“I’m saying that Samuels needs a hard ass like him.”
“Now I’m not a hard ass?”
“Your ass is possibly the best thing I’ve seen all year, but no, John, you are not a hard ass. It’s why we work so well together.” He stilled, hand on the knife, wanting to bite off his tongue.
Fuck.
Wyatt was too afraid to turn to face him and instead, busily finished cutting the loaf.
“I’m listening,” John said quietly.
He blinked, wondering if it would be safer to make something up. Not tell him what he’d been thinking about for the last month…
“You’re a storm,” he heard himself say, knowing he was taking a big risk admitting this. “The quiet ones that come at night. You soak the earth, give it everything it needs to grow and flourish. You crackle a bit, light up the sky, but you never hit—never strike. Sometimes you give too much and vanish. But then all of a sudden you’re back, giving again, even though a little bit of you vanishes each time.”
John's silence forced him to turn and look at him, and he saw that his back was to him, standing by the stove, unmoving.
“And I'm the horse that chases you through the dark,” Wyatt murmured. “I wanna see everything you got, marvel at it, watch it, dance in it. And I want you to see me, too.”
John’s dark blue gaze flickered to his, raw and powerful emotion brimming beneath the surface, unspoken but there.
“I want you to remember who you do this for,” Wyatt breathed. “That you’re wanted for more than what you give.”
Tears filled John’s eyes as he turned away, jaw clenching fiercely. He always turned away when his emotions stirred, and Wyatt, in this moment, couldn’t stand it any longer. He moved, turning John in his arms and cradling his face in his hands, heart hammering in his ears.
“Whatever happens, promise me something?” Wyatt said, holding him, feeling his emotion as though it were his own. “Don’t vanish. And if you have to, find another horse—find something to anchor yourself to. Anything. Because this world is so much better with you in it than without.”
It took him some time to unpack their first night, and then their second, before Wyatt finally understood what was happening to John. He knew it because he had felt it himself briefly before in his life—after his father had rejected him, and…
His throat clenched and he leveled a steady gaze at him, wanting John to feel safe with him and wishing he did.
Tears brimmed behind John’s eyes and he tried to look away, “Lawson…”
“I ain’t gonna push you,” Wyatt reassured gently. “I’m here if you ever wanna tell me.”
John nodded, blinking away the tears, and kissed him.
Wyatt stilled.
This wasn’t John’s usual kiss, hurried, hard, and hungry. This was achingly slow and affectionate. There was a tenderness that left him breathless and scared. He wanted exactly this from John. He wanted him to let go of his armor and know that he was safe to hold his emotions—that he could handle it. And if it started with a kiss, he’d take it.
John pulled back, resting his temple on his. “You figured me out…”
He smiled lazily, kissing him again just as lazily, heart fucking glowing. “Yeah, I’m getting there.”
He searched his face, “I think I’m okay with that.”
John kissed him again, and it was so fucking affectionate that Wyatt gasped into his mouth, feeling the weight of his emotions swirling and building.
He had just broken John’s rule. Wyatt, without a doubt, was falling fast and hard for his captain—for John.
And he wasn’t surprised in the least. In fact, he marveled at how quickly it was happening and how natural it felt. But he couldn’t say any of this. Not tonight. Because tonight, he wanted nothing more than to have dinner, talk, drink wine, and make love.
He withdrew from the kiss first, trembling. John studied him, and with another light-hearted smile and deep exhale, he returned to the stove.
After dinner, Wyatt took another lazy sip of his wine, perusing John’s album collection.
“See anything you like?” John asked, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.
