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He didn’t realize he’d softened until Fal’ran’s hand moved from his cock to his hips.
“Patrick?” Fal’ran nudged Patrick far away enough to frown down at him. “Why do you smell like that?”
Patrick inhaled deeply and reached inside himself to touch the place of fearless acceptance that carried him through battle. “No one’s ever sucked my cock before you did.”
For a full second, Fal’ran froze completely. They stared at each other for a silent beat. Fal’ran’s horned brows twitched down, and he cocked his head. He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Patrick wanted to throw himself out of an airlock.
“Just seemed like something you were entitled to know.” He disentangled himself from Fal’ran’s slack limbs. Fal’ran should know who he was getting involved with, after all. It seemed unfair to let a proud man like Fal’ran fall into bed with an undesirable without realizing it. What sort of man was a fucking virgin at Patrick’s age?
“Wait.” Fal’ran’s hand came to life as Patrick stepped away, but Patrick retreated out of range. “I don’t understand. Are you usually the one who—”
“No.” Patrick couldn’t let Fal’ran think that either, because if Patrick still got his mouth on Fal’ran after this, he wouldn’t—Patrick’s whole body burned with shame—he wouldn’t be very good. “I’m not usually the anything. No one’s ever been interested.”
Fal’ran’s nose scrunched. “No, that can’t be true.”
Patrick stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to take a casual stance instead of curling himself into a corner. “It is.”
Mostly. Patrick had had a couple of human suitors he couldn’t imagine getting hard for, and several klah’eel pursuers that hadn’t actually been interested in him. They’d just wanted a game or an ego boost at his expense. They hadn’t wanted him like Fal’ran wanted him.
Or at least, how Fal’ran had wanted him. Patrick dared to glance at the front of Fal’ran’s pants and saw only a soft bulge where seconds ago there had been a full barracks tent. Not that Patrick sported anything more impressive. Fuck, Patrick had known this would all end disastrously. He should have enjoyed it while it lasted.
Fal’ran’s face smoothed from bewildered skepticism into a serious frown. “Patrick—”
“We should—”
They spoke at the same time, crashing over each other’s words, and stopping just as quickly. Awkwardness clogged the space between them so thickly Patrick understood what Fal’ran, Bar’in, and Tar had experienced when they’d landed on Klah. Like he couldn’t breathe the air.
“Patrick—”
“We should head out to the target range.” Patrick didn’t stop this time, lifting his voice over Fal’ran’s. He pulled his tablet from his pocket. “Bar’in’s already messaged to tell us to hurry up.”
Fal’ran pressed his lips together and stared at him. He looked like he might argue and press. Patrick waited for it. He didn’t know what he’d say, but he didn’t know what Fal’ran would ask, either. He couldn’t read the younger man’s face. It was just thoughtful, considering. Probably still processing.
Patrick didn’t want to be around the moment Fal’ran processed all the way to deciding he wasn’t interested anymore. “Can we… can we just go?”
Fal’ran nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He stood from the stool with the same ponderous speed. “Lead the way.”
Straightening his shoulders, Patrick turned to the door, feeling more like a pathetic disappointment and less like a leader than he ever had in his life.
Chapter Fifteen
Patrick forced himself not to avoid Fal’ran’s eyes for the rest of the day. He buried the shame away and shrugged on his mantle of calm, collected friendliness. If Bar’in, Tar, or Sazahk noticed anything amiss—which they did; Bar’in had taken one whiff of them both and backed away as soon as they’d arrived at the range—they didn’t mention it. But Patrick didn’t treat Fal’ran any differently. He still pushed him faster through the targets and still praised him when he did well.
Fal’ran didn’t pay him the same courtesy.
Instead of challenging and joking and flirting with Patrick like he had for the past month, he behaved cooly, professionally. As much as Patrick appreciated the maturity in the way he exchanged advice and feedback with Tar on how to handle a shotgun, the change in demeanor made Patrick feel agonizingly small.
He never should have gotten so attached.
Fal’ran’s sharp bark of laughter made Patrick’s head snap up from correcting Sazahk’s grip on a pistol so fast his neck twinged. He stared at the exposed column of Fal’ran’s throat, at his grin and at his laughing eyes, as Fal’ran joked about something with Tar and clapped him on the shoulder.
When he realized his own longing would shine out his eyes and spill out of his pores, he turned away. He’d get a grip. He had to. He would. He’d been rejected before.
Patrick didn’t join his team for dinner that evening. He filled a container with his favorite spiced meats from the mess and retreated to his room. After wolfing down his food, he drove himself through a shower and collapsed into his blankets before curfew even sounded.
Everything would be better in the morning. It always was. Ever since he was a child, as bad as things could get, and they could get very bad, the morning always improved on the night before.
