“You have a girlfriend?” Rhys’s tone sharpened.
“No... Ihadone, a year ago.”
Silence. Then Rhys blinked. “Sorry. I misunderstood. I’m all for sexual freedom in relationships—if it feels right—but cheating fucks with my head, you know? Sorry it happened to you.”
Jevon shrugged. “It was my fault, really. I pushed her into it so I had a reason to bail.”
“Because you were freaking out about liking men?”
“Something like that.” Understanding and empathy warmed Rhys’s face. Jevon wanted to touch him, but his hands were sticky with jizz. He settled for knocking his head on Rhys’s shoulder. “Anyway. It doesn’t matter now. I—um—I think I’m gay.”
Rhys nodded slowly. “There are worse things to be.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
“Good. You can’t expect the world to accept you if you don’t accept yourself.” Rhys yawned and flopped onto his back. “I remember when my brother came out, I was waiting for him to start walking tall, you know? Shoulders back, not giving a fuck what anyone thought. But it wasn’t like that for him, and it took me a while to realise that labelling himself didn’t change the fact that he still didn’t know who he was.”
“What about you? What happened when you came out?”
“I never bothered,” Rhys said. “Because I don’t give two shits what people want to call me. Bisexual suits me right now, but it might change. Or it might not. Does it matter? Not to me... and that’s all that counts when it comes tomysexuality.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you.”
It wasn’t what Jevon meant to say, but Rhys seemed to understand. He sat up on his elbows, sweat glistening on his chest, and nodded toward the tiny bathroom. “Go wash up. We can expand on that when you get back.”
Needing a minute and grateful for the out, Jevon slid from the bed and meandered across the room, legs still wobbling. He sensed Rhys’s eyes on his back and tried not to imagine what he might be thinking as he took in Jevon’s naked body. He was captivated by Rhys, but though his throat still ached from Rhys’s cock and Rhys’s guttural shouts still echoed in his head, it was impossible to know how Rhys truly felt.
Perhaps he was humouring him.
Or had a virgin fetish.
A friendly daddy on Grindr had warned Jevon about shit like that once, but as he wiped dried come from his skin and washed his hands, none of it seemed to fit Rhys. His kindness was too authentic, too real, and Jevon couldn’t deny the insane heat that simmered between them even now, when they’d both come themselves hoarse.
“We can expand on that...”What did that mean? The desire to find out rippled through Jevon, jerking his briefly sated cock back to life. He left the bathroom and padded to the bed, the words to ask Rhys to touch him again dripping off his tongue.
But Rhys was asleep, sprawled on his stomach, naked and beautiful, and perspective returned to Jevon like the beginnings of an autumn rainstorm. Droplets of reality but then a downpour of cold hard facts: Rhys was a stranger asleep in his own bed, and Jevon was a hook-up with a plane to catch.
He gathered his clothes and dressed quietly. Then he kissed two fingers and touched them to Rhys’s temple.
Thank you.
Three
Sleeping had become the curse of the wicked. Torn between imagined monsters left behind in his waking life and the flickers of long brown limbs and innocent eyes of his dreams, Rhys couldn’t catch a fucking break. He tossed and turned in his bunk until the crude blast of the base alarm woke him just before dawn.
Autopilot kicked in. He rolled to his feet, grabbed his kit, and dashed to the rooftop with the rest of the scrambled HELIMED crew.
He jumped onto the chopper. A flight doctor he vaguely knew was already on board: an ex-military medic who was satanically good looking and something of a legend when it came to trauma medicine.
Marc grinned and clapped Rhys on the back. “How’s tricks?”
“All good.” Rhys zipped up his orange flight suit. “What are you doing down here? Thought you’d stuck your boots in up north?”
Marc scowled. “I have, but there’s been a cock-up with doc holiday time down here, and I wasn’t going to let them ground the chopper, was I?”
“Bible,” Rhys agreed.
Marc rolled his eyes. “Bloody young ’uns. Always with the wacky lingo.”