Believe

by Garrett Leigh

  “More.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I need more.”

  “Easy.” Jevon laid a heated palm over Rhys’s thundering heart. “We’ve got no lube, dude.”

  Rhys got a hold of his racing mind, considered logistics, and his brain gifted him a last shot of reason. “We have. Joe fetched me the bag I brought to Bedford last time I came. It’s over there.”

  “You’re fucking magic.”

  Jevon leapt out of bed and retrieved the bottle of lube Rhys had tucked into the inner pocket of his overnight bag. He squeezed some onto his hands and reached for Rhys’s dick, but Rhys caught him. Shook his head. “Not like that. Fuck me, Jevon.”

  Something flickered in Jevon’s face that Rhys couldn’t quite decipher. Doubt. Uncertainty? No. Not tonight. And not ever again. Rhys dug his nails into Jevon’s wrists. “Please . . . I need you.”

  “You’ve got me, baby.” Jevon freed himself from Rhys’s punishing grip and slicked his cock with lube. Then he helped Rhys shift onto his side, his good leg bent to his chest. His probing fingers were sure of their path, sliding straight to the sweet spot that sprayed stars into Rhys’s vision, like they had so many times before, but it was different now. Jevon moved with more purpose, stretching and sweeping.

  Rhys couldn’t wait a moment longer. “Now, Jevon. Please.”

  “Okay, okay.” Jevon withdrew his fingers and rubbed Rhys’s back. His touch was soothing, but a moment later, the insistent press of his dick against Rhys’s slicked up hole was electric.

  The burn was incredible, and Rhys cried out, pressing his face into a pillow that smelled of grass and hairspray, his whole body clenching, straining . . . resisting, but desperate for more.

  “Am I hurting you?” Jevon whispered.

  As if he could. Rhys thrashed his head. “No. Just fuck me . . . please.”

  It was the third time he’d resorted to begging, and Jevon finally seemed to hear him. To believe that Rhys’s desperation was all about him. That he’d never wanted anyone else like this, and he never would. That Jevon was everything to him and more.

  Jevon dropped soft, wet kisses to the back of Rhys’s neck, and drove his cock inside Rhys to the hilt. He stilled, giving Rhys a moment to suck in a breath and adjust to the sheer girth of him, then he began to move, and every man who’d fucked Rhys before him evaporated like they’d never been there at all.

  Hands, lips, tongue, Jevon was everywhere, driving in and out of Rhys, rocking them both in a cadence so sweet Rhys could barely breathe. He moaned, fisting the pillow by his face, and pushed back on Jevon, seeking more friction, chasing heat that was too much and not enough rolled into one.

  Jevon curled around him, screwing him just a tiny bit harder. “God, this feels so good. Why did we wait so long?”

  Rhys couldn’t fathom an answer, but despite the rosy haze clouding his mind, he knew they’d been right to hang tough for this moment. To have faith in their stars to align—begin to align, because they weren’t there yet. Jevon was inside Rhys, loving him like they’d always known he could, but there was so much more to say. So much more to do.

  But not now. It could wait—it could all wait, because Rhys was about to lose his fucking mind. He drove his fist into the mattress. “Harder,” he ground out, and something—everything—changed.

  Jevon pulled out and drew Rhys further down the bed, pushing him onto his front with oh-so-gentle hands. Then he drove back in, his cock nudging far deeper than it had before. Over and over, he thrust his hips, building speed and depth with each thrust, until his hypnotic, flexing pace faltered and the moans falling from him gained an octave. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

  “Do it.” Rhys hunched his spine and braced himself, ignoring the lance of pain from his injured ankle. “I wanna feel you.”

  Jevon slammed their bodies together once more, twice more, then he seized up, and his movements became jerky as his cock pulsed inside Rhys. “Fuck, I love you, man.”

  “I love you, too,” Rhys gasped out. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

  Jevon didn’t stop. He kept moving, his dick still a steely rod buried inside Rhys as he screwed them both through his orgasm. He gripped Rhys’s shoulders and fucked him harder, and the rhythmic pounding of his hips stoked a throbbing burn in Rhys so intense he forgot where he was. Forgot the bloody, ruined bodies that brought him here. Forgot the traumatised young faces that led him and Jevon back together in the first place.

  Forgot everything except the pleasure building from somewhere so deep he couldn’t trace it back. Couldn’t follow a beam of light, even as it burst into blinding rays. Numbness had carried him out of London, but Rhys wasn’t numb anymore. His ankle screamed again—like the pins holding him together were being screwed in right now—and as his release spilled out of him, so did any apathy Jevon had missed when he’d claimed Rhys’s heart as his own.

  With a ragged shout, Rhys fell apart. Gasps turned to sobs, and Jevon’s arms were around him so fast Rhys barely felt his softened dick slip out of him. Jevon laid him on his back and moved a pillow under Rhys’s injured ankle, propping it up. The bruise on his temple throbbed, but the ache in Rhys’s sprained tendons eased instantly, even as violent shivers continued to shudder through him.

  Jevon pressed his forehead to Rhys’s, forcing him to meet his gaze. He offered no words of comfort, only himself. And it was enough. The abrupt vomit of emotion faded as Rhys’s lungs won the battle for air. His limbs still trembled, but it made sense, even if he didn’t know why.

  He clutched Jevon’s hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You wouldn’t be human if the last few days hadn’t fucked you up. Shit, I can hardly stand to think about what happened in London, and I wasn’t there.”

  “Neither was I, really.” Rhys closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the oxygen filter through his strained nerves. “And that detachment is likely the problem. I usually go back on base after a messed-up shift. Talk it out with Pater and whatever doc was with us or the next crew coming on. I didn’t do that this time—I came round from this fucking concussion, shouted at Harry, then came here.”

  “Camaraderie is everything when life gets real.”

  “Yup. And I think I maybe need to speak to someone now I’m not going to have that for a while, but I’m okay at the moment. Maybe we can talk about it later?”

  “Always.”

  Rhys knew he could count on Jevon to hold him to it. “What about you? How was topping a bloke for the first time?”

  “Do I need to answer that? I think we scared the horses.”

  A genuine laugh bubbled out of Rhys. In his suspended delirium, it was more of a giggle, and he slapped his hand over his mouth. When he’d composed himself, he pulled Jevon impossibly closer. “It was—fuck—it was amazing for me. I’ve never been with anyone like that.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. I’ve told you before—fucking has always been fun for me . . . hot, exciting, whatever. But with you? Shit. It’s all those things and so much more. I literally feel like I’ve been to the moon and back. You’re everything, Jevon.”

  Jevon smiled. “I can’t even describe how it was for me. For all the times I’ve pictured it, I figured I’d have some idea what it would be like, but I— Damn. You’re amazing.”

  “I’m really, really not,” Rhys said around a sigh that turned into a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m as good as you make me feel.”

  “Whatever. We’ve got some time to work on that fractured self-esteem. Don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you.”

  Rhys didn’t doubt it for a second, and as he stared at Jevon through heavy lidded eyes, a renegade faction in his body came to life again. He was tired and sore, but even with the weight of the world crashing down, Jevon made him feel so fucking alive. His cock rose, and his body craved Jevon inside him again so fiercely that his heart stuttered.

  Jevon read him like an open book and smirked. “Sure about that? You should keep your foo
t up.”

  “I will.” Rhys widened his legs, canting his hips just enough that Jevon would be able to slide easily home. “You might have to hold me down, though. Everything about your dick makes me crazy.”

  “Just my dick, huh?” Jevon climbed carefully over Rhys’s battered body until he was safely cradled between his legs. “What about my tongue?”

  Without warning, he took Rhys in his mouth, and coherent thought was gone, replaced by Jevon’s tongue, fingers, and eventually his cock. He fucked Rhys slower this time, the desperate need from before calmed by the certainty that this worked. That it was right for both of them, whichever way they came at it, and all the final puzzle pieces were a perfect fit.

  Rhys climaxed with a soundless cry, then he fell limp, his face buried in Jevon’s neck, his lungs empty, and nothing left in his heart but love.

  Rhys woke to sunlight streaming through the gap in the flowery curtains, Jevon’s arm flung over his face, and gentle knocking at the bedroom door. He sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his strapped ankle. “Yeah?”

  “Breakfast at the house if you want it,” Harry called softly. “Plenty of stuff right here if you don’t.”

  Light footsteps padded away without waiting for an answer, and the bungalow’s front door clicked shut. Rhys shook his head. Harry was a big guy, but he’d always moved like a ninja—all silence and grace. Rhys pictured him leaping across the shattered living room in the old family house, tackling their father to the floor, and keeping him there until Rhys could get away. It hadn’t felt right then, and it didn’t feel right now. Harry was a lover, not a fighter.

  Jevon stirred. “What are you smirking about?”

  “What do you think?” Rhys leaned down and kissed Jevon’s cheek. “I got lucky last night.”

  Lucky didn’t begin to cover it, but it was all Rhys had. Jevon rolled his eyes and pulled a pillow over his head in response, and it was a few minutes before he deemed Rhys worthy of more conversation. By then, Rhys was hauling himself back from the bathroom on his crutches.

  “You look better,” Jevon remarked.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah. You’ve lost that corpse-like white boy thang you had going on.”

  “Nice.”

  “Not really. You’re way hotter with some colour in your cheeks.”

  Rhys made it back to the bed and deposited himself in a heap of crutches and limbs. “Must be the salty sea air. I always look like a cabbage patch kid when I’m down here.”

  “Do you visit a lot?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why? It’s gorgeous.”

  Rhys flopped onto his back and pulled Jevon with him, more addicted to touching him than ever, if such a thing was possible. “I don’t know, to be honest. When Harry asks, I tell him I’m busy, but I actually love it here when he’s not nagging me to live a better life.”

  Jevon hummed. “I’d jump on that bandwagon, but I’m too hungry to think straight. Do you think we can rustle up some breakfast here?”

  “Probably, but it’ll be better up at the house if you’re feeling sociable. Feeding time at the zoo goes on all day here.”

  Jevon’s face brightened considerably. “Sounds like my kind of house. I’ve been living off stale pitta bread and dodgy chicken for weeks.”

  “Really? Is it that bad in the camp?”

  Jevon shrugged. “Yeah. And it’s getting worse with the weather, but it’s much tougher for the people living outside the staff quarters. We have heaters and cooking facilities. Hot water when the system works. They don’t.”

  “When are you going back?”

  Jevon sighed. “Can we talk about this later?”

  “Sure.”

  Rhys wasn’t complaining. Still riding high on the euphoria of Jevon turning him inside out, facing reality all over again wasn’t high on his Christmas list. Accepting that their time together was, as always, temporary, could wait.

  They got dressed and ventured across the farm to the big old house Harry and Joe called home. In the cosy kitchen, they found Joe, Harry, and Emma—Joe’s sister—sitting at the table while Angelo dished out breakfast to them and a handful of faces Rhys didn’t recognise. Crispy fried eggs, sautéed polenta, and something with tomatoes and white beans.

  Rhys smirked at Joe. “This ain’t your mum’s fry up.”

  “Angie reckons we’re in Milan or some shit, but I’m not complaining. For all the mess he makes of the kitchen, the boy can cook.”

  Joe flashed Angelo a wink, earning him an eye roll in response, as Angelo dropped into the seat beside Rhys. “You think you’d get this in Milan? This is peasant food, mate.”

  “Suits me then.”

  Joe returned his attention to his plate. Rhys fumbled with his crutches until Harry reached a long arm around Jevon and leaned them against a nearby dresser.

  Angelo chuckled quietly.

  Rhys shot him a dead-eyed stare. “What?”

  “Annoying, isn’t it?”

  “No more than usual. I didn’t need to fuck my ankle to know my brother is irritating.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I meant having to rely on other people to put one foot in front of the other. It’s not Harry’s fault you need help.”

  He spoke too quietly for anyone around the table to hear, but Rhys’s glare intensified anyway before he caught himself and reined his petulant inner wanker in for good. “Yeah. I know. I’m just acclimatising to being on my arse. I’ll stop being a dick soon, I promise.”

  Angelo chuckled again. “Let me know when it starts.”

  Twat. But Rhys struggled to mean it. If it hadn’t been for Angelo keeping in touch with Jevon, Rhys would be sleeping in Emma’s bed by himself. And despite wasting so much time protesting otherwise, Rhys did consider Angelo a friend. He slung a lazy arm around Angelo’s slender shoulders and raised his voice to normal levels. “It’s good to see you looking more like the feisty Dom I know and love.”

  Beside Rhys, Jevon snorted, and across the table, Harry cringed. “Seriously? We’re going to talk about that over breakfast?”

  “If you want, bro. Wasn’t me who wasn’t ever talking about it.”

  Harry gave Rhys the finger, and the conversation moved on. And life did too. Joe and Harry went back to work, leaving Angelo to clean up and shoo Jevon away when he offered to help. “I’m good. I like to make the most of my usefulness when it’s here. Makes up for all the times I’m surgically attached to the couch.”

  “You sure?”

  Angelo wrapped his arms around Jevon’s neck and kissed his cheek. “I’m sure. Take that grumpy arsehole back to bed.”

  Going back to bed had its merits, but Rhys didn’t feel like retreating to the bungalow again straight away. Instead, they navigated across the frosty yard to a helpfully positioned bench and watched Joe and Emma work with the huge black stallion Rhys had always been warned not to touch.

  “His name’s Shadow. Only Joe, Emma, and their father can handle him, and even then, he nearly killed Joe a while ago.”

  “He’s huge,” Jevon said. “Does Joe’s father live in the bungalow too?”

  “Nah. He’s in prison.”

  “I feel peaceful here,” was all Jevon offered in return. “Like it’s where we’re meant to be right now.”

  “How long for, though?”

  The question was out before Rhys could catch it, tainting the easy air they’d ambled—hobbled, in Rhys’s case—around the farm with. Jevon kept his eyes on Joe and the fiery stallion and tightened his grip on Rhys’s hand. “I haven’t been in touch with anyone from FFP since I bailed on them, but I can’t stay much longer than Christmas.”

  “Christmas?”

  “Yeah. There’s an early morning flight out of Newquay the day after Boxing Day. I booked it last night when you were asleep. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  It was on the tip of Rhys’s tongue to point out he hadn’t given Jevon much chance for talking the night before, but he let it go. Christmas was a wee
k away, and that gave them far longer together than he’d feared. “Harry will want us to stay here.”

  “I know. He’s already asked me.”

  “When?”

  “Last night. After I’d booked the ticket, actually, but it all seemed to make sense when he did. I kind of assumed you’d want to stay . . . unless you want to go back to London?”

  “What about your family?”

  Jevon shrugged. “They don’t know I’m here. And they’ve pretty much given up on me as far as Christmas is concerned. I usually make it up to them over the summer with a couple of mega barbecues. Trust me, it’s easier than trying to get your head around pouring turkey gravy over your rice and peas.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Have I?”

  “Never.” Rhys lolled his head on Jevon’s shoulder. “And for what it’s worth, I can’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas than here with you . . . and my family.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Family is important, man. You’ve gotta drop the lone wolf shit . . . I hate thinking of you being alone when I’m gone.”

  “It won’t be for long.”

  “How d’ya figure?”

  Rhys sat up as Joe took a tumble off the big black horse, waiting until he stood up and threw his helmet at Emma before answering with a theory that had been on his mind since he’d woken up. “Transferring my secondment from the air ambulance to the NGO needs a lot of paperwork shuffling I didn’t really have time for while I was working. If my ankle heals right, I can probably wrap it up by the time I’m back on my feet.”

  “Wow.” Jevon shifted on the bench so he was facing Rhys. “You could be on camp by February?”

  “I reckon so.”

  “Do you think—”

  He stopped. Rhys nudged him. “What? Go on, please?”

  Jevon gazed steadily at Rhys. “You said last night you were thinking of talking to someone about all the shit you’ve been through. Are you going to do that too…while you’re off your feet anyway?”

  Rhys nodded. “I am. I’ve been dodging service counselling for years, but that’s going to change. I need to be back on my feet in every sense before I embark on anything new.”