I don't ask. I simply turn him and walk him backward toward the kitchen counter. He goes willingly, his hands fisting in my shirt. When his back hits the edge of the counter I lift him onto it in one smooth motion. He's still in half his gear and I don't care. I push his shirt up and run my hands over his skin, needing to feel that he's real and warm and here. Skylar's head tips back as I mouth at his throat, and the sound he makes goes straight through me.
"Fuck, Kade," he breathes. His legs spread to make room for me between them. "I'm okay. I promise I'm okay."
"I need to feel it," I say against his skin. My voice is rough. "I need to feel that you're here."
I work his pants open with impatient hands. Skylar helps, lifting his hips so I can shove them down far enough. He's already hard, and the scent of his arousal mixes with the fading adrenaline in a way that makes my head spin. I wrap my hand around him and stroke once, slow and firm, watching the way his eyes flutter shut.
"Kade," he says again, quieter this time. "Please."
I don't make him wait. I work him open with fingers slick with lube, until he's pushing back against my hand and cursing under his breath. Then I free myself from my own pants and press in close, pushing forward slowly until I'm buried inside him in one long thrust. Skylar's back arches against the counter. His hands grab at my shoulders, fingers digging in.
"Fuck," he gasps. "God, yes."
I don't go gentle. I can't. The fear is still too close to the surface, and the only way I know how to burn it out is like this — deep and steady and claiming. And under the fear, something I let myself feel for one clear second: this is the first time he'slet me all the way in. The night in the nest, I stayed between his thighs. He gave Emrys everything and gave me the edges, careful even when he was coming apart. Now there's no case to manage, no exit half-planned, nothing held back. He's open under my hands because he chose to be. I fuck him against the counter with long, hard strokes, one hand braced on the edge of the counter and the other gripping his hip hard enough to leave marks. Skylar takes it, legs wrapped around my waist, meeting every thrust with a low, broken sound that goes straight to my spine.
"You scared the shit out of me," I growl against his throat. "Don't do that again."
"I won't," he pants. "I swear. Just—harder. Please."
I give him what he asks for. The counter creaks under us. His vest is still half-on, his shirt rucked up under his arms, and the sight of him like this, open and trusting and letting me have him, does something to me I can't name. I lean in and bite at his collarbone, not hard enough to break skin, just enough to mark. Skylar moans and clenches around me.
I'm still buried inside him, forehead pressed to his shoulder, when Emrys's voice drifts in from the hallway.
"I think this might be my new favorite show."
Skylar freezes. I lift my head and turn just enough to see Emrys leaning in the doorway in nothing but one of my shirts, hair a mess, eyes bright with amusement even though he's clearly still half-asleep. The sight of him breaks the last of the tension in the room. Skylar starts laughing first — that real, unguarded laugh I've only heard a handful of times — and I feel it vibrate through both of us. I can't help it. I laugh too, low and rough against Skylar's skin.
Emrys crosses the kitchen and slides onto the counter beside us without hesitation. He reaches out and brushes Skylar's hair back from his forehead, then leans in to kiss me, soft and sweet.When he pulls back he rests his head against Skylar's shoulder and lets out a long, contented sigh.
"You're both home," he says simply. "That's all that matters."
I ease out of Skylar carefully and help him down from the counter. We clean up in quiet, easy movements. Emrys stays close the whole time, touching both of us like he needs the reassurance as much as we do. Once we're all decent enough, I pull them both into the nest. Skylar ends up in the middle, Emrys curled against his chest and me wrapped around his back. The three of us fit together without any gaps.
For a while none of us sleep. Skylar lies between us with his eyes open in the dark, and I can feel him coming down by degrees, the warehouse leaving his body one slow breath at a time. Emrys hums something against his chest, low and tuneless, the way he does over dough when he thinks no one's listening. Skylar's hand finds mine where it rests over his stomach and holds on.
"I keep waiting to feel like I lost something," he says quietly, after a long time. "The case. It was the thing I'd point at when someone asked who I was."
"And?"
"I don't feel like I lost anything." He turns the words over like he's surprised by them. "I think I just put it down."
"Then put it down." I press a kiss to the back of Skylar's neck, then one to Emrys's curls. They both shift closer, settling, two different scents and mine going to one in the warm dark. And for the first time since the night in the alley, I let myself believe that this might finally be the start of our forever.
Epilogue One
Declan Smisson smiles like a man who thinks silence is the same thing as winning.
He sits across from me in interview room two with his hands folded neatly on the table, wrists cuffed to the metal loop bolted into the center. The bruising along his cheek has yellowed at the edge. His left eye's still a little swollen from the raid, but he's made peace with the injury in a way that irritates the hell out of me. He looks calm. Rested, even. Like the last two weeks haven'tinvolved federal custody, three rounds of charges, and every agency in the building trying to figure out how deep his rot goes.
The fluorescent light hums above us. Someone in the hallway laughs too loudly, then cuts off when Reyes says something I can't hear. It's past nine. I shouldn't be here.
Declan knows that too.
"You look tired, Detective," he says.
"I'm tired." I set the file down and sit back. "You have a talent for making conversations repetitive."
His smile widens by a degree. "You keep asking the wrong questions."
