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A teasing light brightened Colin’s gaze. “Yep.”
Intrigued, and on the edge of uncomfortably full, Evan leaned back. “Do I have other faces?”
“Sure. You’ve got anI’m-pissed-and-trying-not-to-show-itface, anI’m-pissed-and-I-don’t-care-who-knows-it face, and my personal favorite, yourthis-is-annoying-but-I’m-being-politeface, which you wore a lot in college, and nearly constantly during Professor Brooks’ freshman humanities course.”
Evan barked out a laugh at that.
“I guess I should say it was my personal favorite,” Colin amended, laying down his fork and picking up his wine glass, “until I saw yourfuck-I’m-comingface.”
Despite his full belly, a frisson of heat trickled down Evan’s spine. “Yeah?”
“That one definitely holds the top spot now.” Colin leaned back in his chair, eyes dancing behind his glasses. “So? What’s funny?”
“I was just thinking how this dinner doesn’t feel all that much different than any of the other dinners we’ve had,” Evan told him. “Except for the sex, of course.”
Colin’s lips twitched. “That is a difference. Also, you cooked.”
“I’ve cooked before,” Evan protested lazily, enjoying himself.
“Reheating your mother’s lasagna doesn’t count.”
“The hell it doesn’t.”
Colin just chuckled, then sighed. “God, I’m stuffed.”
“We still have dessert,” Evan reminded him, then grimaced. “But I don’t think I can eat it.”
“I know I can’t.” Colin tipped his head back on a yawn. “I should probably go for a walk or something, but I just want to sprawl out on the couch and watch a movie.”
“That sounds good to me,” Evan decided, and started to gather the dishes.
“Leave them,” Colin directed, pushing up from his chair. “We’ll clean up in the morning.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before,” Evan said and followed him to the living room.
“You’ve never fucked me and fed me into a coma before either,” Colin pointed out. He grabbed a lighter from the mantle and crouched to light the fire already laid.
Evan watched the flames leap as the kindling caught. “I’ll be sure to do that again soon.”
Colin snorted. “No, you won’t.”
The words hit like a kick to the solar plexus, robbing Evan of air and stealing his voice. He had the vague thought that he’d always heard how words could cause physical pain—read it in books, heard it in songs—but he’d always thought it hyperbole.
It wasn’t, though. His chest hurt as though Colin had punched a hole through it, though he imagined that pain wouldn’t—couldn’t—be worse than this. Through the wavery haze of it, he saw Colin replace the fireplace screen and turn toward the couch. He forced the words out of his throat, each syllable jagged glass in his throat. “I won’t?”
“I get to fuck you into a coma next time, remember?”
“Right.” The sudden shift from devastation to relief was disorienting, but Evan managed to nod. For a moment there, the world had been ripped out from underneath him, and he was going to need a minute to find his footing again. “I remember.”
Colin glanced up, his forehead furrowed in concern. “You okay?”
“Sure.” He walked to the couch, pleased that though his limbs felt vaguely disjointed, he didn’t stumble. And if he dropped onto the cushion beside Colin with a little less coordination and grace than usual, he could just chalk it up to being tired and full. “Just imagining my future.”
Colin grunted and propped his feet up on the ottoman. “Better rest up, Dunbar, ‘cause I’m gonna be coming for you.”
Relieved to be back on even ground, Evan plunked his feet beside Colin’s. “Bring it on, Howard.”
“Famous last words.” Colin passed him the remote and wiggled deeper into the cushions. “Here, pick a movie. Something funny that I don’t have to pay attention to.”
