by May Archer
He heard someone wail, and realized it was him. Some distant, instinctive part of his brain warned him to be quiet, that anyone could hear, but he couldn’t make himself care. No part of this pleasure could be denied or modulated, and he refused to try.
“Damon? Damon. Oh my God, Damon,” he moaned, as his balls tightened. His neck arched, his head grinding into the mattress, as his heels dug into the edge of the bed. He was coming, and he almost didn’t want to. Nothing had ever felt like this before and he was almost positive nothing would ever feel this good again after tonight. He wanted to draw it out as long as possible.
But he couldn’t stop the need from building, couldn’t stop the way his hips bucked futilely against Damon’s hands, the way every muscle in his body locked down, or the cry of absolute surrender that came from his throat. He was lost to all of it. Lost to Damon.
A second later, Damon collapsed on the bed and curled around him, his face in Cain’s neck, his hand resting over Cain’s heart.
There were a lot of things Cain wanted to say in that moment - a hundred questions, a dozen thank yous, and one really shitty goodbye - but he kept his mouth shut. He was well aware this perfect peace would only last a few more hours and he wanted to spend them just like this.
It could be worse, of course. He could never have had this night to begin with. He could have died on the plane with Jack. He could…
His conversation with Molly earlier came floating back to him and stopped his little game with a sound like a needle scratching across a record.
You could go on forever thinking of worse things! she’d said, all excited about this new game, which was fine when it came to cauliflower. But was thinking of ways things could be worse really the best way to go through his entire life?
The bedspread was hot and scratchy beneath his ass, and his feet were dangling off the bed at an awkward angle, but Cain would have happily stayed right where he was forever.
Maybe, maybe, it was time to start thinking of ways he could make things better.
Chapter 9
Damon slowly came to awareness to find weak autumn sunlight filtering through the motel’s sheer pink curtain panels. His eyes opened in surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken after daybreak. He inhaled deeply and rolled over to find Cain sitting on the silly pink loveseat on the opposite side of the room, cradling his phone in his hand.
“Hey,” Damon murmured, his voice even raspier than usual, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard. He pushed the hair back from his face with both hands.
“Oh. Hey, yourself,” Cain said. He flushed as his gaze drifted from Damon’s face down to his bare chest. The weight of his stare had Damon’s cock stirring to life beneath the thin blanket, but he tried to ignore it. Damon didn’t regret what had happened the previous night - far from it - but that didn’t mean they could have a repeat, not until he and Cain had a rational discussion about what exactly this thing between them was or wasn’t. And that wouldn’t happen until he’d gotten Chelsea to the one place he could think of where she’d be safe.
He strove for a casual tone and ducked his chin towards the phone in Cain’s hand. “You seem to have woken up more easily today, anyway. Something exciting happening in the world?”
“Huh? Oh. Nah.” Cain turned the phone to show Damon the black screen. “I was trying to pack so fast yesterday, I forgot my phone charger. Stupid thing is dead.” Cain pushed the phone into the back pocket of his pants, and only then did Damon notice that the man had clearly showered and dressed already, in a pair of slim, dark jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.
Damon shrugged and yawned. “That’s fine. You can use my phone if you need to.”
Deep blue eyes met his, then flitted away. “Actually,” Cain said softly. “I’m thinking maybe I should just head out myself this morning. Rent a car. Get back to Nashville, maybe.” He picked a spot on his pants. “Or, hell, maybe go skiing with the Fassbenders. Sure to be a rollicking good time.” His lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.
Damon didn’t want to think too deeply about why his stomach pitched at those words. He’d had pretty much the same thoughts yesterday as they were driving - that he’d be better off taking Chelsea to safety without Cain and his confusing loyalties, and that Cain was a complication he didn’t need. Despite Chelsea’s advice and his decision to let Cain prove himself, all of those factors were still true. Even so, he had to clench his hands around the sheet to stop himself from arguing, from convincing Cain to stay.
“That what you want?” he growled instead.
Cain nodded quickly. “Yeah. I think it’s probably for the best. You drove most of the way yesterday and your leg was fine. If you need her to, Chelsea can drive, too.” He licked his lips. “And I figure you want to spend some time with her and Molly anyway. Get to know them without distractions.”
Damon exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re probably right.”
That ghost of a smile played around Cain’s gorgeous lips again. “Always am.”
“Baby, that is the least-right thing you’ve ever said,” Damon teased. The baby had come out naturally, without thought - probably a holdover from the night before. But when his gaze met Cain’s, he knew they’d both registered it, and he saw the sadness in Cain’s eyes.
They couldn’t pretend things hadn’t changed profoundly between them overnight, but that didn’t mean they were in any position to have a relationship either.
“So, uh, this place has breakfast,” Cain said with false enthusiasm, rubbing his hands on his thighs before pushing himself to his feet.
“Yep. Best in the Poconos, or so I’ve heard,” Damon returned dryly, rolling to his feet.
“And you might have noticed I didn’t get any dinner last night.” He clapped a hand to his stomach dramatically. “Not even chicken fingers.”
Damon rolled his eyes as he made his way to his bag and rummaged until he’d found clean clothes to put on.
“I made sure you got your protein,” he reminded Cain with a smirk, biting his lip to keep from laughing at the way Cain’s blue eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock.
“Did you… did you just make a bad blow job joke right now?” Cain asked.
“Maybe.” Damon shoulder-checked him as he passed by on his way to the bathroom.
“Has your sense of humor evolved at all since you were twelve?” Cain called, as Damon closed the door between them.
“Just tryna get on your level… kid.”
Damon pretended he couldn’t hear the scream of frustration that was Cain’s only reply, but he smiled the whole time he was in the shower.
******
“So, you’re not coming with us?” Molly’s dark eyes were more compelling than any puppy dog Damon had ever seen, and he could see Cain hesitate, forking up his last bite of pancakes as he shook his head.
“I’m not. I have… stuff to do,” Cain told her lamely, and once again, Damon wrestled with the urge to convince Cain to stay. It would be stupid for them to get further involved, and possibly dangerous for Chelsea and Molly, which is why he wouldn’t do it, but damn if he didn’t want to.
“But, who’ll color with me?” she demanded, somehow making her eyes even more liquid and pitiful.
Chelsea covered her smirk with her napkin. Cain shot her a pleading look, but Chelsea shook her head, an indication that Cain was on his own in this.
Cain huffed, but then smiled mischievously. “Maybe your Uncle Damon will color with you!” he said brightly. “Oh, and you should ask him to tell you some jokes. He’s got some hilarious ones.”
Molly looked at Damon expectantly, and he could feel his face turn red. Beneath the table, he aimed a kick at the man in front of him, but Cain shifted his chair back before his foot could connect and gave him a knowing grin.
“I’ll get the check,” Cain said. “Meet you guys outside to say goodbye.”
Damon slugged back the last sip of his coffee - black and strong, unlik
e the melted ice-cream Cain drank - and stood, waiting for Chelsea and Molly to do the same. Chelsea lifted her daughter down from the bench, and Damon was stunned when the little girl reached out and put her hand in his. He blinked down at her.
Molly’s hair was in little braids today, and she wore a pink dress with the slogan Undercover Unicorn.
“Cain says you’re only growly because you want to protect us,” she confided, her forehead creased with a frown, and his heart lurched.
“He’s right,” Damon agreed.
Molly’s other hand came around to trace the pink scars visible beneath the hem of Damon’s long sleeves, and he held his breath, but she made no comment about them. Still, her next words floored him completely.
“Who’s gonna protect Cain if you’re not there?” she wondered, and Damon’s gaze shot to the diner counter, where Cain stood paying the bill. He looked confident, a friendly smile on his face as he joked with the cashier, until you looked at the tightness around his eyes, the purple smudges that showed he’d had far less sleep than Damon had.
Fuck. Who would protect him?
It was easy to remind himself that Cain wasn’t likely to be in any physical danger, but what about emotionally? Who’d made him so afraid to lose his temper, to show his personality, to be himself?
He swallowed. “He’s a big boy, sweets, not a kid. He’d be the first one to tell you that.”
“But he still gets scared, though. He told me.”
Damon took a deep breath but didn’t reply. He didn’t know how. They walked toward the parking lot, Chelsea following close behind.
For a single moment, he let himself wish that Cain were walking out alongside them, that he’d be coming to the parking lot not to say goodbye, but to get in the car with them. He had a momentary image of showing Cain the place where he’d be taking Chelsea - one of his favorite places in the whole world - and he knew without a doubt that Cain would love it as much as he did.
And in his distraction, he failed to notice the black sedan.
The beast reversed from a parking space and headed right for them, tires squealing and engine roaring as the driver stepped on the gas. Damon heard someone scream, and saw from the corner of his eye as a bystander yanked Chelsea backward, out of the path of the car. He grabbed Molly’s shoulder and threw them forward, between two other parked cars, twisting as he fell to make sure he cushioned her.
Fuck! His right leg screamed in agony and he could swear he heard the damaged tissue ripping as he fell. The pain in his elbow registered next - sharp and burning. He’d scraped the hell out of it.
“Uncle Damon?” Molly’s voice was high and quivery.
“Yeah, sweets,” he said, trying to temper the rough growl of his voice. “You okay?”
She nodded. He quickly moved her off him and started to stand, a red haze across his vision. Where was Chelsea? Who the fuck had been in that car, and were they coming back?
But suddenly Cain was running toward him, panic on his face.
“Down! Get down! They’re coming back, and…” His voice cut off as he dove on top of Damon, shielding him and Molly as gunfire shattered the morning air.
Crack, crack, crack.
Glass shattered somewhere above his head, and there was a sharp, metallic ping as a bullet embedded itself in the door not far from his head. Cain’s body jerked on top of his. There was another squeal of tires, followed by a single moment of ringing silence… and then the whole world burst into motion.
“They’re gone!” someone shouted. “Did you see the license plate?”
“Call the police!” another voice cried. Then several pairs of feet came running toward them, demanding to know if they were okay.
“Moll?” Damon recognized Chelsea’s voice, panicked and high.
“Momma!” Molly pushed herself out from beneath Cain and scrambled into her mother’s arms.
“Damon, my God. Are you hurt?” Chelsea demanded. “Cain, are you?”
“No.” Cain’s voice sounded dazed. “Yeah, no. I’m fine.” He looked into Damon’s eyes, like he wanted to be sure Damon was okay, too.
Damon had no idea whether he was okay, and had no voice he could raise in reassurance. Cain had just jumped on top of him. Had literally thrown himself in front of bullets to protect him.
Maybe there was no way to be sure of someone’s loyalty until they’d proven it, but Damon didn’t need any further proof of what kind of man Cain was.
He lifted his hands, dirty and gravel-covered as they were, and cupped Cain’s jaw. “Fuck, baby,” he said, his voice barely intelligible even to himself. “Why?”
Cain shook his head like he didn’t understand the question. “Damon are you hurt? Your leg!” he said, horrified, as he realized that he’d been laying on it. He stood up quickly. “Is it broken? Shit, did I hurt you? Are you okay?”
Damon braced himself on his good leg, holding his right as steady as possible as he grabbed the closest door handle and pulled himself up. Yeah, that leg was not going to be holding him anytime soon. Fuck.
He looked around the parking lot, quickly assuring himself that the black car, and whoever had been driving it, were long gone. He had a pretty good idea who had been behind the incident, but how? How could they have been found, when he’d been so careful to pay for things in cash, to drive an untraceable car?
But he couldn’t think about that now. He had to get his family to safety.
He grabbed Cain by the upper arms. “Help me get…” He registered Cain’s flinch a second later, and they both looked down at Cain’s arm, where blood was seeping through his dark shirt.
“Shit, Cain!”
“Scraped it when I fell, I guess. Or maybe it was the broken glass?” He looked confused, like he couldn’t remember how it had happened. He shook his head like he was clearing it. “It’s fine,” he told Damon firmly. “Really.”
Damon peered at him closely, then nodded. “We need to leave as quickly as possible.”
“Right. You need to get going! Get them safe. I can…” He looked bewildered for a second. “What can I do? Use the phone in the office? Call Bas and Drew?”
Damon grabbed him by the back of the neck and shook him gently. “You can help me to the car, baby. You’re coming with us.”
“But…”
“But nothing. They shot at you, Cain. You’re not leaving my sight.”
Cain blinked. “I didn’t… I don’t think they were shooting at me.”
“Doesn’t matter who they were aiming for,” he whispered fiercely. “Come on. Before the police come, and start asking questions we don’t have answers for.”
Cain nodded, wrapping his good arm around Damon’s waist and taking his weight as he limped to the car. He got Damon to the passenger’s seat, then made his way around the car to take the wheel.
“God, you’re a pair, huh?” Chelsea said. Her voice was shaking as she climbed into the backseat and hovered over her weeping daughter protectively. “One good set of legs, one good set of arms?”
“I guess so,” Cain agreed distractedly.
Damon directed him out of the parking space, ignoring the hotel manager who was trying to flag them down, and pointed out the sign for the highway they needed to take. His eyes scanning the road for any sign of the black sedan, he barely heard his sister murmur, “Guess that means you should stick together.”
Chapter 10
The day had long since turned to night by the time Damon directed Cain up a steep and narrow mountain road somewhere in eastern Tennessee. At a guess, he’d put them maybe two hours away from his parents’ mountain cabin, but he was so turned around he could hardly tell.
Damon had insisted on them taking the longest possible route this side of the Mississippi, detouring into lots of deliberate switch-backs and local roads, turning what should have been a nine-hour trip from Pennsylvania to Tennessee into a two-day odyssey that had involved a stop at a crappy motel in West Virginia where no one but Molly had dozed for more
than a few minutes at a stretch. It had been a pain in the ass and tiring as hell, but Damon had sworn it was necessary and Cain wasn’t going to argue. The incident yesterday - seeing Damon and Molly on the ground, wondering for just one second if they were dead - had been scarier than anything Cain could remember.
For hours, Cain’s head had been pounding in syncopated rhythm with the hot pulse of the cut on his upper arm. The initial adrenaline rush had burned off quickly yesterday, and the lack of sleep from the past two nights had caught up with him. He was running on Diet Coke and determination.
In the back seat, Molly was zonked out in her car seat, Chelsea still leaning over her just as she’d been since yesterday morning. It had been hours since their last rest stop - a five-minute pause at a drive-thru and a chance for Damon to check the bandage he’d tied around Cain’s arm. Damon had looked grim. Though the blood flow had mostly stopped, the cut occasionally reopened when he moved too fast, and Damon thought he might need stitches or a tetanus shot. Unfortunately, heading to a hospital was too dangerous.
“Just a mile or so up the road,” Damon said now, looking over at him in concern.
“M’kay. How’s your leg?” Damon had managed to fuck himself up pretty thoroughly in his fall, and though he had been hobbling around somewhat, he needed Cain’s help.
“Still attached.”
“Want one of your pain pills?”
Damon snorted. “No thanks. I’d rather not pass out in the car.” He looked at Cain. “I still can’t believe you thought to grab those off my kitchen counter.”
Cain shrugged tiredly. “I thought you might need them. I still can’t believe you left them behind deliberately, or that you’ve refused to take them up to this point. Not sure why your stubbornness should come as a surprise, though.” He shot Damon a glare.
“Funny. Speaking of stubborn, how’s the arm?”
“Also still attached. It’ll be fine.”
