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“Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow. You’ve had an exhausting few days, it sounds like. I don’t want to fight right now.” Spencer pitched his voice to be soothing, but Bacon wasn’t having it.
“Me either. This isn’t that hard, Spencer. You’re not embedded anymore. We’re in a relationship. I don’t see what would be the big deal about telling a few more people. Some of your friends know, like Flor.”
“Yes, but Flor knows you as Del—”
“The hot young thing you’re fucking. I know. But guess what, I’m also Bacon, the SEAL. And that’s not going to change. And this promotion in rank is a big deal to me. And for what it’s worth, Curly already guessed I was seeing you before we deployed, and he couldn’t give a shit and didn’t tell anyone else—just wants me happy, he says.”
“Curly knows?” Spencer visibly swallowed.
“He guessed because I kept blowing him off for things because I was busy and wouldn’t tell him why and apparently I kept staring at my phone all goofy.”
That got a crooked smile from Spencer. “I never wanted to come between you and your friends.”
“You’re not. Or at least you don’t have to. I can see a future where I’ve got both my friends and you. And I guess the real question is why can’t you?”
“I sold a book. Another nonfiction book. About the military.” Now it was Spencer who paced away. “I found out right before you deployed. I’ve been waiting to tell you.”
“But I thought the PR folks killed your story.”
“That one, yes. This would be a book I’d write largely without the navy’s help.”
“Oh.” Bacon’s mouth open and shut as he tried to digest this news. “But why would that mean we can’t be a couple?”
“Appearances and—”
“Fuck appearances.” Bacon stalked over to Spencer, backed him against the table. “Write your book. But be a couple with me too. This isn’t some no-win scenario, Spencer.”
Spencer’s eyes were tired and sad, and he stroked Bacon’s face. “I wish it was that easy.”
“It can be.” Bacon lowered his head, claiming Spencer’s mouth. He resisted for a moment, but then softened, kissing Bacon back with tenderness, not anger.
“I care about you.” He stroked Bacon’s jaw again, making the bristly hair there tingle.
“Then let’s find a way to make this work.”
“I’m not sure it’s that easy.” Spencer’s tone was mournful, and Bacon hated that, so he kissed him again.
“What was that you said? Talk more in the morning? It’s late and we’re both wrung out and I just want to kiss and hold you some more.”
“That’s a bad idea and—”
Bacon cut him off with a kiss. “Trust me. I know all about bad ideas, and this isn’t one of them. Come to bed.”
It took a moment but Spencer nodded and wrapped his arms around Del’s neck. “Okay.”
Del hoped that a night in Spencer’s bed would have its usual magical restorative properties on both of them because he wasn’t giving up Spencer without a fight. He needed him, needed this too damn much to let go now.
* * *
Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would talk more. Tomorrow this would probably be over. So tonight, Spencer would give Del what he wanted, cling to him one more time. It was stupid and selfish, but he followed Del to the bedroom anyway. Del had shot down the compromise Spencer had spent weeks pinning all his hopes on, and now all those hopes were crumbling. He could see everything he’d yearned for fading away.
His phone was full of messages back and forth with Caroline, Harry’s widow, and all the interviews she’d lined up for him were starting to fall into place. The more he dug into the research, the more he felt compelled to write this book. So many men and women were in similar situations to Harry, and Spencer was in a position to help. Could he really live with himself if he walked away from that obligation?
He simply wasn’t sure, but he entered the bedroom with his heart all tangled up with his feet—poor battered organ unable to turn Del down even knowing what was likely to come.
Del tossed the blanket he’d wrapped himself in to the bottom of the bed before reaching for the tie on Spencer’s robe, and Spencer let him, let him push the robe off. He took a moment to drink in Del’s naked form, trying to memorize him. As usual post-mission, he was a mess of minor bruises and scrapes, a testament to how damn hard he worked. Leaning in, Spencer kissed his stubbly jaw, then the bruise on his left shoulder. The scrape on his wrist. The bruising around his ribs.
“Landed weird.” Del’s voice was thick and a little unsteady. “It looks worse than it is.”
Spencer sank to his knees, probably not as gracefully as Del usually did, but he continued his quest, kissing a particularly mottled bruise on his hip then the scrapes on his calves. Finally, he made his way to Del’s thick cock, which hung heavy and half-hard. He mouthed along the length, encouraging him to fully erect. But when he would have taken him deep, Del hauled him to his feet and manhandled him onto the bed.
