On Solid Ground

by Quinn Anderson

  Chance’s pupils were huge in the dark. “Sounds like the plot of a halfway decent porn.”

  Kit laughed, soft and low. Chance laughed with him, and the sound made Kit tingle. He couldn’t deny the shift in mood between them, or the fact that Chance was definitely edging closer. Kit was having trouble remembering why he’d wanted to avoid this.

  Chance wet his lips. “Your description of Thomas surprised me. I would think you’d go for muscular gym rats, like you.”

  “I’m not like that, I promise. If my gym didn’t have a heated pool and sauna, I wouldn’t go half as often as I do.”

  “So . . . the first guy you hooked up with had dark hair and blue eyes, huh?”

  The question was too pointed for Kit to ignore. Chance had obviously noticed Thomas’s description sounded familiar. “You might say I have a type.”

  Chance had a blush on his face that was visible even in the dark. His eyes looked black, his pupils had gotten so wide. “Do you now?” His tone said he wanted Kit to elaborate.

  It was getting harder and harder to pretend they were simply getting to know each other. This conversation was veering away from platonic and into dangerous territory, and Kit couldn’t bring himself to stop it.

  “Yeah. Generally, I like guys who are smaller than me. Compact, you know?” Kit swallowed. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it thoroughly. “I think having to lean down to kiss a guy is hot in a weird way. Or if we’re making out, and I can pin him down. Cover his whole body with mine and feel him under me. Sometimes, I’ll grab a guy’s wrists and—”

  Chance made a small noise, somewhere between a breath and a moan. He looked startled, as if he hadn’t meant to, and coughed.

  Kit was almost afraid to ask. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Um. I was thinking I like that too, only the opposite.” He looked Kit square in the eye. “I love feeling a guy’s weight on top of me. And if he pushes me against a wall and kisses me, I melt. He can do whatever he wants to me after that.”

  Holy shit, Kit was turned on. He could perfectly picture doing all those things to Chance, and more. His cock was already getting hard, demanding he do something about how badly he wanted the man sitting next to him.

  Because fuck, Kit wanted him. He couldn’t believe he’d thought he could avoid acknowledging it.

  Kiss him, Kit ordered himself as Chance leaned in. Their faces were inches apart now. It’d be nothing to close the distance. Kiss him already.

  As if cued by Kit’s thoughts, Chance’s eyes drifted down to Kit’s lips. Even in the dim light, Kit could see them tracing the shape of his mouth. Any second now, one of them would pluck up the courage to do what they should have done the moment they’d met.

  But should it happen like this? asked a nagging voice in the back of Kit’s head. When you’re both drunk? When you might not make it out of here alive? When everything could be different tomorrow, or worse, it could stay the same? This could be your shot to show Chance the real you, but is now the time?

  Kit had no idea what to do. He actually liked Chance. He couldn’t screw this up, especially not now. Plus, Kit was the only other guy here. It wasn’t as if Chance had many options. If he was looking for a last kiss, Kit was his only shot.

  A debate raged within Kit. If this was their final night on earth, he wanted so badly to be with Chance while he still could, but not while they were both drunk. If they survived this, he didn’t want to look back on his actions with regret. He didn’t want Chance to either. No matter how terrible their situation was, he had to believe there was hope.

  They’d make it out of this, and when they did, Kit wouldn’t let anything stop him from telling Chance how he felt. Not his job. Not his carefully cultivated image. Nothing.

  Right as their lips were about to meet, Kit leaned back, and the spell broke like fragile glass. “We should get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

  Chance blinked at him, looking confused. Whatever he’d expected, he clearly hadn’t gotten it. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then said, “My phone’s at five percent.”

  “You should turn it off. We can save the last bit of power for an emergency.”

  “Yeah.” Chance didn’t move. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

  Oh God, is he going to come out and say it?

  Kit wasn’t sure what he’d do if Chance asked if he wanted to kiss him. He’d never been a very good liar. “Yes?”

  “What are we going to do about sleeping arrangements? There’s room for two on the sofa, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to share.”

  Shit. I forgot about that.

  Kit hesitated for a fraction of a second before shrugging. “Do you mind sharing the couch?” If he was going to die tonight, he might as well be comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could be nestled up to a man he was painfully attracted to.

  “Not at all. I was going to insist. It doesn’t make sense for one of us to sleep on the floor when we could both fit.”

  “Sounds good. I’m gonna use the bathroom first.” He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Actually.” Chance powered his phone off and stood up. “Mind if I come too? I had a lot to drink.”

  “Sure thing.” Kit got up and held his hand out to Chance. “So we don’t lose each other.”

  Chance didn’t hesitate to take it.

  9:57 p.m., Monday, August 13th

  As Chance settled on the sofa, he wondered to himself if it were possible to die of frustration. Not just sexual frustration either, though that was so thick in the air, he swore he could smell it. But the frustration of being so close to someone and still being held at arm’s length.

  Kit was holding back, and Chance wanted so badly to know why. He had his suspicions, but there was no way to confirm them without having a conversation he’d rather not have right now. Not when they were exhausted and drunk and burdened with so much fear.

  Even in the more relaxed moments—when they were playing games and joking around—the gravity of their situation hovered over them. Quite literally, in the case of the roof threatening to crush them at any moment. No matter how he distracted himself, Chance couldn’t stop thinking that they might never get out of here.

  Kit was thinking it too. It was evident in the way his shoulders never fully relaxed and his eyes kept drifting over to the windows, full of longing and remorse.

  Chance wasn’t frustrated with Kit—not really—but he was at the same time. There was clearly something between them. Something that had only deepened in the face of all the other, bigger things they should be focused on. This thing between them was happening at the worst possible moment, but it was still happening, outside of their control, like rocks sliding down a hill. There was only so long they could fight the gravity that was dragging them together.

  Yet Kit insisted on trying. Chance had wanted to cry when Kit had pulled away from him before. They could be taking comfort in each other. Chance could be using these final moments to tell Kit how he felt. But instead, they were sitting in silence.

  Most of all, Chance was frustrated with himself. For not making a move sooner, for needing a natural disaster to bring them together while it also tore them apart, and for drinking too damn much. If his head were clear, he’d sit Kit down and have this out right now. But the room was spinning, and as soon as he lay down, he was convinced he couldn’t get back up again.

  Tomorrow, he promised himself. If they made it to tomorrow, he would talk to Kit. He had to be honest. Even if Kit pushed him away again. Even if he died with a broken heart. It’d be worth it, to have no regrets.

  As Chance watched, Kit sat on the edge of the sofa. They’d taken one of the back cushions and placed it on an armrest to act as a pillow. It was stiff and uncomfortable, but it was better than the floor by far.

  Chance’s feet reached all the way to the armrest, which meant Kit was going to have to curl up in order to fit. It didn’t ma
tter how they positioned themselves. They were going to sleep very, very close to each other. Chance’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding no matter how hard he willed it to stop.

  “I put my phone on the desk,” Kit said without looking at him. “If you need to get up in the middle of the night, feel free to find it and use it.”

  “Thank you.”

  They fell quiet again, the tension punctuated by the screech of sirens. Were those fire trucks in the distance? The police? Were they coming to rescue them? There was no way to tell.

  “Good night,” Kit said. He hesitated for one moment longer before he finally lay down. Chance had been waiting to see how he’d do it: feet by Chance’s head, or maybe facing away from him? But Kit faced Chance, his head on the same pillow. Their hands and legs ended up tangled between their bodies. Chance was grateful it was dark, or he didn’t think he’d be able to bear the intimacy of having their faces so close.

  Chance whispered, “Good night.”

  He closed his eyes, even though he knew sleep would be a long time coming. He tried to think about anything besides Kit. His family sprang into his mind. When he thought about how worried they must be, his heart throbbed.

  If he got any rest tonight, it’d be a miracle.

  “Chance?” Kit’s face was so close, his breath tickled Chance’s skin.

  “Hm?”

  “Thank you.”

  Chance opened his eyes. They’d begun to adjust; he could see the outline of Kit’s face. “For what?”

  “For staying so calm. For making me laugh in spite of everything. For being here. I’m grateful for that all on its own.”

  Chance adjusted his position. “Thank you too. I don’t think I could have kept it together if it weren’t for you. You’ve been so brave.”

  There was a pause. Kit wasn’t saying something. Chance could feel it in the air between them. His heart sped up as he waited.

  “Why did you hesitate?”

  Chance frowned even though Kit couldn’t see him. “What?”

  “When we were at the fire escape, you could have made it out. You could have gotten to safety. But you hesitated. I saw you. Why?”

  Chance wasn’t certain he could answer that. He’d come up with a hundred different excuses. He’d been frightened. He hadn’t known if Kit could hold the passage open. He hadn’t wanted to risk getting crushed.

  None of those reasons rang true. The fact was, he’d looked at Kit’s face, and some part of him, for a fraction of a second, had lost the motivation to get out. But he couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself trapped here for a man he’d barely known at the time. Could he?

  As the silence stretched on, awaiting an answer, words weighed on the tip of Chance’s tongue. I couldn’t leave you here all alone.

  Even if it were true, he couldn’t tell Kit that. Kit already blamed himself for not getting Chance out. The guilt would destroy him.

  Instead, Chance proffered a facsimile of the truth. “I don’t know.”

  There was another beat of quiet. Then Kit drew a slow breath. “I would never say I’m glad you’re here, but . . .”

  “I know.” Chance closed his eyes again. “I know. I feel the same.”

  To his surprise, sleep found him. As he drifted off, he thought something brushed against his face—something warm that ran along his cheek to his mouth—but it was gone so quickly, he forgot all about it.

  7:32 a.m., Tuesday, August 14th

  When Chance woke up, he was cramped and had a horrible kink in his neck. Wind howled through the smashed windows, and yet it did nothing to dispel the sticky-hot air that filled his nose like cotton.

  Cracking an eye open, Chance blinked at the brightness. He’d expected to be disoriented, to need a minute to remember where he was. But it all came flooding back to him the moment he opened his eyes, along with a foul taste in his mouth and aches in every part of him. There was a special one in his head that he couldn’t blame on the quake. That was all the Scotch’s doing.

  The worst ache of all, however, was in his chest, and it was caused by the man sleeping next to him. Kit was a mess. Dirty. Coated in day-old sweat. His honey-brown hair was wild, and some serious stubble was darkening his square jaw.

  He looked painfully sexy.

  That’s so not fair.

  Chance could have spent all morning watching him, but his pounding head demanded he find water, and his bladder had demands of its own.

  He had no idea how he managed to extricate himself without waking Kit, but after a lot of bending and flinching at every sound, he made it to his feet. Kit rolled into the space he’d vacated and spread out like his unconscious self had been waiting for this moment.

  Chance was cooler without Kit’s body pressed against his, but its absence made him feel vulnerable. It was like when he was a kid, and he’d honestly believed his blanket protected him from monsters. He’d grown accustomed to having Kit next to him—in more ways than one.

  He allowed himself one final look at Kit before he exited the office and picked his way down what was left of the hallway. The wreckage seemed all the more horrifying in the soft morning light. The cracks in the walls were deeper, darker. The incongruous peacefulness stoked the embers of panic within him.

  After a stop-off at the toppled vending machines for water and crackers, he made it to the lobby bathroom. The burst pipe he’d ignored the day before had done a wonderful job of flooding the place, and the sewage smell was ripe in the air. It matched the sourness on his tongue.

  Alcohol is bad.

  He took care of all his bodily needs, including rinsing out his mouth so thoroughly it was almost a substitute for toothpaste. By the time he walked back into the lobby, he felt more human, and his headache had mostly subsided. The victory was short-lived, however. The sound of screaming reached him. Someone was shouting his name.

  Kit.

  Chance booked it back to the office and ran into Kit in the hallway. Literally. Chance plowed into his shoulder and was sent stumbling back. He would have gone crashing into the nearest pile of rubble had Kit not reached out to steady him.

  “Chance.” He grabbed Chance’s shoulders in a too-tight grip. “Christ, are you okay? When I woke up, and you were gone, I—” He made a strangled sound.

  “It’s okay, Kit. Take a breath.” Chance used his most soothing voice. Kit was breathing hard; it didn’t make sense. Chance had only left him for a minute. “I’m right here. I went to get some water and use the bathroom. You didn’t think I’d disappeared on you, did you?”

  “No, that’s the thing. I knew you weren’t gone. I knew that. When I woke up, and you weren’t beside me, I figured you’d gone to get something. But no matter how many times my head shouted that at me, I still panicked, and—” He made the sound again, only this time it was more like a growl. “All I could think was that if something happened to you, I’d lose it.”

  “Nothing happened to me. I’m fine. We’re both fine. We made it to morning, and—”

  Before Chance could react, Kit grabbed his face and kissed him.

  Hard.

  Chance was too surprised to do more than stand there and let him. Kit tasted smoky, like the Scotch they’d drunk. One of the hands on Chance’s shoulders found its way to his face and cradled it, as if Chance were something precious.

  The touch stirred some memory in Chance—something he couldn’t quite grasp—and it spurred him into action. He kissed Kit back, and a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying lifted off him. Kissing Kit was everything. It was hope and peace and the sort of pain he wanted to feel, because it meant healing was on the way.

  “Kit,” he mumbled, for the sheer pleasure of hearing it. “Kit.”

  Kit didn’t respond. Not with words. He wrapped his large arms around Chance and pulled Chance tightly to him. The kiss went from shaky to desperate in a flash. Kit held on to Chance so hard, it was like he was trying to bind them together.

  It was all Chance could do to give back.
There was so much emotion behind it, so much raw need, he could scarcely breathe. In his head, one word echoed in the otherwise sweet silence: finally.

  And then it was over.

  Kit fell back a step and blinked, like he was coming out of a dream. “Chance.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Chance answered anyway. “Yeah.” He was panting. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the kiss, the heat, or the stunned look in Kit’s eyes.

  “I . . .” Kit touched his mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have done that. Not without talking to you first.”

  Chance searched Kit’s face, debating with himself. He hadn’t planned to have this conversation the moment they woke up, but he also hadn’t planned on Kit kissing him. And he hadn’t known if they would wake up. It was now or never.

  “It’s all right. Really, I don’t mind. I . . . I wish you hadn’t stopped.”

  Kit stared at him for a long moment before dropping his gaze. “I need a minute, okay? I’m gonna go clean up. You should eat something. Drink some water, if you haven’t already.” And with that, he sidestepped Chance and strode off down the hall.

  Chance stared after him, more frustrated than ever. When Kit said he needed a minute, did he mean they’d talk when he got back? Chance was tempted to run after him and demand an explanation, but in light of everything that’d happened, he didn’t think pushing Kit was the right move. They were both volatile right now, no matter how hard they tried to act calm.

  Hopefully, they had an extra minute to spare. He trudged back into the office.

  Emptying his pockets of the provisions he’d grabbed, he turned on the TV and scanned the news while he ate. It was much the same as yesterday: constant coverage of the earthquake and drone shots of the devastated city center.

  The news anchor shared statistics and predictions: scientists had expected at least one aftershock in the night, but it hadn’t happened. That could be a good sign, but no one the anchor interviewed seemed optimistic. The rest of what was reported, Chance already knew: there were too many people in need of help and too few resources.