Page 70 of Sin Deep
He sighed and stroked his fingers through Harley’s hair, watching his boy, soothing him back to sleep when his injuries threatened to wake him.
And he wanted Harley to kneel for him. He wasn’t sure he could be truly, fully happy without that, or something reasonably like it. The outward show, the respect of his peers was more important to him than he wanted to admit, but he wasn’t going to lie to himself or to his boy.
Harley nuzzled into him with a soft little moan, the sound happy and musical. Satisfied.
He liked that sound, the sound of a happy boy. That he understood and knew how to nurture. With Harley, that was the easy part.
Harley wanted to make him happy—he didn’t really question that—and that delicious innocence that had intrigued him so was now a bit problematic.
He’d call Clint, except for the hour, and the fact that Clint would tell him what he already knew. If he wanted to play it safe, he’d leave things be as they were. But if he wanted to know everything they could be together, he’d take the risk.
Harley lifted his head, frowning. “You okay? You’re all tense.”
“Am I? I must have stiffened up sitting in one position for so long.” It was a lie, he was comfortable as could be with Harley in his arms, but Harley had surprised him, and he didn’t know what else to say.
“Ah. That sucks. You need me to rub your back?”
“You should be sleeping. We both should be.”
“Mmm… I love sleeping with you. I’m going to bring my pillow over too. I bet you love it.” Harley was dozing, just talking randomly.
“You have a special pillow?” That was sweet. He hunkered down with Harley, pulling the quilt up over them both.
“Uh-huh. I brought it from home. It’s the perfect pillow, and it’s got a soft pillowcase.” Harley snuggled in, cheek on his shoulder.
“Funny, the things we take with us when we leave for good. Right? The things we feel are important.” He yawned, relieved that sleep might be coming for him too. Harley’s presence was so calming, reassuring.
“Mmhmm…books, and the best pillow, and my favorite pair of boots.”
“Yes. Books. Baseball cards. A horse figurine.” And a few other things—a barrette that was his mother’s. A pocket knife. The cash from his father’s wallet. “So long ago.”
“A horse figurine. Will you show me later? I’m going to buy a LEGO thing to make and add to your—our—house.”
“LEGO.” He chuckled. “Of course I will show you. It’s ceramic. I painted it myself.” Our house. We, us, our…such tiny words that meant so much.
He kissed Harley’s forehead. “I will bring us muffins and bagels from the bakery in the morning.” After they slept in. He didn’t much care if they even saw morning.
“Mmm… Muffins.” Harley sighed, going boneless. “Your favorite are the lemon ones, don’t forget.”
“Lemon poppyseed.” He grinned. It had only been forty years, but it was kind of his sleepy boy to remind him anyway. Harley was easier. “You just like muffins.”
“Uh-huh. All the muffins. And bagel sammiches. And waffles…”
“So…bakery food.” He yawned again. “No more talking, petit. Sweet dreams.”
His boy was heavy and quiet, and soon the soft inhalations and exhalations started, breath sliding over his skin.
Winter let himself drift, listening to Harley breathe, eyes closing and staying that way.
20
Harley woke up with his thigh throbbing, but it was tolerable, more an irritation than real agony. He was going to have to ponder how it was doing for Monday, but he’d cross that bridge tomorrow.
Today he wanted to be with Winter.
He’d woken up alone, but he didn’t mind; he could hear soft classical music coming from the living room and there was light coming in under the bedroom door, and he knew there would be breakfast treats waiting for him and hot coffee.
He was a spoiled brat, but it felt so nice—to know Winter cared this much. He would totally return the favor. Totally.
