Page 90 of Keep

Chad stepped closer, eliminating the distance. Hank’s breath caught.

It was different from before. Slower. Chad kissed him, soft and searching, and Hank let himself sink into it. His good hand found Chad’s hip. Chad’s hands slid down his back.

“I missed you,” Chad said.

“I missed you too.”

They moved to the bed. Hank’s bad hand protested when he tried to use it; Chad caught it, pressed a kiss to the knuckles, and set it aside.

“Let me,” Chad said.

“But I want⁠—”

“Trust me.”

Hank trusted him.

Chad took his time. Unhurried, deliberate—relearning the map of Hank’s body like he’d been afraid he’d forgotten it. His mouth traced a path down Hank’s chest, the slight bulge of his stomach, lower, and Hank heard himself make a sound that would have embarrassed him if he’d had room for embarrassment. Chad’s hands were everywhere—steadying, guiding, pulling responses from him that felt like confessions.

“You still with me?” Chad’s voice was low, rough at the edges.

“Yes.” Barely a breath.

Chad moved over him, and then into him, slow and careful, giving Hank time to adjust. Hank’s good hand gripped Chad’s shoulder. His bad hand lay useless on the pillow, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except this—the weight of Chad above him, the way they fit together, the rhythm they found without having to search for it.

It built slowly. Chad’s forehead pressed against his, their breath mingling. Hank felt himself coming apart in increments, each movement unwinding something that had been wound too tight for nine days. Longer.

“Look at me,” Chad whispered.

Hank looked. Chad’s eyes were dark, intent, and so full of something Hank couldn’t name that it almost hurt.

When Hank finally let go, it was with Chad’s name caught in his throat. Chad followed moments later, shuddering, and then they were still—tangled together, hearts pounding, the room settling around them like a held breath released.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

“I love you,” Hank said. “I should have said it sooner.”

Chad’s thumb traced his cheekbone. “I love you too. Even when I wasn’t answering my phone.”

“Let’s not do that again.”

“Deal.”

The room cooled around them. Chad’s head was on Hank’s chest, one hand tracing idle patterns in the hair there.

“Your apartment’s too quiet,” Chad said.

“It’s not quiet now.”

“Because I’m here.”

“Yes.”

“What if you didn’t go back?” Hank said.

Chad’s hand stilled. “What?”

“To Ricky’s.” The words were coming out before he could stop them. “What if you just—stayed? What if your clothes were here, and your toothbrush, and I could come home and you’d just be—” He heard himself. “I know it’s fast.”