There wasn’t much left to say. Connor went for a shower while Jamie made up a bed in one of the disused bedrooms upstairs, thankful that it was already relatively clear of dust.
When he was done, he sat on the edge of the bed. The room had a perfect view of the horizon and the road leading up to the house, and Jamie wasn’t budging until a canary-yellow car blighted the landscape.
Eighteen
Marc kicked the front door shut and quickly scanned the ground floor of the house. Connor appeared from the downstairs bedroom, so Jamie had to be somewhere else.
Dimly aware of Nat pushing past him to get to Connor, Marc made for the stairs. His body ached, but he welcomed it. For hours now, pain had been the only thing keeping him awake. That and the fear of crashing his car into a ditch and leaving Nat in the same state that Wedge was in. Yeah, that was right—fifteen years of active service and a rolling Land Rover on the backstreets of Aleppo had snapped his fucking neck.
Anger kept Marc upright as he hauled himself upstairs, and then relief nearly floored him when Jamie appeared on the landing.
Jamie stepped forward, arms outstretched. “You’re home—”
Marc cut him off with a crazed kiss, and pushed him backwards into a bedroom that had been crammed floor to ceiling with junk until Jamie had come along.
It felt like Marc’s heart had been through the same rebirth. He’d intended to fall on top of Jamie, kiss the hell out of him, then pass out for as long as his treacherous conscience would allow him, but his tired body had other ideas. Jamie was dressed in loose sweatpants with no underwear beneath. Marc stripped them away and took Jamie in his mouth before Jamie could rid Marc of his own clothes.
Jamie’s body arched up from the bed, and Marc grabbed his hands and slammed them onto the back of his own head. Clearly reading the move, Jamie gripped Marc’s skull and fucked Marc’s mouth, driving his cock deep with the brutal force that Marc needed to tie him down to the world.
“Oh God,” Jamie ground out. “I’m going to come.”
Not yet.Marc pulled back and shoved Jamie over. He wanted to fuck him so badly, but what was left of his perspective reminded him that there was no lube to hand.
Or so he thought. Jamie reached for his discarded sweatpants and retrieved a small bottle of lube. “It was on the side in your room. I swiped it before Connor saw it.”
“He wouldn’t have minded.”
Jamie smirked. “Maybe not, but just as well, eh?”
“Yep.” Marc took the lube and shucked his clothes.
Jamie, already on his knees, fell forward and pressed his chest to the bed. Marc sucked in a shaky breath, shed his prosthesis, and then moved on Jamie like a starving man. He fucked Jamie all over the bed, in every position. But in the end, he brought Jamie back to where he could hold him close, and stare into his eyes as he fucked him, hoping that Jamie interpreted the harsh drive of his cock as a measure of how much he loved him. Because,fuck, he loved Jamie. He’d known it from the moment they met, but now... damn. He loved the bloody bones off him. “I love you.”
“I know,” Jamie whispered. And he came with a ragged cry. “I love you too. Please believe me.”
Marc closed his eyes and thrust into Jamie even harder. White spots danced behind his eyelids, and he climaxed with a violent shudder. “I do believe you,” he gasped out. “Of course I do. I love you, Jamie. I love you so much.”
For a long moment neither of them spoke, but then perspective nudged at Marc’s consciousness and he rolled off Jamie, collapsing onto his back, panting wildly. He threw an arm out and found Jamie’s belly, and then his hand, and they twined their fingers in the cooling sticky mess on Jamie’s abdomen.
“I’m sorry,” Marc said into the darkness.
“You said that a hundred times on the phone.” Jamie shifted, still clutching Marc’s hand. “But I don’t get why.”
“Because I promised I’d be there for you, and I wasn’t.”
“Because someone else needed you more. I’m never going to flip my shit because of that. I know I’m lucky to have you at all.”
Marc turned his head sharply. “You aren’t less deserving of love than anyone else. Who says I’m not the lucky one to come home to you?”
“I do.”
“Don’t.”
Jamie squeezed Marc’s fingers. “Sorry. Old habits die hard. How’s your friend?”
“Alive.” Marc sighed heavily and tried not to let his imagination treat him to images of Wedge lying stricken in a Syrian field hospital. “You know I can’t tell you much, don’t you?”
“I’m not asking much. Just how he is. When will he arrive back here?”