We’re front to front with me jerking him off in between. Heads bowed together. He holds on to my arm for dear life as he breaks the kiss. Gazes into me, right into the deepest recesses of who I am, and I look right back. I stare into that deep blue abyss and I let him see it all.

“Now,” I hiss against his mouth. His teeth.

I think I taste blood. His, mine, I have no idea.

I twist my ankle with his and arch up into him, spreading my fingers to take my wet, sticky, still-somewhat-hard cock, and press it along his.

His body jerks as the first wave of his orgasm barrels over him. Warmth surrounds my hand, my spent dick—pooling into the covers beneath us. But I don’t care. I don’t fucking care about anything other than the eyes rolling back before me as Will comes apart in my arms.

I drop my head forward, my sweat-slicked hairline meeting his parted, gasping lips. Little moans breach his mouth, muffled lightly by my skin.

His hand splays across my back, and I only then register the sting from his nails being embedded in my arm. I lick my lip, savoring the coppery taste mixed in with the taste of my cum on his tongue, like I’m some kind of animal.

Seconds, minutes, or hours pass before one of us speaks.

“Way?”

“Yeah?”

“This,” he pants into my temple. “Always remember this instead, ‘kay?”

“Will and Way. We’re a team. Always.”

My eyes flutter shut, and I hug him tight...

I whisper, “Always.”

...hoping this time, it’s a promise I can keep.

29

29

Will Foster

The world is kind to us as it returns to our awareness.

Gentle.

Slow.

We’ve each been through Hell and back, and back again, just to get this far, and it’s as if the universe is finally giving us a moment to just fucking breathe. Like time has carved out a little pocket of space just for us, where no one and nothing can touch us.

Sunlight filters in through the blinds, painting soft lines over our skin, and catching on the dust motes hovering around us.

I’m on my back with Waylon pressed up alongside me. There’s a tattooed arm slung over my chest, and a thigh wedged between mine. Our skin sticks together, and I’m beginning to chafe in areas I never wanted to chafe, but fuck, if I never want to move again.

It would take nothing short of the jaws of life to pry me away from this guy. My guy, if only for today.

Warm, even breaths billow over my collarbone as I rest my lips on the crown of Waylon’s head. My hand is cupped around the back of his neck, fingers playing absently with the short hairs knotted at the base of his skull.

“Are you okay?” I ask eventually.