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Beckett hummed, a hint of laughter in it, and it vibrated into the tent.
Outside, rain started to pitter-patter against the tent. If Miles squinted, he could make out the silhouettes of raindrops running down the material.
“There’s another reason why I didn’t tell you earlier,” Miles said. “You made it extremely clear you didn’t want to share a tent with me.”
Beckett stilled. After a couple of seconds, he breathed into Miles’s palms again, and once again, Miles shivered, his body turning into honey. “That’s because I didn’t know you had a legitimate reason for wanting to share.”
“You thought I wanted to sleep together just because?”
“Yes. I got flustered.”
Beckett? Flustered?
“So if I wasn’t about to freeze in my own tent, you wouldn’t be letting me share with you right now?” Miles knew the answer before Beckett replied.
“No. It would be a bad idea,” Beckett said, then frowned. “You’re still ice cold. I think that—” Beckett cut himself off.
“What?”
Beckett dropped Miles’s hands, and Miles immediately missed the touch. “Turn around.”
“What?” Miles repeated.
“If you turn around, I can hold you. To warm your back up,” he explained.
“You’re going to spoon me?”
“We don’t have to,” Beckett said. “But I think we should because your body is still very cold. I understand if you’d rather not.”
Miles turned around. After a moment, Beckett moved forward, pressing his chest against Miles’s back. Legs against legs. Beckett’s strong arms wrapped around Miles, and his breaths caressed the back of Miles’s ear.
“I’m sorry you have to do this. I know you don’t like touching other people,” Miles said.
“It’s for a greater cause.”
“Well, thank you. I’m already feeling so much warmer.” Miles wiggled back a little, trying to get just a little closer to the body heat, and Beckett inhaled sharply.
Miles promptly stopped moving. Right. He shouldn’t push his luck, not when Beckett was already spooning him, something that under any other circumstances would never happen in a million years.
Beckett’s breaths evened out, reminding Miles of a boat rocking on gentle waves. All the anxieties from the day evaporated. Miles felt so comfortable, so protected in Beckett’s arms. Beckett even smelled nice—like milk and honey scented soap, a hint of salty ocean air, and the musky, masculine scent that was all him.
Miles shivered.
“Still cold?” Beckett asked.
No, he wasn’t—he’d shivered for another reason. Instead of saying that, though, he asked, “Is it okay if I turn around?”
“Sure,” Beckett said.
Miles rolled over, and this time it was the front of his body that was washed over with the warmth that had gathered between their bodies. He met Beckett’s eyes, almost black in the darkness. He saw the shadows his lashes cast onto his cheeks, the dark curve of his lower lip.
Beckett brushed the front of Miles’s chest, pinching the fabric of the hoodie between two fingers. “Still cold. Come closer.” With that, Beckett brought Miles’s head into the hollow between his neck and shoulder.
Miles let him, though he wondered how much of Beckett doing that was to keep Miles warm, and how much was because he didn’t want Miles to look at him. There’d been something about Beckett’s expression that puzzled him.
Miles’s cheek touched Beckett’s bare skin, his breaths skimming over Beckett’s collarbone. Beckett didn’t flinch away.
Miles slipped a leg between Beckett’s and waited, but Beckett didn’t react. So, Miles tangled his legs with Beckett’s and sighed at the warmth, surprised that Beckett was letting him do this.
