Page 36 of Ask Me For Fire


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Barrett didn’t fully get to sleep, staying in that strange place between dreaming and waking, lucidity and the slow daze of the sleepless. He jolted awake when his phone buzzed with a text from Oz, saying he was thirty minutes out.

Shit. He was a wreck, Dandi probably need a run, and there wasn’t a big enough coffee pot in the world to deal with the dull thumping headache behind his eyes.

He managed to shake himself awake under the viciously hot spray of the shower and the bounding, endless energy of a very happy dog. By the time Oz pulled up, Dandi was appeased, his headache was nearly gone, and there was thankfully a full pot of coffee waiting and ready.

“Come on in,” he said as he swung the door out for Oz to enter. “I hope you like really strong coffee.”

”As a matter of fact…” Oz turned, tipped his chin up, and met Barrett’s eyes. Something popped in the air between them and it had Barrett sucking in a sharp breath. “I find myself craving it this morning.”

Oz slipped by him to get his coat and boots off, leaving Barrett fumbling with the door handle against a kick of wind. He moved to the kitchen while Oz seemed to take in the place in a slow, sweeping way that made Barrett prickle with awareness. There was an intensity to the man’s dark gaze that had immediately sparked something in him, but now, in his own home, it felt more intimate. “Nice place,” he drawled. “I really like the floors.”

“Thanks.” Oh god, were they at the small talk part? Barrett was always shit at that.

At Barrett’s gesture, Oz brought his bag over to the kitchen table and settled, the battered old chair creaking under him. Oz wasn’t a big guy in the least but those chairs groaned under even the slightest movement. Thankfully it didn’t seem to bother Oz.

“Coffee?” Barrett cleared his throat, sparing a glance out the kitchen window that faced Ambrose’s house. The chimney smoke swirled in the wind that had picked up, a gale blowing in while spring clawed its way through the remnants of winter. Thinking about Ambrose now was only going to be a distraction.

“Please.” There was a charming quirk to Oz’s smile and Barrett now noticed a thin, white scar from the corner of his mouth, curving up with his jaw. Oz busied himself with pulling out papers and a sleek laptop, his hands moving deftly. Barrett was thankful he had to turn away to finish the coffee, lest he be caught staring at golden-brown skin and the way dark ink peeked out from the cuffs of Oz’s sweatshirt. He wondered how high it went. Did it twirl over hard-muscled forearms, maybe even slide over elbows and twist, higher and higher?

Ambrose’s face appeared before him for a moment afterwards, those plush lips within distance, below stormy grey eyes staring up at Barrett as Perry’s illustrations hovered in the space between them. Barrett had been torn. He wanted to lean in, pull the other man to him, and bury his face in the crook of that lean neck.

Ambrose made him tight, tense in a way that shocked him. These last few times they’d shared space, something electric had fizzed and snapped between them. He would readily admit Ambrose terrified him. Talented, smart, brooding, good looking. His neighbor, his friend, hit almost every button Barrett had, along with a few unexpected ones.

But he was a big believer in “moments“. Perfect little bubbles of time where some stars aligned or a ley line connected, something in the universespoke, and somewhere on their little planet, someone else listened.

Barrett had felt he and Ambrose were close to amomentjust minutes before, standing in Ambrose’s living room. But not close enough. Not perfect enough.

Val used to tease him for waiting for perfect, when they were both younger and more aligned ideologically. Not religious, per se. Maybe spiritual had been a better word. He’d let go of a lot of that over the years, but the older he got, the more he wanted to find that perfect moment in a bit of romance. He wanted to be like a hero in a novel, there to sweep someone off their feet and make them sigh. And…that’s where the feel-good romance ended and thefantasybegan. He was only human, after all.

But he and Ambrose kept missing a moment of their own and he wondered if he’d started falling too fast, too soon. What if that was where his hangups really were?

He glanced back at Oz as he shut his bag and stowed it under the kitchen table. His sleeves bunched up and Barrett lost himself in a two second fantasy of finding where that ink ended. Oz was strong. Had to be, the field they were in. But Barrett knew that swagger Oz had. It wasn’t born of ego or overconfidence. It was the walk of someone who understood himself, his place with others and in the world. It was a rare kind of nirvana; and he would know, as he’d been chasing some semblance of it for nearly twenty years.

Not everything was about a perfect moment. Sometimes things were moreurgentthan that. A clash, a collision, hot and fierce and vital like the blood in his veins kind ofalive. He wondered if Oz would be amenable, given the little spark between them last night.

“Ready?” Oz asked as they hunched over the laptop and a pile of papers and steaming coffee cups. “From the top, no detail too small.”

“Got it,” Barrett replied, reaching for his cup as Oz leaned forward. Their fingers brushed and he swore he heard Oz suck in a breath.

Maybealivewas okay for now.

He felt a continual hum under his skin as they spent hours pouring over very factual but very dry reports. Even Meredith had to stick to the structure rules, and her emails were full of playful uses of language and way too many emojis. They drained two pots of coffee and when Barrett made soup and salad for lunch, Oz tucked in like a man who enjoyed - and appreciated - good food. “You should swing by this little place in Nemesda, about an hour north of here. Called ‘Patty’s Place’ and it looks like it should have a whole retro vibe, you know flickering neon sign and fried everything,” Oz said as Barrett fed Dandi her afternoon meal. “But below there’s a really awesome bar. Reservation only, bouncer at the door and everything, but it’s super chill inside and all the art on the walls are pictures of tattoos. It’s almost artsy, the way everything looks.”

“Like purposefully a little messy?” Barrett hedged, retaking his seat. Was Oz a little closer now, or simply more relaxed? It was so small to almost be immeasurable, but Barrett would have sworn Oz’s leg was closer to his.

He liked Oz. Sharp but funny, his wit fast and furious but never to make fun of someone. He was certainly a talker, but that wasn’t a hardship as the man had a nice, even timbre; like a good narrator in an audiobook. He’d probably be a lot for Barrett day in and day out, but right now, as Oz leaned into him and their thighs brushed, he didn’t care.

“I think that’s it,” Oz said as he flipped over the final piece of paper from their numerous stacks. “Thank you again, especially because I know you didn’t get much sleep.”

“Neither did you.”

“Ha, no that is very true. I’m still buzzing though.” Oz shivered and Barrett caught a whiff of faux-spicy deodorant, the kind of thing you could get at the drugstore for a couple of bucks. It was strangely charming on Oz, instead of cloying. “Something’s definitely going on and this kind of malevolence is more than just costly.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Barrett admitted. “Guessing you’ll do up a report, send us the findings?”

“And make some suggestions for better security, tighter patrols. We don’t have a clue if this is one person or a group. It could be a disgruntled ex-employee, a pissed off camper, some prankster who went too far. No idea yet, and without any evidence linking someone to all of this, it’s impossible to know.”

Barrett ran through his years of service in his memory, knowing he never encountered everyone who worked for the forestry service. There were twice as many admins, accountants, and department office staff as there were actual rangers, but there had certainly been some dramatic firings in the last several years. “So vigilance for now, yeah?”

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