DAMIEN woke up alone on Sionn’s sectional, a blanket tucked around his legs and waist. A few feet away, Sionn snored softly on the other side of the L, one beefy arm flung over his eyes to block out the thin sunshine coming through the loft’s windows. Coughing lightly, Damie rubbed at his neck, working at the kink in his nape. His throat felt raw from the hours he’d spent talking, and again the press of his tiny bladder forced him to slide off the couch to the bathroom.
He found his laundered clothes on the dining room table, with an unwrapped toothbrush and a disposable razor taped to an unopened package of briefs. A piece of paper on the small stack was gouged with Sionn’s heavy handwriting, black-inked lines racing to the edge.
Got these home and found they were the wrong size. Figured they’d fit you. Going to crash. Wake me when you get up. I’ll make us something to eat. You were snoring when I came back with food the first time. Thought I’d let you sleep.
The toothbrush looked new, and Damien thumbed its bristles as he padded to the bathroom, his clothes and a pair of the too-small-for-Sionn briefs tucked under his arm. Half an hour later, he felt stripped of the grime layered on him from sleeping at the flophouse and working the pier, his gums tingling from the mint paste he’d found on the bathroom counter. He sloppily folded the sweats and shirt he’d gotten from Sionn and left them with the rest of the underwear on the table, unsure if Sionn intended him to stay or if he’d go back to the flophouse.
He’d squeezed as much of the water as he could from his hair and toweled it dry until his scalp squeaked. One of the scars along his skull ached a bit from the soaking, and he rubbed at it absently, calming the tangle of nerves lurking beneath its surface. A brief peek into the kitchen revealed a coffee machine too complex for Damien’s still-sleep-groggy brain.
“Fuck, I need a hit of joe.” A quick glance out the window helped him figure out where he was. “Okay, there’s a coffee shop down there, and you, Damie, are fat on cash. Quick walk. Hell, long walk. Too fucking squirrelly.”
He left Sionn a note, debating kissing him good-bye, but then thought better of it. His attraction to the man was a dangerous thing, but Damie couldn’t keep himself from stopping near the front door to take one last look at Sionn before he headed out.
They were similar in height, but Sionn definitely had more muscle on him. His shoulders barely fit across the couch cushions where Damien’d sprawled out comfortably, and the thin cotton pants Sionn wore were pulled tight enough under him for Damien to see the lines of muscle along his thighs where the morning sun hit the fabric. He definitely wore underwear. A thick line of elastic peeked out from the waistband of his pants where Sionn’s tee rode up a little, a hint of sun-bronzed skin showing above the white strip. Despite the briefs, Sionn’s crotch lay heavy with the weight of his sex, a thick curve of flesh outlined under layers of cotton.
Damien could only really see the man’s mouth and the beginning of a beard darkening Sionn’s strong jawline, but it was enough to make him want to cross over to the couch and straddle the man. It was hard not to want to kiss Sionn awake and taste the morning on him before it was washed away under mint and water. Even worse, Damien imagined licking off the musky sheen of sleep on Sionn’s body, a hint of sweat and soap over the stretch of gold skin near his hip.
“God, this is more than I wanted… right now. But fuck, I want this. I’ve got to be fucking crazy.” His heart began to pound, an erratic fluttering beneath the scar holding his chest together. Snagging a black hoodie from a coat tree by the door, Damien sniffed at the sleeve, hoping to catch a whiff of Sionn on it. A hint of man lingered, and he smiled, partially satisfied. “Okay, coffee first. Lust later. If he lets you back inside.”
He was walking out without any way to come back in, and Damien checked the lobby for a buzzer. Luckily, a strip of punch tape with “Murphy” labeled a black button on an intercom speaker and assured him he could at least call up. The wind smacked him in the face as soon as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, but the fleece kept most of it off of him. Pulling the hood over his head, Damien turned up the hill, working through the burn of his muscles when his legs protested the steep incline.