“Yeah.”
“I’ll open another bottle of wine,” he said easily, already heading for the kitchen, and paused. “Do you have a sweater I could borrow?”
John nodded, loving the idea of seeing his sweater on his cowboy.
A few moments later, John joined Wyatt on the patio and noticed that he had grabbed not only a fresh bottle of wine and their glasses, but also a pumpkin pie with two forks.
His chest warmed and he smiled as he handed Wyatt his favorite old sweater from a trip he took to Tahoe a few years back. He slipped it on, the blue sweater fitting him perfectly. Wyatt then promptly patted the spot beside him on the outdoor sofa.
John snuggled close beside him, feeling the heat from the firepit warming him, but not as well as Wyatt.
“Serious question,” Wyatt said in that thready, deep voice that turned his insides to goo. “Whipped cream or no whipped cream?” he hitched his chin to the pumpkin pie.
John smirked, “On you or the pie?”
“I thought you said you wanted to chill.”
“Oh, I do, but I also love it when your voice drops like that. It’s so fucking sexy. It gives me goosebumps almost every time.”
A glorious blush sparkled on his cowboy’s cheeks. “It’s the tone I use with patients when they're scared—or the horses when they need to be calmed. Or…”
John saw the glimmer of mischief in his pale blues.
“Seducing you,” Wyatt admitted.
“You’ve known this whole time?” he asked, surprised but not. Wyatt could read him like an open book, so of course he figured out how his voice set his pulse racing.
Pride flashed on the younger man’s face as he murmured, “I figured it out the first night I had you in bed.”
His chest tingled and he reached for him, kissing him, blood heating in his veins like lava as he kissed down his jawline to the red hickey on his neck and ravishing him once more.
Wyatt let out a whimpering sigh, “Fuck me.”
John closed his eyes, loving how desperate he sounded. How good he felt against him. How perfect his evening had been once he had shown up.
“I think I plan to do exactly that…” he drawled, causing Wyatt to gasp a breathy sigh. “…Later.”
Wyatt’s next sound was slight disappointment and a pout.
John snorted in surprise, releasing him, “Are you seriously pouting?”
“What?” Wyatt whined. “Just because I like to ride you like the best damn stallion in all of LA doesn’t mean this cowboy doesn’t like to be taken out for a ride himself every once in a while.”
He chuckled, leaning forward to share the pumpkin pie as they sipped their wine.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” John said after a few minutes, setting the empty pie tin on the ground. “I liked seeing you here, with my family.”
“Thanks for letting me stay. I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize for anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I shouldn’t have just shown up tonight.”
John sighed, “And I shouldn’t have shut you out.” He reached for his hand, their fingers tangling. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Wyatt’s fingers wrapped with his, his voice gentle as he said, “You ran.”
He tilted his head to the side and acknowledged the truth, knowing what he was referring to: Wyatt’s vulnerable confession of love for him after he was attacked.
