, a wide, fake display of teeth that did exactly what he intended it to do. Tanner’s defenses launched into high alert, mind scrambling to figure out what Finn was up to. “Are you afraid?”
The fucker hadn’t just pulled that one, had he? No Marine admitted to being afraid—of anything. “What do you got?” he bluffed, attacking when his self-preservation instincts said to run.
Arms crossed, a cocky casualness presented, Finn nodded at the kitchen counter, brow raising. The dim light over the stove provided minimal coverage and threw more shadows than it diminished.
Tanner frowned, stepping forward to get a better look at the items laid out on the tile countertop. Oh, fuck no!
He backed up a step, denial flying out in the hard shake of his head. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His pulse raced, want crashing with confusion and rejection. He couldn’t go down that path. Not with Finn. Not with the one man who already held so much power over him.
Finn shrugged, some of his smugness falling away. “I figured this would even things out. Put us on level ground.” He looked away, inhaled. “I have no chance of beating you…yet. But”—he met Tanner’s gaze, taunt blazing—“this would challenge both of us.” His smile eased back. “I figured you’d be tired of blowing my pansy-ass out of the water.”
Fucking…Tanner swallowed, a hundred thoughts flying through his mind, all of them agreeing this was the worst idea ever. “All right.” He sniffed, narrowed his eyes. Saying no wasn’t an option. Not when this was the first sign he’d seen of Finn’s dominant side. He swiped the black butt plug and leather harness off the counter, anger spiking. “Don’t you fucking say I’ve never done anything for you.”
Finn widened his eyes, palms raised in a placating gesture. “I wouldn’t think of it.” His attempt to hide his smile failed beneath his quivering lips. Dick. Ass. Fucking Dom.
“I’m not your goddamn sub either,” he snapped.
His chuckle grated down Tanner’s back, each note leaving a sadistic gouge that, ironically, Tanner savored. The whole BDSM thing had been one more point that’d unified the three of them. From what he’d gathered, Finn and Chris had perused the lifestyle as a way to skirt DADT. They could play with both sexes in a leather club and no one asked any questions. The inherent secrecy within the kink world had given them the freedom to
be gay without censorship or fear of reprisal.
And he’d followed them. Blended into their world in order to experience the pleasures he’d only begun to admit wanting eleven years ago. He’d clung to his hetero status as a means of self-preservation for his first nine years of service. But falling in with Chris and Finn had allowed him to explore the sexual desires he’d firmly denied until then.
Bisexual or gay, it didn’t matter how he classified himself—both had been wrong in the eyes of the military and his family. Even now, years after the repeal of DADT, he lived two lives. The dutiful hetero one his family and the military saw, and the kinky gay one he rarely let out of the closet.
Tanner slammed the bathroom door behind him, frustration bubbling over in a wave of nausea. He swallowed, choked back the sickness souring his stomach.
This was just a challenge. A way to help Finn. A joke he’d turn around and make Finn pay for later.
There was no way Finn knew how much he’d longed for this. How often he’d fantasized about kneeling at his feet, sucking his cock, giving him anything he demanded.
“There’s lube in the drawer,” Finn called through the door.
Fucker. He tightened his fist, determination rushing in to slam everything else aside. He’d shove that goddamn thing up his ass and run circles around Finn if it helped his brother. This was just another game, like the many they’d pulled on each other in the past. Like the hundreds that went on constantly whenever a group of males were bunched together and expected to bond.
He tossed the items on the counter and yanked his compression tights down. No hesitation. No doubts.
No fear.
He’d put many plugs up his own ass and others since he’d admitted to being attracted to men. At least Finn had given him a harness too. Holding that fucker in while running would’ve been damn near impossible.
He kept his gaze away from the mirror and focused on getting this done. The plug itself wasn’t that obscene, big enough to know it was there, but not so large it’d hurt. The lube was cold when he slicked it over the plug and around his rim. Getting the plug in place was fairly easy. A few deep breaths, some gentle shoves, then a harder one while bearing down.
