Ángel smiled. “How can you be ready for sex so soon when you’ve been so sick?”

“I was last time too,” said Oberon. “Remember?”

The memory of Oberon’s couch made Ángel weak. “I remember I left you hanging.” He stroked his face. “Baby, you’ve kind of got a residue on you. Want to shower first, and then see?”

Under dual showerheads of streaming warm water, they stroked each other, kissing softly. Ángel poured shower gel into his hands and massaged the lather over every inch of Oberon’s body, rinsing away the coating of spent emotion, burnishing the dappled golden-white skin. They stroked lathered hands through each other’s hair, drank running water off each other’s bodies. Oberon, clearly still a little sluggish after his illness, tasted Ángel’s neck, his jaw, his shoulders. They could feel each other’s desire through their skin, a feedback loop of pleasure fizzing in Ángel’s blood like champagne. He closed his eyes and arched his throat, rubbing against Oberon’s wet body, humming.

“I missed you so much.”

“Ángel.” Oberon nuzzled into the crook of Ángel’s neck. “When they told me you were gone, I was so afraid.”

“I was terrified. The whole time, I just wanted to get back to you. God, Oberon—”

They kissed. Oberon’s hands roamed, as if memorizing Ángel’s body. He ran his hands over the place on his back where the taser’s prongs had gone in and Ángel flinched; he opened his eyes, and Ángel felt the bitter wash of his surprise. “They told me you were undamaged!”

“I am.” Ángel leaned against him, trying to preserve the mood, not sure how fragile Oberon’s recovery was. “I’m fine.”

“You’re injured.” Oberon said the word with horror, brushing a gentle finger around the healing punctures. “Did the kidnappers do this to you?”

“Yes, and it really hurt. But it’s okay now.”

“And what is this?” Oberon traced the scabbed gash on Ángel’s hip.

“I cut myself on some glass when I was escaping.”

“You’ll tell me the whole story.” Oberon’s hands mapped Ángel’s body, finding every bruise and ache. His tone was grave, angry. “I want to know everything they did to you.”

“Yes,” said Ángel. “But not now.” He went on his tiptoes and kissed Oberon, pushing them both back under the shower, cupping his butt and pressing his body close.

The distraction worked.

Oberon carried him out of the bathroom and laid him down on the thick rug in the bedroom, ravished him with hands and mouth, slicked his entrance and teased him to full panting arousal. And then Ángel was captured in Oberon’s strong embrace, his legs draped over Oberon’s big shoulders, and his ass nudged by Oberon’s cock.

Oberon hesitated.

Moaning, Ángel arched up, hands grasping Oberon’s arms, hips twisting. But Oberon, smelling cool and green, of snow on trees, didn’t move.