“I know. What do you think you could eat? My favorite late night dinner is a monte cristo sandwich, but I’m not sure if that would be too heavy for you.”
“Sounds good.” Apollo wasn’t really up to deep discussions about food. Something warm and hot that he didn’t have to cook was sufficient.
“Great. I’ll make it and bring it back up to you—”
“I don’t need a tray like a ninety-year-old. And I can’t stay in your bed all night.”
“Sure you can.” As usual, Dylan didn’t falter in the face of Apollo’s grumpiness, instead giving him a flirty wink. “I already got a pillow and blanket for the couch for me. And as for a tray, I kind of like taking care of you, so how about you let me?”
“I’m not an invalid.” Apollo tossed his legs over the side of the bed.
“You know I liked you better when you were high on meds.” Dylan offered him a hand up. “Tell you what, do you think you could manage a shower while I cook? Or the hot tub? I bet either of those things would help.”
Apollo gave an experimental stretch. His back protested enough to have him regretting the move. “Shower. I reek. But I’m not sure I can wrestle my stupid clothes back on.”
“Oh I can help with that.”
“You can?” I wouldn’t turn you down. Snatches of their earlier conversation came filtering back into Apollo’s brain. Was Dylan expecting sex tonight just because Apollo had a loose tongue when on meds?
“I can see your brain steaming.” Dylan rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t accost your naked self unless you ask very, very nicely. I only meant that I can help you with your clothes.”
“Okay.” Apollo’s brain was muddled enough that he agreed. Yeah, that’s it. Drugs still. Not a desire to be naked with Dylan.
“Here. Let’s use the downstairs bathroom. That way you can call for me when you’re ready, and I’ll start the food.”
Apollo could kiss him for giving him an out from using the master bath. He wasn’t ready to be alone with Dylan in that space. Wait. Kissing bad. No kissing. He didn’t even turn on the light in his bedroom as he rummaged in the dresser, grabbing the first things he found. No matter what Dylan said about the couch, he’d find a way to sleep in here tonight even if it took another pain pill to knock him out first.
You could both share Dylan’s bed...
No. Not going there, no matter how the thought made his cock stir. God, it had all been so much easier when he’d been loopy on the muscle relaxer. Yes, I want you. Yes, let’s do something. Things he couldn’t say sober.
He almost called for Dylan’s help getting his undershirt off, but managed to pull it off little by little, then kick off his boxers and pants. He cranked the shower as hot as he could stand, quickly soaped and rinsed, then arranged himself so that the shower spray pounded his back. He stayed like that until the water went from blistering to tepid. Maybe he’d be able to skip another muscle relaxer and get by with just the high-powered painkiller to sleep.
“Ready for me?” Dylan knocked loudly on the bathroom door.
No. Totally not. “Yeah.” He shut off the taps, then grabbed for a towel from the rack outside the shower.
“Here.” Dylan plucked the towel from his grasp. “No sense in having you turn yourself into a pretzel to dry off.”
“I’m not helpless!”
“I know. My sponge bath skills are totally wasted.” Dylan blotted Apollo’s shoulders and back with quick, efficient strokes before dabbing at his pecs and stomach. “Although, abs like these, you deserve all the body worship. Just saying.”
“Job keeps me fit.” Apollo shifted side-to-side, not really sure how to deal with the blatant approval in Dylan’s flashing blue eyes, not when he was feeling anything but fit. Hell, he’d once carried a wounded hostage fifteen hours and here he was felled by a bad back, too stiff to even put his own pants on? Life just kept on laughing at him.
He grabbed the pants from the bathroom vanity and shook them out.
“Hey wait, your legs are still wet.” Dylan took the pants and set them back on the counter. Then he knelt, toweling off each of Apollo’s legs in turn. And really, there was nothing overtly sexy in the action, but his soft curls grazed Apollo’s thigh and his breath was warm, even on Apollo’s overheated skin. Predictably, his dick responded to the proximity of a cute guy on his knees.
“Pants. Now,” Apollo growled.
“Okay. Okay.” Dylan helped him step into the pants, then pulled them up, avoiding Apollo’s now-raging hard-on. “It happens, you know? I’m not reading anything into it—”
“Please stop talking.” Apollo yanked on Dylan’s shoulder until he stood up.
“I’m just saying, nothing to be embarrassed about.” Dylan was still way too close to Apollo’s bare chest. “I’m flattered, really—”
“Stop. Talking.” Apollo grabbed Dylan’s face so that he could beam the message directly into his eyes, but grossly underestimated what lining up their faces would do to his senses.
Dylan laughed, but his eyes were far less sure than his laugh, peering warily up at Apollo. He opened his mouth like he had another platitude in him, and Apollo lost his head. That was the only explanation, really, for why his lips slammed down on Dylan’s mouth.
Someday he was going to kiss Dylan slow and sweet. Controlled. Not the all-out frenzy that seemed to descend whenever their mouths collided. This wasn’t sweet. Wasn’t pretty. It was rough and urgent and needy. So needy. Back to the wall, he pulled Dylan against him. Dylan tasted buttery, like he’d been sampling his own cooking, and like the inexplicable mystery that was him—Apollo could spend years trying to sort out the subtle notes in his flavor and scent that drove him insane.
“Fuck.” Panting, Dylan broke away. “Really wasn’t intending that. I promised not to come on to you.”
“It’s on me.” Apollo didn’t release his grasp on Dylan’s waist and face. “I have no idea what we’re doing here. Just that I can’t seem to stop kissing you.”
“Then kiss me.” Dylan leaned in, and he had far more finesse than Apollo, nipping and sucking at his lips, gently coaxing his way into Apollo’s mouth with a slow, thorough exploration that made Apollo’s dick throb.
He moaned low in the back of his throat, hand snaking under Dylan’s T-shirt, needing skin right that minute. Dylan was warm. Vital. Alive. All hard muscles, heaving with the force of his breath as he rubbed up against Apollo.
“This okay?” Dylan kept kissing him, little sips between words as he stroked down Apollo’s chest, hand stopping right at the waistband of Apollo’s pants. “Dying to touch you.”