Page 100 of The Play

Sorry, it read, got delayed here again. Give me another hour.

Deacon would give him a lot more than another hour. He’d give him every hour he owned, going forward.

Sure, he texted back. Whatever you need.

He tilted his head back after putting the phone on the armrest and closed his eyes. He’d just get a quick little nap in, be nice and refreshed for when Grant finished his work.

Grant walked into the darkened penthouse, worry settled deep in his stomach, a hard ball that wouldn’t be dislodged no matter what kind of text Deacon had sent him.

He’d been understanding, telling Grant to take the time he’d needed.

But then he’d not responded when he’d texted twice after that.

Once to say this meeting was interminably boring, and he’d much rather be eating dinner—and more—with Deacon. The second to say he was on his way.

Part of Grant had worried, as the car had pulled up to the elevator in the basement garage, that when he arrived upstairs, the apartment would be empty.

But Deacon was still here.

Grant stopped in his tracks as he spotted him, sleeping and snoring gently in the big chair Grant had enjoyed himself in just last night.

He didn’t startle or move. Didn’t wake up at all, in fact, even though Grant had hardly been quiet while walking in.

For a long moment, he stared at the man he loved. His hair was pushed back from his face, a lock of it falling onto his forehead, smooth in sleep. Every line of his big body was relaxed, so unlike the watchful caution it felt like was Deacon’s status quo.

He was so handsome and so perfect and so Grant’s.

Not just because he was here, but because he’d waited, without a single complaint.

Whenever he’d tried to date before this, the men in his life had always gotten frustrated at the tiny tidbits of time Grant doled out to them—and he couldn’t even blame them for that—or they ended up resenting how little of his heart was available to them.

But Deacon wasn’t going to have that problem, because all those unavailable parts of Grant felt like they’d been held in waiting just for him.

Still, it wasn’t going to be easy to be his partner. He was going to be late more than he was going to be on time, and Deacon would have to be okay sharing him with all the other people who depended on him.

With anyone else, Grant would’ve been worried that might be too much to ask for.

But he already knew, with a certainty that terrified him, that Deacon wouldn’t get angry with him over it. Wouldn’t eventually fade out of his life because it was hard.

That was the thing about Deacon: when shit got hard, he dug in and only fought harder.

That knowledge settled sweet and hot into Grant’s chest, effortlessly unwinding the last of his anxiety. He was so grateful, so fucking pleased, it just made sense to show Deacon just how much his casual acceptance of Grant’s life meant.

Before Deacon could wake—though it looked to Grant like that wasn’t happening any time soon, frankly—he slipped off to the bathroom, took care of what he needed to, and less than ten minutes later, was back in the living room. Naked.

Kneeling at Deacon’s feet, he gently put his hand on his knee then slid it up to his thigh.

Deacon twitched but didn’t wake up, and Grant decided that was a green light. He reached up higher, carefully unbuttoning his shirt, hoping his fingers weren’t too cold when they brushed Deacon’s stomach.

Deacon groaned but still didn’t waken, even when Grant lifted himself, resting his elbows on Deacon’s knees and pressed his mouth against Deacon’s skin.

He was so warm, and salty-sweet against Grant’s tongue. It was easy to get lost in the feel of him, in the heady thought that he was finally getting to lick his abs the way he’d wanted to, all those years ago.

They might be a little less cut than they’d been in college, but they were just as beautiful to Grant. Maybe because back then he hadn’t gotten to touch—and now he could, all he wanted to.

Deacon groaned a little at the back of his throat, and when Grant glanced up, lips coasting down Deacon’s chest towards the waistband of his jeans, he realized the man was looking at him, eyes dark and intense.

“Sorry, I fell asleep,” Deacon mumbled. “But not that sorry, if this is the way you’re gonna wake me up.”

---