Brandon grinned. “The dick and the attitude. I’m the complete package. So to speak.”
“Certainly nearly more than I can handle.” Frank kissed Brandon’s shoulder. “I need something to drink. Water. You want something?”
Brandon shook his head and spread out more, relaxing, claiming space, which Frank figured was a good sign.
“I’ll be back in five. Don’t go anywhere.”
Brandon gave him an ironic look and flopped a bit more.
Frank slid out of bed, deliciously sore, found his boxers and put them on, then headed downstairs into the kitchen. Pills. He couldn’t forget the pills, wouldn’t upset the carefully balanced routine that kept him healthy.
Vitamins. Minerals. All washed down with a large glass of water, then he started setting up his pills for tomorrow morning, made small piles of the different colours and shapes. It was routine now, he even had a tray for them, which in the beginning had reminded him of suddenly turning eighty years old, held together only by pills. He’d made his peace with it, though. Didn’t mean he wanted Brandon to see any of it.
Between getting water for both of them and dealing with medication, five minutes turned into fifteen. He kept expecting Brandon to come strolling into the kitchen, imagined his expression at the massive amounts of pills. Maybe a smirk and a comment about “don’t forget an aspirin a day for your heart” or “any of those make you see crazy shit?” Or maybe, given the kid’s prior history, a silent and more sombre reaction. A look, followed by a refusal to look again.
Fortunately, Brandon didn’t come down. When Frank made it back to the bedroom, Brandon hadn’t moved. In fact, he’d fallen asleep. Lying like that, on his stomach with one arm under the pillow and the other tucked against his side, he looked half Brandon, half Stefan. Boyish, peaceful, almost innocent, but the tattoo and the scrape on his elbow reminded Frank of the camouflaged hunter on the field.
On one hand, here was the sleeping form of a tough guy, a former soldier, someone who could carry out a calculated attack on a field and, likely, a battlefield. On the other, he was so young. A kid. Seemed like a crime that someone like him had experienced the things he had. And then carry Frank’s shit, too? Didn’t seem fair.
Frank’s throat tightened. If only he could protect Brandon from carrying all that crap, from having to face the same heartache again.
Ask me over breakfast.
Damn, he did care way too much about him after only one night.
And two weeks where you’ve beaten yourself up over it.
That, too.
That wasn’t to say there was anything more to this than some incredibly hot sex and maybe some much-needed empathy from someone who knew about certain things. They weren’t running off to pick out curtains or anything. Nothing was set in stone.
Frank set the water glasses on the bedside table, then eased himself into bed beside Brandon, trying not to wake him up. He’d barely settled onto the mattress, though, when Brandon’s eyes fluttered open.
Brandon jumped, lifting his head off the pillow. “Shit. Did I fall asleep?”
“It’s okay.” Frank pulled the sheet up over both of them. “I mean, it isn’t like you’ve done anything physical today. Can’t imagine why you might be tired.”
Brandon laughed, letting his head drop onto the pillow again. “I’m always doing physical things.”
That comment slid under Frank’s skin. Always doing physical things? Yes, yes he was, and Frank was profiting off a good number of them. Hadn’t Frank sworn up and down he’d never date his rentboys? He wasn’t a stickler for monogamy or anything, but that seemed like a recipe for disaster.
In fact, everything about this seemed like a recipe for disaster.
But even if he was headed for the mother of all car crashes, he couldn’t bring himself to hit the brake with everything he had, not for his sake, not for Brandon’s sake, or Market Garden’s, or sanity, or morality, or because it wasn’t fair or even very balanced.
Seemed all he could do was grip the steering wheel and keep going until something stopped him.
Raoul gave him strange looks when Frank kept hanging around the bar throughout the next week. Yes, okay, he was spending more time at the Garden than he had in months, but he thought people were getting used to him again. Fact was, he did enjoy the bustle and the company. And getting Raoul to wait hand and foot on him was amusing too. The barkeep still likely expected the other boot to drop, and that was amusing in its own way.
He also enjoyed watching the guys work. There was flirting going on, groping, smiles, and flashed cash.