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“That’s because you’re a terrible influence.” Patrick caught Fal’ran’s kicking foot and kissed his ankle. “I’ll go get you a towel.”
He got up and went to the bathroom, his body sore and sated like after a good workout. When he returned with a damp washcloth, Fal’ran had pulled off the cum-covered sheets and was taking the pillowcase off the last soiled pillow.
“Come here. You’re a mess.” Patrick chuckled and snagged Fal’ran’s wrist to pull him in. He swept the damp cloth up Fal’ran’s thigh, catching the drips of lube and cum that had escaped out of him.
“And whose fault is that?” Fal’ran let Patrick clean his inner thighs, then took the towel and cleaned out his crack.
“Mine.” Patrick smirked shamelessly. He used the last clean bit of fabric to wipe off his own length and tossed it with the soiled sheets. Exhaustion creeping in on him, he collapsed on the half-stripped bed.
“Tired?” Fal’ran crawled up his body. “I admit, you’ve earned your rest.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Fal’ran smiled down on him, sweeter than Patrick ever saw him, and Patrick pushed his thick hair away from his face and drew him down for a kiss.
He’d never imagined having this sort of intimacy with someone. The easy transition between teasing, desperate, sweet as honey, and back around again. He hadn’t known it existed and if he had, he wouldn’t have thought anyone would want it with him. He wouldn’t have thought he could give it to someone.
But clearly, he could.
He licked up into Fal’ran’s mouth, and when Fal’ran opened for him, he pulled him down against his body. Fal’ran melted into him, their bodies sliding and slotting together as naturally and as if they’d done it their whole lives.
“I love you, Fal’ran,” Patrick murmured when they broke for air.
Fal’ran made a low, needy sound in the back of his throat and kissed Patrick again, before sliding down to fit against his side. “I love you, too, Patrick.”
Patrick wrapped an arm around the younger man, and bent the other under his head, looking up at the ceiling but not seeing it, too focused on the warm body beside him. “Fal’ran, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” Fal’ran’s voice had the softness of sleepiness in it, but he wasn’t so far gone yet that he wouldn’t be able to answer Patrick’s question.
Patrick swallowed as he debated one last time whether he wanted to ask. He’d avoided it for months. He knew once he heard the answer, he’d never forget it, and he hadn’t wanted to invite that sort of haunting. But it was now overwhelmingly clear that Fal’ran would haunt Patrick to the end of his days no matter what happened.
“What do I smell like to you?”
Fal’ran froze, his breath stilling. Patrick shoved down the instant awkwardness. It wasn’t a weird question. It was reasonable to want to know. After a moment, Fal’ran sighed and draped an arm across Patrick’s chest. He ran his fingers up and down Patrick’s flank as he nestled his head in the hollow of Patrick’s shoulder.
“Rain,” he murmured. “Leather, too. Like the kind your gatlung strap is made of. But mostly rain.”
“Oh.” Patrick wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but that hadn’t been it. Fal’ran’s voice was low and serious, like there was a significance to what he said Patrick didn’t understand.
“I’d never smelled rain until my first night on Klah. There’s no weather on the moon. No atmosphere. Just the same air with the same smells day in and day out my whole life.” Fal’ran traced his finger around Patrick’s sternum, brushing through the tidy hair on his chest. “Then I joined the army, fought my way through basic, made it to Klah. I felt like I had an opportunity for the first time in my life. A chance for a real future, to be a real person, someone worth actually being.”
Patrick instinctively pulled Fal’ran closer at the pain in his voice.
“That first night, it rained.” Awe echoed in Fal’ran’s voice as he recounted the story. “I’d never seen anything like it. It was beautiful and loud. The jungle was so hot, the ground steamed when the water hit it. Even from inside the tent, you could smell it, and it was brand new to me. It was—” Fal’ran flexed his fingers as he found the words “rich and earthy and strong and sweet and I remember thinking that I’d finally made it. That was the smell of my future. Of the new me. Of the real me.”
Patrick couldn’t speak.
Fal’ran finished and dropped his hand onto Patrick’s chest, his words spinning in Patrick’s head.
It struck Patrick again how hard the man in his arms had fought and how far he’d come, the odds that he’d bested. How he’d ended up in Patrick’s arms. Patrick swallowed down the lump in his throat. “And I…?”
“Yeah.” Fal’ran nestled into Patrick’s side and tugged him closer. “You smell like that to me.”
Like his hopes and his dreams and his goals. Like his future.
Patrick smelled like his future.
Chapter Twenty-Four
