“Home’s up the hill, a ghra. You’ll be staying with me.” And with that, Connor fired the first volley, and the battle ended soon after, fought silently through mumbled objections and then Donal’s tacit agreement.
That’d been a week or so ago, and Connor’d spent as much time coddling a sleepy Forest as he’d been down at the station, working his shift. The drummer insisted he’d be okay, and from what Connor could see, he’d been right. Still, it hadn’t hurt to have Jules sit with him, although she’d informed him Forest mostly slept, and Connor needed new furniture for the family room because it was fucking shit on their backs.
He’d arranged for something to be delivered that next day, a wide, comfortable L-shaped sectional with recliners built into it. The couch was a damned sight better to sleep on than the old one, and Connor had to admit, Jules’d been right. His back and shoulders felt much better after spending the night on it.
His dick would have preferred to be lying in bed with Forest, but Connor knew the man’d needed time to heal. At least his brain had some common sense—even if it probably more than partially agreed with his cock—he fell asleep after only lying awake on the very comfortable couch for an hour or so, listening to the house rise and fall around him.
They’d spent a lot of time on the new couch, watching movies or just talking. He’d licked butter from Forest’s fingers after they’d eaten more than enough popcorn to make them sick, and he’d been fed mint chocolate chip ice cream from a spoon that tasted of the man’s mouth. They’d explored each other’s lips and gently spooned during flashes of storms moving over the neighborhood.
No, Connor was quite fond of the new couch.
It was also where he found a sleeping Forest when Con came home from his last three-day shift, the blond man curled up into a corner of the brown sofa, an old knitted afghan wrapped around his long legs.
Jules was already gone, having been picked up by her boyfriend, Randy, and Connor set down the banh mi sandwiches he’d picked up for their dinner. The couch let off the smell of new fabric, where the man smelled of Connor’s soap and fabric softener. Most of Forest’s clothes were ruined, but a few sweats and jeans survived, and Con supplemented the man’s wardrobe with an offer of his own shirts.
Still, seeing Forest curled up on his couch wearing one of his old police academy shirts did funny things to Connor’s insides.
Forest’s enormous brown eyes flickered open when Connor sat down. They were unfocused, his lids heavy with sleep. Connor’d been so good—doing nothing other than touching the man and spending his nights on the new couch, sacrificing his bed and biting his lip as he palmed his own cock to climax. His world became steeped in Forest’s scent, and even the man’s quirky habit of scooping out a spoonful of peanut butter, then slathering it with jam so he could eat it while watching television, made Connor smile.
The blond fought to stay awake when Connor came home, but healing took a lot out of him, and he often nodded off before Connor could shower off the day’s dirt from his body. What little time they’d had was spent together, Forest leaning against him, often falling asleep on Con as he caught up on games he’d missed while working.
The man’s hands were never still, always tapping out a rhythm, sometimes even as he slept, slack-jawed, loose-limbed, and sprawled over Connor’s lap. It was like owning a cat in some ways, Connor thought once as he petted Forest’s soft blond hair. Someone to come home to who was happy to see him but then immediately curled up into a ball and snored whenever Connor offered his lap.
Except for this time—this now—because Forest sat up and pushed the hair from his eyes, smiling sweetly as he rubbed the sleep from his face.
“Hey.” He yawned, catching himself with a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Shit, it’s late.”
“How’s the head?” Con asked, feeling the top of Forest’s skull.
The man laughed, pushing Con’s fingers away. “That’s not even where it was cracked.”
“Yeah?” he retorted, twisting over Forest’s long body and sliding his still chilled hands up under the man’s borrowed shirt.
Forest yelped and laughed, a hearty, sweet near-giggle. Then he pulled away, burrowing deeper into the couch cushions.
“I brought Vietnamese. Sandwiches, you said you like those.”
“Yeah, I do.” Forest stared up at him—those damnable all-seeing eyes drinking in Connor’s every expression. He bit his lip and then reached for Con’s hand. He pulled it against his stomach, cradling its warmth. “We okay? I mean, you and I? We haven’t talked about anything since—haven’t had time, and I’ve just been fucking sleeping my life away.”
“We’re more than okay,” Connor promised, leaning in to give Forest a gentle, brief kiss. Those were the only kind of caresses he was allowing himself, and he lived for each one, keeping them tallied up in his mind so he could remember them when his day lagged.