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“I know Tar needs you if he’s ever going to touch his massive toes,” Fal’ran scoffed and shot Tar a teasing grin.
“If you’re so worried about Tar’s hamstrings, you pair with him.” Bar’in pushed himself up as though it took all his effort and shuffled to the open center of the tent where Patrick waited for them. “Oh wait, you don’t care about Tar’s hamstrings, you just want to get your hands all over our captain.”
Patrick’s face flooded so fast with a heat so hot, he thought he might combust.
It was impossible to miss how Fal’ran looked at him sometimes; Fal’ran didn’t seem to have any interest in hiding it. Patrick could only imagine what Fal’ran smelled like when he shot Patrick a heated look or raked his burnt orange eyes over Patrick’s uniformed body. Hell, Patrick could only imagine what he smelled like while he resisted reacting to the younger man’s aggressive interest.
Fal’ran would get over it, Patrick kept telling himself. The best thing Patrick could do was keep rebuffing his advances and treating him with the same encouragement, kindness, and discipline any good commanding officer showed towards a promising young soldier. Fal’ran would get over his youthful infatuation or cocky conquest or whatever this was, and Patrick would be grateful that he hadn’t overreacted to it.
But it was all a lot easier to ignore when Bar’in only called it out in snide little side comments instead of announcing it to the tent.
Patrick swallowed around his dry throat and tried to keep his voice light and playful, even though it came out as a croak. “Tar, since your hamstrings seem to be the team’s major concern, you lie on your back there.” He pointed to the largest clear stretch on the uneven, tarp covered ground of the tent.
Then, he hesitated. He shouldn’t do it. But he wanted to. He shamelessly—or rather, shamefully—wanted to. And wouldn’t it show that he wasn’t hiding or avoid the sticky situation? That he was facing it head on because he wasn’t concerned about it?
A nice excuse, but in reality, his own foolish desire got the best of him. He pointed at the open space right in front of his feet. “And Fal’ran, you lie on your back here.”
Bar’in snickered and bumped Fal’ran with his shoulder as he passed him. “Congratulations.”
“Shut up, Bar’in.” Fal’ran shoved him—not even hard enough to make him stumble—and smirked at Patrick with that now oh-so-daring glint in his eyes. Whatever this was, it was not a sweet seduction. Which was unfortunate because that might have been easier to resist.
“But when are we talking about the Trial?” Sazahk piped up, swiveling around in his desk stool to face them as Fal’ran and Tar lowered themselves to the ground.
Patrick wrenched his eyes up from Fal’ran, flat on his back at Patrick’s feet, and gave Sazahk a placating smile. “Now. During the holds. Just give us a few seconds to get into position.”
Bar’in took his place standing at Tar’s feet, mirroring Patrick’s placement around Fal’ran.
“Alright, right leg up.” Patrick motioned for Fal’ran to lift his right leg and caught his ankle. “And then we go down.” He lowered his own right knee to the ground and hooked his ankle over Fal’ran’s, holding his left leg down as he lifted his right up. “Bar’in, we’re going to hold their heels to keep their feet flexed, and then cup their knees to keep their legs straight. Good, yeah, just like that.”
“I don’t even think Tar’s leg can straighten,” Bar’in growled out through clenched teeth, his face looking like he was in even more pain than Tar, even though Tar was the one being stretched. And thank goodness, too, since, as Bar’in pointed out, having his leg straight and lifted, stretched Tar’s massive muscles to their limit.
“All the more reason for us to do this,” Patrick chuckled, sweeping his eyes over Tar and Bar’in’s stretching form in case there were any pointers they needed. “Hold there, that’s good. That’s really good.”
Fal’ran’s deep voice pulled Patrick back to his own partner. “I can take more.”
“Yeah, I think you can.” Patrick swallowed as he became inappropriately aware of Fal’ran’s inner thigh against his own knee, and his powerful leg pinned beneath Patrick’s ankle. “Here we go.”
He pressed Fal’ran’s straight right leg forward and over Fal’ran’s head, stretching out the back of his leg. Fal’ran’s eyes closed, and his lips tightened, but he said nothing and Patrick licked his own lips.
“Deep breath,” he ordered, and Fal’ran obeyed, inhaling long, exhaling, and loosening enough for Patrick to press his leg farther. “Good.”
Fal’ran’s eyes flicked open at the praise and Patrick’s heart flipped at the flash of sweetness he always saw in them whenever Patrick told him he did well. It only ever lasted for a moment before Fal’ran covered it up again with cockiness, but it pulled at Patrick every time.
“Good,” he repeated, catching and savoring the sweetness again. “Now hold here. If it ever gets to be too much, you say ‘easy’ and your partner eases back. You say ‘time’ and your partner releases the stretch immediately.” He glanced around to make sure he had Bar’in and Tar’s attention, too. “Understood.”
They all nodded, and Patrick huffed a little laugh to himself. They weren’t the crisp affirmatives other captains got from their squads, but, Goddamnit, he’d worked hard for those nods.
He lifted his head again to Sazahk, who watched them with brown spirals playing around his collarbones. “Go on, Sazahk.”
“Right.” Sazahk straightened and dragged his stool a little closer to them. “I’ve been collating data on our strengths and weaknesses, their strengths and weaknesses, the flora and geology of the arena, and also the weather, and a few other variables.”
“And?” Patrick soothed his thumb over Fal’ran’s knee and pushed a little harder. Fal’ran exhaled below him to accommodate the stretch.
“And we’re at a distinct disadvantage—”
“No shit, Sazahk,” Bar’in rolled his eyes and braced his shoulder against Tar’s extended calf to hold it up as Tar’s tight muscles tried to bring it back down. “Some scientist you are.”
“He wasn’t done, Bar’in.” Fal’ran waved the other klah’eel down.
