Chapter Thirteen

Nick woke slowly, rising gently on a growing awareness of being warm, surrounded by slow movement and a strong steady rhythm that made him want to keep his eyes shut as long as possible. They blinked open anyway, and Nick realized he was lying on top of Nelson Graves with a blanket pulled up almost all the way over his head. Graves was asleep and the steady up and down of his breathing mixed with his beating heart—that was the sound and movement that held him where he was.

The sky was barely turning gray with the dawn and the hush over the ship felt like a dream. Nick tried to gather his thoughts. They had been attacked. Nick had had a flashback. A bad one. And then… And then fell asleep. Idiot. He must think you are a disaster.

The self-admonishments didn’t have much weight. It was hard to feel anything but calm and content in his current position. But still… Gradually, he became aware that not only was he curled on top of Graves but he was straddling the man’s hips, his head tucked under his chin. It was a…compromising position. Is that his dick? Oh, my God, it is. The big man’s cock slotted perfectly under his ass. It felt like sitting on a handrail. He can’t be that big. Yes, he can. Fucking look at him, it’s like you’re lying on a sofa. Oh, Jesus…

Slowly Nick tried to shift, at least bring one leg over, blushing furiously. He managed to do that, and while it wasn’t ideal (he was now straddling Graves’s right thigh), it was better than before.

“Hey big guy?” Nick whispered, hoping he was asleep enough that Nick could sneak off—splash some water on his face—something to collect himself. Graves sighed and smacked his lips, his hand coming up to pat Nick on the back.

“I’m here, Nick,” Graves answered. “Do you need to get up?”

“No. Do you?” Nick’s voice was the barest rasp. He needed water. And coffee. But he was so…comfortable.

“No,” Graves said. “I am as comfortable as I have ever been. Can I get you anything?”

“I should go,” Nick started, but Graves gave a loud rumble and rolled them sideways so Nick was trapped against the back of the couch, tucked tight against his chest.

“No,” he said. “You stay here. I’ll call for some basics.” He fumbled around a little, and then Nick heard the beep of a radio and Graves giving instructions in Malay.

“There. Coffee is coming,” he said.

“Okay,” Nick answered. His eyes wanted to close again.

“How are you feeling?” Graves asked.

“Good, I think,” Nick said. “Comfortable.”

Graves scooted down so they were eye to eye.

“Nick,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you last week. It was unforgivably stupid of me.”

He closed his eyes and pushed their foreheads together. Instinctively Nick pushed back, his eyes sinking closed, face tilting up. His heart jumped in his chest, making his breathing rough.

This is happening. He felt like there should be more ceremony, or that he should make some kind of statement. Straight his whole life, or so he thought, Nick was sagging in a man’s arms waiting to be kissed for the first time.

He didn’t feel different, but shouldn’t he?

It started softly enough, the barest graze of lips. Graves pressed a little closer, his lips warm and slightly chapped. Nick felt his hand cupping Nick’s jaw and opened his eyes. Graves was smiling, his eyes doing their vanishing trick. His nose bumped Nick’s, forehead rubbing lightly. Firm fingers came up and trailed over his cheeks. A press of lips to lips, and Nick could feel his own face smiling, the kind of smile that would make his cheeks ache later, the kind of smile that was one nervous push from laughter.

“Sweet boy,” Graves murmured against Nick’s mouth. “I’ve wanted this.” Flashes of his first kiss, Tammy Jenkins behind the coat rack in the rectory basement. His first kiss with Amber, leaning over a table. This wasn’t as different as he expected it to be, as he felt it should be.

“Yeah?” Nick said, kissing back. Kissing—not only being kissed, upper and lower lip in turn. “I did too. I mean. I’ve never done this.”

“What’s that?” Graves said, trailing his lips over Nick’s cheeks, his eyelids, down along his jaw.

“Kissed a guy,” Nick said. Graves pulled back a little, his face warm and relaxed.

“I’d better make sure I do it right then,” he said. He pulled Nick tight and kissed him more urgently, his tongue swiping across Nick’s lips. His heart was hammering in his chest. Nick pushed forward, wanting more and the kiss got rougher, Graves shoving, using his weight, grabbing fistfuls of Nick’s curls, and tugging lightly.

“Christ, Nick, what is this?” Graves said, pulling back for a moment before diving in again. Nick had no words. His worldview was crumbling away around him.

“No idea,” he gasped. “Don’t fucking stop.”

“Absolutely not,” Graves laughed.

Nick was overwhelmed with the contrast between the softness of Graves’s lips and the scruff on his face. He found himself tracing it with his fingers, making himself feel it, feel the square jaw and thick bull neck. Graves’s shoulders were so big they blocked the view of the room. Not a girl. Not even close. He smells like a man too. Pot and sweat and cologne and—not a girl.

Nick pushed back. He gripped the big man’s shoulder and bit his chin, feeling the little hairs moving under his tongue. Graves shuddered and Nick pressed his advantage, shoving again until Graves was almost on his back.

“Christ, Nick,” Graves said. This close, Nick could see the flecks of gold and dark brown in his eyes—the way the tattoos around his mouth moved as he spoke. “What is this?” Graves asked. He was smiling, breathless, and Nick bit him again. Graves arched his neck and Nick followed, dragging his teeth down the long muscle on the side of his throat.

“Slow down,” Graves muttered. “Don’t want—push you—don’t—” Nick bit him on the neck, a firm press of teeth and then licked the spot. He ran his mouth up under his jaw, feeling the rumbling groan under his lips.

Graves’s fist tightened in his hair and he drove Nick into the back of the couch again. For a moment they were eye to eye, but then Nick laughed, and Graves kissed him, and his tongue curled over Nick’s upper lip, making him shiver. Nick’s mouth opened, tongue darting forward, trailing over Graves’s and up, the tip touching each of his canines. Graves took full advantage, lapping steadily at Nick’s mouth, nipping his lower lip, kissing him hard and rough. Nick thought his toes would curl right off his feet. He couldn’t seem to move a muscle, felt like Graves was the only thing holding him up.

“You can be rough,” Nick said. Graves rolled over him, sucking Nick’s lower lip and giving it a little nip. He ground his thigh hard between Nick’s leg.

“You hard for me boy?” he growled. “Curiosity getting the better of you?” Nick could only nod. He was achingly hard, wanted it rough, wanted Graves to push him. It felt right. It didn’t matter that Nick’s thighs were sliding apart, or that he liked Graves getting pushy, kissing along his throat, teeth and tongue and dragging lips. I’d do whatever he told me. What is wrong with me? Nothing. He isn’t in the usual categories. He repeated Morris’s words to himself again. Nick’s whole body shivered in goose bumps. Graves could overpower him, could crush him, but he was going slow and rumbling in that deep chest, his mouth on Nick’s throat—Nick was light-headed in a way he never imagined.

Graves kept one arm wrapped all the way around Nick’s shoulders, pulling him close. Nick’s head was resting on Graves’s bicep, his arm barely able to reach around to Graves’s back. Graves’s free hand went from holding Nick’s jaw to sliding down his side. He grabbed Nick’s thigh and hiked it up over his hip, reaching lower to knead Nick’s ass, hard and a little mean.

“Oh, Jesus, yes.”

Then his hand was up under the back of his shirt, splayed wide, pulling Nick close to him. It felt so good Nick could barely think straight.

“You’re twisting me into knots,” Graves rumbled into Nick’s mouth. “Any other time I’d spoil you rotten.”

Any other time—Nick was drawing breath to ask what Graves meant when there was a clatter of dishes and the stewards came in with the tray, completely bursting their bubble. Graves snarled something loudly in Malay, but between the interruption and the smell of coffee, there was no getting back to where they had been. With what sounded suspiciously like a curse, Graves swung himself around and reattached his legs. He got to his feet and charged over to the stewards, sending them away. Nick forced himself up, running his fingers through his hair.

Jesus. Jesus! That happened. I kissed him. We kissed. But any other time? What does that mean? What—

The smell of coffee, the sight of Graves’s huge back by the table, pouring a couple of cups—Nick was drawn forward like iron to a magnet. Graves had a cup in his hands even as he reached for it, laughing at Nick’s expression.

“You’re as bad as I am,” he said. “Utterly uncivilized before coffee.” His phone rang and he answered it, giving Nick a chance to get his breathing under control, to cool off, to try to gather his scattered wits. They stood just inside the open doors, watching the sun come up across the bay. Even as he talked to whoever had called, Graves wrapped Nick in one arm. When he hung up, he let go to refill his cup.

“This is nice,” Nick said, feeling shy and uneasy and happy and nervous and a host of other emotions he couldn’t even name. What are we supposed to say to each other? Do we talk? Like normally? What if I want to kiss him again?

“Certainly the nicest wake-up I’ve had in a long time,” Graves replied. “Didn’t know I’d be expected to teach a virgin some—”

“Stop man, this is weird enough for me,” Nick said. He could feel his ears turning red.

“What is?”

“I’ve never done this, I told you,” Nick muttered.

“We don’t have to do anything, you know. Except enjoy our coffee.”

“Good. I mean, not like that,” Nick said, seeing Graves’s raised brow. He sighed. “It’s just been a strange weekend.”

“Are we going to talk about yesterday?”

“Do you know who did it?” Nick countered. His thoughts had been so focused on the kiss he had forgotten the reason he was here in the first place. Forgotten how close he came to revealing his secret.

“I meant you,” Graves said. “I didn’t say anything but—”

“Hey, thanks for that by the way. That was a classy thing to do,” Nick poured himself another cup to buy time, his mind scrambling.

“You can tell me,” Graves said earnestly. “I may not be—”

“Tell you what?” Nick said, cutting him off. He could feel sweat forming on his back. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Nick.”

“What?” Be cool. He doesn’t know.

“You had a panic attack.”

“We were almost killed! I think my reaction was pretty normal, actually,” Nick said, sitting on the couch again. He tried to decide which position looked more casual. Should he lean back? Sit up?

“Except that wasn’t why you panicked.” Graves was persistent, Nick had to give him that.

“We were being shot at,” Nick said reasonably. It was all reasonable. Very reasonable.

“You’ve never served and—”

Nick shot to his feet, cut to the quick. Coffee slopped over his hand, and he turned away. A sudden memory of group therapy in prison, the realization that the other men had legitimate reasons for their flashbacks, their nightmares. They were soldiers, or firefighters, not murderers. Nick had never gone back.

“So what?” Nick said, his voice cracking. “I never served! You’re acting like I overreacted to a terrorist attack in a public street in the safest city in the world? What the fuck? I mean why didn’t you freak out? Is this normal for you?”

Graves drew back, color rising up the back of his neck. It was his turn to be flustered, which was satisfying.

“What are you two shoutin’ about then?” It was Bishop. In the dawn light he looked haggard and angry, with dark rings under his eyes. But seeing Nick changed his face completely.

“Morning, our Nick, it’s nice to see you, eh?” he said with a smile. Nick didn’t answer, just passed the guy some coffee. But he leaned in when Bishop rubbed a hand over his head.

“Sweet Nick, such a good lad…”

“What do you want, David?” Graves snapped. Bishop took a slow, deliberate drink before answering.

“Turn on the TV; we need your okay on some things,” he said.

The headlines were all the same.

Terrorist attack! Assassination attempt!

Dozens of theories floated. Partisans from Timor, Red Sky, rival telecom giants, Malaysian military…

There was footage of the attack, the street blocked off, the cars crashing and men with guns converging on Anatoly Morozov’s car. Nick leaned forward, scanning the screen.

“Wait. Why aren’t we in any of the news footage?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Graves gave him a tight smile.

“There is CCTV footage of every angle on that street,” Nick said. “And yet we aren’t in any of it.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest. He felt like all his nerves were misfiring. I’m here. I’m safe.

“You couldn’t pick out a stupid one?” Bishop said, gesturing to Graves.

“Didn’t nobody pick me out,” Nick snapped. “Knock that shit off. I want to know.”

“I did that,” Tony said, coming up behind them. He was holding a tablet and had the same dark rings under his eyes as Bishop. “No one sees the boss if I don’t want them to. I’ve been up all night working on that.”

Graves cleared his throat.

“I prefer to stay out of the public eye,” he said to Nick, rubbing the back of his neck. “In my line of work it’s important to avoid a scandal. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. A scandal. Like the fact that you are playing spin the bottle with a child-murdering failure? Like that you mean?

“Tony protects me as much as David does,” Graves was saying, arm slung over the young Algerian’s shoulders. Tony looked pleased but Graves gave him a little push toward the stairs.

“It all looks good but we’ll talk about it later. You two get some sleep, all right?” They took the hint and left. Bishop patting Nick’s shoulder as he passed.

When they were gone, Graves and Nick faced each other across the table.

“Listen,” Graves said.

“About this morning,” Nick said at the same time.

“Maybe you’re right—”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

They were speaking over each other. They paused and Graves cleared his throat.

“I simply can’t,” Graves said. “I have an organization to run that needs all my attention.”

“Yeah, of course. You’re an important person,” Nick said.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to!” Graves rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes searching Nick’s face.

“Of course not,” Nick said with a wave. His gaze was firmly on the table. “Me too. It’s just one of those things.” He gestured to the TV. “This is pretty crazy. I should probably stay out of it.”

Graves flinched, looking away, his hands curled to fists.

“Listen,” Nick said fussing with his cup, arranging it on the tray. “I’d better shower before Jeanne gets here.”

“Of course,” Graves said. He turned back to the doors and pulled out his phone. Nick took the hint and headed down to the shower he was used to. Down to the main deck, off the upper deck where he had no business being.