The initial sting of cracked stone on his hands smarted, but a flash of a Converse logo buried under a pile of wooden chunks drove Connor to dig faster. He couldn’t tell if he’d been at it a minute or a moment—either felt like an eternity, especially when he couldn’t find the man he was looking for. The logo turned out to be a flyer, something printed on a sales postcard, probably slid through the Amp’s mail slot, and Connor’s heart sank, a hot, prickly stone cutting through his soul with its sharp-edged fear.
Hands bleeding, he went to work on the larger pile of crumbling red brick, then through the crackle of falling stones. A faint noise lifted away any pain shooting through him. It was a murmur—a golden dip of something precious he’d not quite held in his hands but coveted beyond reasoning.
And in typical Forest fashion, it was laced with profanity and a healthy dose of mad.
“Fuck—” Anything else Forest might have said was buried under the sound of crushed stone sliding from the table he’d slid under when the van hit. Rising out from under the protection of sticky laminate and oak, the drummer emerged, his gold-streaked hair turned white from dust and mortar. He spotted Connor and smiled, off-kilter with a peek of a skewed canine behind his full lips. Winking as he stumbled free of the pile, Forest said in a shaky voice, “P-p-please, Raoul. I can give you stars. Just drop the refrigerator on my head one more time!”
Connor climbed, falling forward and reaching for the man at the same time. His arms ached from the strain of moving heavy beams and enormous chunks of brick, but none of that mattered. The next breath he took was cold with the hint of rain from outside coming in, and his exhale frosted the warmer air near Forest. His hands shook. Then he smeared blood and dirt over Forest’s cheeks when Connor cupped the man’s face in his palms.
Connor’d never felt this kind of fear before. Certainly not the true spine-rippling terror he’d had just moments ago. He thought he knew the sink of terror. After all, he’d taken fire while huddled with his team in a raid gone south and experienced moments of stuttering pain when they’d almost lost Brigid after she’d given birth to his youngest sister, Ryan. He thought he’d known fear when he’d found Quinn on the roof of their school’s highest building, his brother’s face wet with tears and his feet balanced on the edge. There’d been a rush of heart-stopping jerks and starts during those moments—nothing like the deep blackness swelling up to consume him as it had a few moments ago. Connor couldn’t seem to find his lungs, no matter how hard he pulled air in to sustain himself. With the anguish fading away, he was left with a shaking truth carved out by his fear’s unforgiving blade.
He’d been scared of losing the man who’d shaken off life’s beatings as if they were raindrops during a light spring drizzle, and Connor knew he couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk losing Forest ever again.
Forest tasted of sweetness and coffee, a hint of tang from something he’d eaten, a whiff of citrus on his tongue. Connor needed more, and he pulled the man in closer, needing the length of the man on him. Delving deeper, Con found more than sweet in Forest’s mouth. There was a sensual, velvety darkness with promises of pleasure and maybe a hint of pain from the nip of Forest’s teeth on the edge of Con’s lip—then Connor realized he’d taken the man into a deep kiss and had no intention of letting go.
Their world became a tight space, heated not by the sun but from their bodies pressed in tightly together. Forest’s hands trembled at Connor’s waist, his slightly cold fingers sliding into the warmth under Con’s leather jacket and then around to caress the small of Con’s back.
It was so very different of an experience. Discounting the dust caught between their lips or the singsong wail of sirens circling closer like sharks to bloodied waters, Forest felt different, tasted different, and in ways Connor couldn’t wait to explore.
Forest’s cheeks were slightly rougher than a woman’s, although not by much. The slight burr of a scruff felt good on Connor’s work-roughened palms, tickling more than just his hands. His cock stirred in its denim prison, aroused by the small stroking circles Forest’s fingers were making on Connor’s hips. Pressing in, Connor suckled and tasted his first kiss, experimenting with the touch of his tongue on the roof of Forest’s mouth and then along the slick polish of the man’s teeth.