Page 48 of Gunpowder

Blair swallowed his last bite of chicken and sat his empty plate on top of Wren’s on the coffee table. “Yeah, they’re finally starting to show themselves.”

Wren picked up his coffee. “Is it worth it?”

“Yeah of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Maybe they realized they were outmatched and went into hiding in hopes that it would blow over.” Wren took a long drink and only lowered it as far as his lap, hands wrapped around the old striped mug. “If they’re leaving you alone maybe you should let them.”

Blair let his head hang over the back of the couch. “They hit Adam with a car, I wouldn’t call that leaving us alone.”

“He was hanging around in their territory. I’m just saying, if you let them be this war might end itself.”

“We can’t do that. They attacked us, if we don’t destroy them then every gang in Queens will think they can pick a fight with Incindious.”

“Sounds like a bunch of stupid politics and egos.”

Blair turned so that his back was against the armrest and he could stretch a leg out to prod at Wren’s knee. “You’re one to talk about ego. You showed up on my doorstep just to find out if you were right about something.”

“My ego didn’t get me shot,” Wren pointed out, grabbing the foot Blair was harassing him with and pulling it into his lap. His usually cold fingers were warm from the mug he’d been holding, now wrapped around Blair’s ankle instead.

“Getting shot wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if one of the doctors hadn’t been such a dick.”

Wren moved like water, shifting and spilling over Blair’s body, holding himself up with a hand on the back of the couch. “Asking someone out is a weird way to counsel someone on their bedside manner, Blair.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Blair said, pulling him down.

He kissed the smug look off Wren’s face, tangling with him until Wren’s thigh rested between his legs and the other one was tucked against the back of the couch. There wasn’t enough room for what they were doing but Blair was finding it really hard to care at the moment. Wren’s tongue swept over his, a hand curling around the nape of Blair’s neck, and Blair wrapped his arms around him. He slipped one hand under the back of Wren’s shirt just to feel the way his spine moved as he pressed their bodies together.

Wren broke the kiss to attach himself to Blair’s neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites, alternating between the two so erratically that Blair never knew what was coming next. He was panting by the time Wren got to his collarbone. Wren tugged the edge of his shirt down to kiss his tattoo, then set upon it with his teeth. It was still bruised from the last time he did that. Blair let his head fall back against the arm of the couch, hands slipping away from Wren’s back. His eyes drifted shut as Wren slid his shirt up over his stomach.

“Unreasonably,” Wren said, mouthing at his abs, “fucking,” he sucked a bruise just under Blair’s ribs, “attractive.”

Blair stifled a moan, trying not to rock against the thigh between his legs, so close to his cock that had been hard as soon as their lips met. He both loved and hated Wren’s enthusiasm for his body. Having Wren’s mouth on him felt amazing, even when he marked Blair up like the possessive bastard he was, but it was also a feat to withstand all the compliments without imploding from embarrassment. His cock managed just fine, though, throbbing for attention in his pants. Traitor.

Wren pulled at his waistband and sucked viciously on the soft hollow of his hip, and Blair’s hips jerked up with a moan. He felt Wren smile, and Blair glared down at him. “Why do I like you so much again?”

“Please don’t do that to yourself,” Wren said lightly. Like they were joking around.

Blair wasn’t.

There was no denying it, not with the enjoyment he took from Wren’s touch that was more than just sexual, the security he felt in Wren’s arms even when the world outside his door was a warzone. Blair really did like him. For some fucking reason.

God knows he tried not to get serious about this, about them, but he was.

He pushed Wren’s bangs away from his face with a shaky hand to get his attention. “What if I already did?”

Wren looked up from where he’d been diligently kissing down the trail of red hair that led down from Blair’s navel, and once he processed what Blair was saying, his face started shutting down. Blair didn’t even know what to call that look. Disappointment? Fear? His heart twisted uncomfortably as Wren moved back up to meet his gaze. “Blair,” he said, and it sounded for all the world like a plea for Blair to reconsider.

“I don’t see what’s so bad about it,” Blair said, pushing up onto his elbows. The feeling in his chest only worsened when Wren sat up on his knees to keep a distance between them. “What, you thought I asked you to be with me that night because I just wanted you to fuck me?”

“Yes,” Wren said, brows pulling together in confusion as if wondering what else Blair could have possibly meant.

God, Wren was the dumbest genius Blair had ever met.

Blair sat the rest of the way up so they were almost nose to nose. “Well, I like you. I like how impractical your hair is for working in a hospital, and your weird obsession with coffee. I like holding your hand so you don’t tap on your leg while you drive. I like your sarcasm even though it’s fucking infuriating.”

“I never expected you to develop anything more than mild curiosity and physical attraction to me,” Wren said, sounding eerily distant. “If I’d realized that was a possibility, I would have told you sooner that I can’t return your feelings.”

Wren stood up, and Blair reeled. “What the fuck does that even mean? You really want me to believe that none of this has meant anything to you?”

---