“Because maybe I like you?” Owen laughed before he dropped a fast kiss on Quill’s cheek. He loosened Quill’s collar buttons with deft fingers before kneeling to untie his boots. “And you’ve had a shit day on top of a busy week. I want you to feel better. If only because you less cranky benefits everyone.”
“I’ll try to be less irritable,” Quill promised, helping Owen by kicking off his boots. He expected Owen to join him on the couch or maybe head back to the kitchen area to deal with the dishes, but Owen stayed crouching as he reached for Quill’s belt buckle.
“Oh. Hey. You don’t have to do that.” Staying Owen’s hands, his temperature climbed twenty degrees.
“Since when have you known me to ever do something I don’t want to do?” Owen’s eyes were bright and mischievous, no hint of guilt or obligation there. “I wanna blow you, help you fall asleep. Not because I feel bad that we disagreed but because blowing you is a hell of a lot of fun, and I want that right now.”
“How is me falling asleep fun?” Quill’s eyes were already heavy, and he wasn’t sure whether he could keep them open by sheer force of will if Owen succeeded in his little plan. Ever since Quill’s impulsive blow job in the kitchen on Thanksgiving, their sex had ramped up. More touching. More sucking. More rubbing off. But Quill always tried to make sure Owen got his.
“Are you kidding? You all boneless and limp because I sucked your brains out? That’s the biggest ego trip there is. Now lean back and let me work.” He shoved Quill’s legs wide so that he could kneel more directly between them, his breath warm against Quill’s fly. “If you’re truly feeling guilty, you can owe me one, but sex isn’t about turns or fair or whatever. It’s about fun. And blowing you to sleep, that’s gonna be fun.”
Fun. Quill needed to keep that in mind. Sex was fun for Owen in a way it had never been for Quill. And it didn’t matter how shaky his insides got from Owen’s domestic gestures like the decorations and the food. Owen was only in this for the fun. The lark. The distraction of hot sex in the darkest month of the year. Quill needed to remember that, tattoo it on his soul before he got too attached. He needed to find distance and not be plotting nice gestures of his own that he could do in return. But as Owen’s warm mouth worked its magic, colorful lights twinkling above them on the shelves, he knew he was hopelessly lost for this man and that there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for him.
* * *
“Need a hand?”
The sound of Quill’s voice startled Owen. He was shoveling out after the latest snow, a doozy of a storm that had left Owen with a ton of work to do to maintain the necessary paths and access points to things like the restrooms and the trash. Not that he personally wished to use an outhouse in frigid temperatures, but the facilities needed to be accessible to those without other options. He’d had to wait until almost 10 a.m. for adequate light to work, and he’d have to push to get it all done by the time darkness fell. Quill had been at a ranger meeting in Wasilla and then on patrol, but he had a shovel in hand now and looked ready to work alongside Owen.
“Sure.” He wasn’t going to turn down either the help or the unexpected company. “Thanks.”
Quill had been strangely helpful ever since their disagreement several days prior about his handling of the parking lot fight, seeking Owen out during the day more than he had before, and being more active in their evening doings, suggesting cooking together or a game. It was nice and cozy and made Owen ache for things he couldn’t have. But he’d sure as heck take it, take having companionship as he battled through the melancholy of the short days. Doing nice things for Quill like his baking experiments and the decorating helped as did exercise and him finally taking Quill’s advice about hobbies, doing silly little doodles on some paper he’d found while doing the storeroom organizing.
“You want to stay up late tonight?” Quill asked, voice casual, not suggestive, but Owen still took the opportunity to leer at him.
“I’m always up for being up late with you. Or going to bed early. Either one.” Bed was a bit optimistic of a euphemism as most of their sex still happened on the couch pre-bedtime with them sleeping apart either in the common room or in their own spaces. Quill still had yet to invite him into Quill’s own quarters, and Owen didn’t want to ask and come off as either needy or pushy.
“Not sex.” Quill both blushed and whispered even though there was no one around, hadn’t been most of the day. “It’s supposed to be unusually clear and cold tonight with no moon. Perfect for viewing the northern lights if my powers of prediction are worth anything. There’s a tourist group coming up, and my boss asked that I meet up with them in the parking lot. I promised you that I’d try to show you the lights and that I’d ask you for backup more. So, I thought you might want to come along?”
“Absolutely.” Owen was unreasonably pleased that Quill was asking.
“You’ll want to dress even warmer than usual as temperatures are set to drop. You can borrow some of my better gloves again. And I’ve got extra thermal socks if you need those.”
“Thank you.” Owen bit back a reminder that he could dress himself because Quill was being sweet, and Owen had already figured out that lectures and warnings were part of how Quill showed he cared. Instead, he let Quill give him more pointers as they worked clearing the snow, and he in turn talked Quill into an early-evening make-out session and napping on the couch on the pretense of conserving energy for the late night. Quill might be good at keeping him alive, but Owen liked to think he was equally good at making Quill feel alive.
Both of them dressed for the frigid night with thermal layers followed by snow pants, parkas, double hats, and Quill’s preferred super-insulated gloves. Taking the snowmobiles out at night was surreal—relying on the headlights and trying to trust the trail to the lower parking lot. He went slower than normal, as did Quill, but they still arrived in time to meet the tourist group, which consisted of around a dozen adults and a tour guide. They were apparently part of a photography-centered expedition, and Griffin, their guide, had fascinating tips for trying to capture the night sky. Other people not part of the tour group were also milling around, word having apparently gotten out that the night might be ideal for viewing the light show.
They used headlamps with snowshoes and skis to venture a short distance away from the parking area to a flat section unobstructed by trees. Quill undoubtedly only noticed a head count of people, potential risks and hazards, his focus on giving everyone a safe experience. But Owen was more fascinated by group dynamics, the interplay among various tourists as they made their way to the viewing spot. There were two couples from Japan, along with some highly fashionable women who managed to make their winter gear look like the latest fad, all brand-new and bright, matching colors. It didn’t take long to figure out that one of the guys, with blue hair tucked into a thick knit hat, wasn’t actually another group member but some sort of assistant to the guide, or maybe simply along for the ride. But they were rather obviously a couple, affectionate in that sort of longstanding shorthand way.
The pair reminded him of him and Quill, the way the assistant guy was far more social, joking and laughing with the tourists, serving as a sort of buffer for the gruff guide, who seemed more comfortable with his cameras than with the group. Or rather, they would remind him of him and Quill if they were a real couple like that, one with both a history and a future. One that had the sort of comfort level with each other where they had zero fucks for the world figuring out that they were with each other. Not that they were engaging in PDA or pet names or anything like that, but assistant guy wasn’t shy about dropping things like “our cabin” in sentences either.
Feeling more jealous than he had any right to when he returned to Quill’s side, his tone came out a bit snappish. “I don’t see much of anything.”
The faint glow to the sky was rather underwhelming, nothing like the pictures he’d seen of the northern lights.
&nb
sp; “Just wait.” Probably picking up on Owen’s mood, Quill’s response was impatient, like Owen was a kid needing amusing on a long car trip. “It’s not on a timetable.”
The cold seeped into his bones the longer they stood there, conversations swirling around them, the tourist group reflecting on other stops on their trip, the sort of fun vacation stories that should have made Owen itchy to travel again. If he was smart, he’d already have his summer planned. And if he had any sense of self-preservation left, he’d be craving the chance to explore other places, meet new people, not standing here wishing he was alone with Quill, wishing yet again for impossible things.
“Look!” One of the tourists pointed up at the sky where slowly a curtain of yellow-green light unfolded, undulating across the sky, rippling with tendrils of light traveling across the inky now-purplish backdrop. Those with camera setups rushed to get pictures, but Owen merely stood there, transfixed by beauty far surpassing anything his imagination had conjured up.
“This do for your bucket list?” Quill asked him quietly, a certain satisfaction to his voice, like he alone had procured the spectacle for Owen. It was almost too cute, and he had to fist his hands to keep from touching him.
Some distance ahead, assistant guy grabbed Griffin’s hand, laughing and briefly resting his head on the guide’s shoulder. Like the rapidly moving lights, they quickly separated, but Owen caught Quill glancing their direction as well. Did he feel that same longing as Owen? Wish for that easiness of being? Or did it make him uncomfortable or maybe even disdainful?
The brightness of the sky was almost blinding, hues shifting as the aurora shifted, a constantly evolving show, wild and unpredictable. Unlike Quill, who was solid and steadfast, rooted to this place and this time, unchanging. He wasn’t ever going to be like that other couple, wasn’t ever going to be publicly out like that, even casually. And Owen had known that for weeks now, known it prior to their first kiss if he were honest, known that getting involved with a guy who’d made an entire life inside a closet he had no intention of leaving was foolhardy. But he’d stupidly thought he could handle a no-strings fling. Damn Quill for making him want so much more than he was ever going to get.
“Too cold?” Quill asked him. “You should drink some tea as soon as you get back.”
“Not cold,” Owen lied even though he was chilled through with his realizations. And the worst thing was that it was too late to pull back now. Even knowing all the hurt that awaited him, he still wanted more. More time. More Quill. More magic like the lights, this moment both unspeakably beautiful and not nearly enough either.
Chapter Eighteen
Quill was sticky and messy and should have been profoundly uncomfortable, not laughing. But that’s exactly what he was doing, a sound he almost didn’t recognize.
“I’m not good at this.”
“No one is their first time,” Owen soothed.
“Guess the only important thing is that they’re edible.” Quill studied his handiwork, uneven circles and lumpy stars arranged on a baking sheet. It had been years since he’d attempted this—hazy memories of being in his grandmother’s kitchen, her turning out oatmeal raisin cookies, or helping his cinnamon-loving mother make snickerdoodles. She’d liked to bake the nights his dad had worked late, music videos on the TV, house way happier than usual and smelling good.
But neither his mother or grandmother had been industrious enough for fancy rolled cookies. However, Owen had returned from a stock-up trip to Anchorage with an actual rolling pin, more baking supplies, and cookie cutters. Apparently, he’d decided that Quill needed gingerbread. And instead of greeting him with the results of his latest baking experiment, he’d enlisted Quill’s help.
“Yup.” Owen’s cookies were perfect diamonds and crescent moons. He’d been in a weird mood ever since Quill had taken him to see the northern lights, quieter, a little withdrawn, and more reflective than his usual spontaneous self. Thus, when he’d proposed cookie baking, Quill had decided to indulge him, hoping it got his playful Owen back to normal.
Quill wasn’t stupid—he knew that Owen had likely noticed the tour guide and his boyfriend. And Quill wished he had the words to reassure him, knew how to jolly him up with a well-placed joke or comforting word, but that was hardly his strong suit. Further, he couldn’t lie to Owen, couldn’t say that he was about to change his whole world, the way he’d lived his life for decades now. If Owen needed the sort of easy affection the other couple had shared, he was looking at the wrong guy for it. As much as Owen deserved that sort of real relationship, merely thinking about him with some nameless future boyfriend who would happily hold hands publicly was enough to have Quill slapping down his cookie cutters far harder than he needed to.
“What did that dough do to you?” Owen laughed, mood lighter than it had been in days, which was seriously nice to see. He put the first sheet in the oven and set the timer.
“Sorry.” Quill tried to be gentler as he filled his sheet. “Told you, I’m not sure I’ve done this before.”
“First time for everything.” Owen’s wink promised sexy fun later and made Quill’s pulse speed up. If Quill were any good at flirting, he’d make a promise of his own back, confess that he’d been thinking about blowing Owen all day, thinking about how good it felt when he was on his knees, everything falling away other than the two of them, nothing to worry about other than getting Owen off. “And everyone needs to know how to make cookies. It’s like basic life skills. My mom makes incredible cookies including these iced coffee-flavored ones, and almond ones that are out of this world.”
“Sounds tasty.” Quill finished with his part of the dough and moved to wash his hands.
“Want me to ask her to send us a care package? I bet she would love to do that for you.”
“Cookies for me?” Quill blinked, not sure he’d ever gotten a care package before. “Why would she want to do that? She’s never met me.”
“She’s heard enough stories. Trust me. She’d be happy to send some cookies. I’ll ask next time I call.” Owen dusted off his hands like it was all settled.
“You’ve...uh...told your mom about me? Us?”
“She’s like, what? A thousand miles away?” Owen’s tone was the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. “And no, I don’t tell her about my sex life. But she likes hearing about things like the northern lights and clearing snow from the roofs, and I’m sorry, but you do crop up in my stories from time to time.”
“Oh. Okay.” Quill swallowed hard. Owen had promised not to out him at work, but the guy did like to talk, and it wasn’t reasonable to expect no one to guess. Of course a social guy like Owen was going to talk to his family and friends. And similarly, he wasn’t going to understand why Quill got uncomfortable knowing he was the subject of said conversation.
“Come on. You can’t tell me you never mention me at all? Like to your friend Hattie?” Owen’s tone was curious, but an undercurrent of hurt there made Quill’s neck ache.
“I told her you’re doing a great job.”
“And that’s it?”
“No need to tell her anything else.” When Owen’s face fell, he scrambled to add, “Wouldn’t want to put her in a...weird situation at work. Her knowing more than maybe she should.”
“Yeah.” Owen sounded far from convinced, but before Quill could further insert his foot into his mouth and ruin what was left of Owen’s good mood, his sat phone rang with a number he recognized all too well.
“Hang on,” he said to Owen before answering, instinctively moving closer to the window where reception was always a little better. And unfortunately the news wasn’t good. Never was, getting a callout after dark.
“I’ve got to go,” he told Owen after he ended the call, already gathering his gear. “There’s report of a two-car accident with injuries on the road, just inside our boundary. I’m closer than the rescue crew, which is en route, but
I can get there quicker with the snowmachine, triage the situation, and help the crew block the road and get set for medical evacuation if we need a chopper. Don’t wait up.”
“I’m coming with you.” Owen started yanking on his own gear, putting his snow pants right over his sweats.
“No. You’ve got cookies in the oven, and I’m not sure what we’re looking at here. No.”
“Quill. You said you’d use me for backup.” Still buttoning his pants, Owen yanked the cookies out of the oven and shut it off. “And like you just said, someone needs to block the road. I can set out flares and whatnot while you assess. I’m not going to pretend to have your first-aid skills, but I’m not useless either.”
Quill seriously didn’t have time to argue, but not knowing whether there were fatalities or gruesome injuries had him wanting to keep Owen far away. However, Owen had a point. He might well need another pair of hands.
“Okay. You let me handle the injuries though, okay? And listen to me.”
“Not a kid. I can take directions.” Owen finished bundling up and followed Quill down the stairs. On that point, Quill begged to differ—Owen lived to be in charge, whether it was baking or snow removal or in bed. He had his doubts that Owen would stay where Quill put him.
Taking the snowmachines with the headlights blazing, they made good time to the road where three cars awaited them. A badly mangled SUV had tangled with an equally mashed-up pickup truck, and an undamaged SUV had stopped to help, an older male driver with a grim expression waving them over.
“Do the flares,” Quill ordered Owen before approaching the scene, first-aid kit in hand.
“You the ranger?” the man asked Quill. His pale face was somber, eyes panicked. “How soon you think they’ll get an ambulance here? It’s bad.”
“Help’s on the way,” Quill assured him, stomach sinking, already knowing this was going to be one of those nights that got under his skin, the kind he wore on his soul. His ears strained, listening for distant sirens, but only coming up with crying coming from the SUV. Kid. Crap. Racing between the two vehicles, he did a fast assessment of the situation. Truck had two male victims, driver who was already gone, damn it all to hell, and an unconscious passenger who was in bad shape, but not a lot Quill could do until rescuers arrived. SUV had an unconscious female driver bleeding profusely from her thigh and an apparently unscathed kid yowling in a car seat in the back.
Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 17