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“Shit, I’m sorry.” Fal’ran snatched his wandering hand away but kept the other tangled in the short hair at the nape of Patrick’s neck.
“It’s okay.” Patrick leaned in for another kiss, but Fal’ran only indulged him for a chaste one.
“Let’s get the shower on.” Fal’ran let Patrick go and turned the shower to full blast. “The last thing you need are those getting infected.”
Patrick shrugged. “I think the scars would look dashing.”
“On you? Sure.” Fal’ran grinned and Patrick rolled his eyes.
“Bastard.”
“You’d think, but according to records, my parents were married when I was born.” Fal’ran checked the water temperature and, finding it already hot, stepped inside and took Patrick’s hand to pull him in with him.
Despite both their semi-hard cocks, the dirt defeated their arousal, and they spent their shower scrubbing grit and grime from their bodies. The shower fit them both easily and between the two of them, they cleaned the middle of each other’s backs and every other hard to reach place.
By the time they’d finished, dirt flecked the previous spotless shower stall, but Fal’ran was cleaner than he’d ever been in his life. Not only cleaner, but lighter. Like by washing off everything that had happened, he’d emerged as a clean slate. Like the weight of everything that had come before in his life had lifted.
Fal’ran snorted as he dried his hair.
Or he was tired. Very tired. And deliriously high off the fact they were still alive.
Alive and showering with his human lover and commanding officer in Emissary Serihk’s opulent ship floating outside the Insect Colony Ship.
“Something funny?” Patrick asked from in front of the mirror, where he applied fresh ointment and bandages to the wounds he could reach.
“Just…” Fal’ran padded over to help Patrick with the acid burns down his back. “Never thought I’d be here.”
“Well, here you are.” Patrick passed him the ointment and flashed him a crooked grin in the mirror. “Who knows where you’ll go next.”
Something in Patrick’s tone made Fal’ran frown. “I’ll go wherever you go.”
Patrick’s grin twitched down. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it, I mean it.” Fal’ran shot him a glare in the mirror and pasted on the last bandage.
“And I appreciate that.” Patrick turned and cupped Fal’ran’s jaw in both hands. He bit his lower lip and ran his thumb up Fal’ran’s tusk. “To hear you say that means more to me than you realize.”
“So, I’m staying with you.” Fal’ran grabbed Patrick’s wrists and frowned harder. “Don’t you want that?”
He wanted that, didn’t he? The way Patrick looked at him, the way he touched him, the way he talked to him, what he said…Patrick wanted him, didn’t he?
Patrick sighed and his scent went blank. “Don’t be impulsive. We don’t know what the future holds. Don’t write it off yet.”
“Write it off?” Fal’ran was too shocked to resist when Patrick pulled free of Fal’ran’s hands.
“I’m just saying, you’ve worked hard to get where you are, and you can go a hell of a lot farther.” Patrick took Fal’ran’s wrist and led him into the stupidly fancy bedroom.
“Patrick.” Fal’ran reversed Patrick’s grip on his hand to pull him back around. “Do you even realize you’re hiding your scent right now?”
Patrick’s eyes widened and the scent of guilt and fear crept out into the air almost sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Habit.”
Yeah, habit. More like defense mechanism. A trick Patrick deployed when under threat. Fuck, Fal’ran didn’t want to be a threat.
He gentled his grip on Patrick’s wrist and brought Patrick’s calloused hand to his lips. He kissed Patrick’s knuckles with a sigh, brushing his tusk over the top of Patrick’s hand. “It’s alright. Come on, we’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep.”
Relief flared in Patrick’s blue eyes as the sweet smell of it spilled out of him. “Please.”
Fal’ran smirked and wrapped his arm around Patrick’s waist. He pulled him down onto the massive bed with him, mindful of his bandages. “I hope you don’t think I’m giving you any more space just because we have all this room?”
