Page 58 of Fire & Ice

Sure, it’s a little sad, a bit desperate, but that’s what Tripp’s life has come to these days. Clinging to every scrap he can steal with Lee, holding on for dear life to any glimpse of whatmightlie beyond this power dynamic relationship they have—if they could ever get there.

Tripp sighs and leans back against the countertop, still naked save for Lee's hoodie, and scrubs a hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” Leander asks softly, wringing out the rag and dropping it into the basin to sit until he throws a load of laundry in later. The sheets from the playroom and yesterday’s uniform, probably. He’s predictable that way—Trippcan predict his movements, because he’s in Lee's space so often now, he just knows. Tripp hates how much he loves that he just knows.

“Nothing,” he replies off-handedly, forcing a yawn, the façade of which Leander’s all-seeing eyes undoubtedly pierce through directly, though he doesn’t call Tripp out. “Just tired. Thinking about how friggin’ long this day is going to be.”

With a low hum of acknowledgement, Leander nudges Tripp’s arm away from his side so that he can step in and press up against him, hugging him around the waist before dragging a gentle hand down over his cheek. The result is Tripp’s face turning into his, their lips meeting softly, affectionately. Leander kisses him long and slow, not too deep but plenty intentional, and Tripp can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy it as much as falling asleep in Lee's arms. It’s a good close second, anyway.

Lee takes a long time to pull back, probably longer than Tripp has to spare, considering the hour. Heshouldbe the one to cut it off, Tripp knows damn well he should, but it’s hard to say no when Lee is like this. While his logical side is certain that his friend is just being careful—yes, Tripp isfullyaware that’s all that’s happening here—since he has to leave so soon after a scene, his goofy brain insists on floating the suggestion that Lee is seeking comfort and affection, too.

Really, intheory,he supposes it could be both. Who the hell knows? These days, Tripp finds himself increasingly unsure of what’s right or real anymore at all. He’s finding it harder and harder to parse out what the truth is, at least where Lee's feelings for him are concerned. It’s not easy to distinguish between what’s true tenderness and what is ultimately a fantasy that his own hormone-addled body dreamt up just to torture him.

“I gotta go, sw—Sir,” Tripp tells Lee, barely managing to stop himself from calling Leander ‘sweetheart,’ and spitting out the appropriate moniker. “Duty calls,” he adds apologetically, extricating himself from Leander’s grasp before unbuckling his collar and making his way to the hallway leading to the front door.

Luckily, he thought ahead last night, leaving his folded uniform out there in preparation for this very moment. Trippknew that he’d want to spend every second up to this point with Lee andbelongingto Lee, so why not make it easy on himself? Briefly, he wonders if he should shower again but then decides,fuck it. Plans on the docket are to spend the entire day packed up and training in the County’s burn building, so he’s going to smell like absolute ass by the end of it, anyway.

While Tripp dresses in the relative darkness of the hallway, Leander leans one shoulder on the edge of the doorway to the kitchen and watches. He looks stupidly inviting with his wild bedhead and his soft gray sweatpants, bare chest radiating warmth the way Tripp knows it does, strong arms just begging for him to crawl back into them.

It’s tempting. Hecouldcall off sick…

No.Tripp dismisses that idea outright, or at least before it can grow roots and take hold, becausedamn,does he want to do that. But he can’t bail on his crew today: trainings are important—they’re the difference between a newbie panicking and bailing during a live burn, or taking a deep breath and moving forward to save someone’s life. They’re the line between an interior attack crew going in prepared and competent, and someone’s home burning to the ground.

As a Lieutenant, it’s Tripp’s job to hand the collective knowledge he stores in his head (a lot of it learned the hard way) down to the next generation, the firefighters who might very likely someday be the difference betweenhisown life or death.

No calling off allowed, seductive as the reasoning may be. Anyway, he’ll see Leander tonight.Allnight, and it’s gonna be a big one.

“Take my sweatshirt with you. Wear it under your coat,” Leander instructs, and Tripp can recognize from his tone thatit’s not a request. He complies, but also shoots his friend a rueful look.

“I’m fine,” Tripp assures him, though after zipping up the maroon hoodie, he has to admit that feeling and smelling Leander all around him isnota bad thing. Not at all. Truth be told, Tripp’s glad he has an excuse to accept the offer so readily. “I promise, I’ll text you if I’m feeling off. Swear,” he says, holding up three fingers like a Boy Scout.

Eyes narrowed, Leander stands in the middle of the hallway and chews his thumbnail, concerned and skeptical, as usual. After what happened early on in their relationship, Leehatesfor either of them to leave quickly after a scene and without extended aftercare. While it doesn’t happen often—and the few times it has, they’ve kept in close contact and everything has been fine—Leander still worries, and he makes no secret about it.

“Promise me,” he says eventually.

Tripp laughs, but it does feel good that Leander cares so much. On his way out of the apartment, Tripp winks as he tosses his keys and catches them in his hand before waving. “Cross my heart, sunshine,” he quips, skating swiftly out the door and letting it slam shut behind him before Leander can say anything about “inappropriate nicknames, Tripp”.

During the ride down in the elevator, Tripp finds himself whistling, and (despite the lingering twinge in his ass), really feeling great. Before he even reaches his car in the garage, Tripp’s phone is buzzing in his pocket, and he smiles when he sees Lee's message lighting up the screen.

Before starting up the vehicle, Tripp fires one back, assuring Leander that he’s doingjustfine and promising to contact him immediately if anything changes. His fingersstumble over the sign-off, wanting to say something more, some message of affection or similar to show Lee how much he appreciates him, but at the last second, Tripp reels himself in.

He winds up sending a cocky, “Laters, Baby,”which Leander will either be totally appalled by or not understand at all. Considering the nearly-nonexistent pop-culture database the man has to draw on, Tripp is betting on the latter, though who knows. In addition to being oblivious to most major media produced in the last fifty years, Lee is also wildly protective of the BDSM community’s integrity, so50 Shadesfeels like something he should definitely know and hate.

By the time he arrives at Station Fifteen, Tripp has already put his and Lee's exchange out of his mind, focusing fully on the work he has ahead of him. Their station is going out of service for most of Tripp’s twelve-hour shift today, the entire crew heading out for a scheduled training at the County fireground. While they’re off-status with the dispatch center, Station Eleven will cover any calls that come in.

Shifting his car into park, Tripp steps out and stretches, waving good morning to Theo, who salutes casually as he rounds the side of the building and enters through the open bay doors. Max and Lisha are only a few steps behind him, bickering about something Tripp can’t discern from the distance and doesn’t try.

Sibling bullshit,he deduces, as Max catches Tripp’s gaze and rolls his eyes before he and his sister disappear inside. Tripp’s all too familiar withthat. Probably for the best that Beau didn’t wind up a firefighter—one of them would have undoubtedly ended up secured to a backboard and tied to the top of the ladder truck by now. Heck,weekly.

It’s cold out this morning, though thankfully not as bitter as the week prior, when they had that all-nighter three-alarmblaze. Even still, Tripp can see his breath in the crisp pre-dawn air, but maybe after the sun comes up it won’t be sobiting. He’s going to be spending the majority of the day inside a controlled burning building, so at the very least, the low temperature will be relieving when he comes back out.

“Hey, Gunnar.” Tripp nods to greet his Captain when he strolls into the bay, glancing around to survey the scene. The rest of his crew are already shuffling around, packing up the trucks and getting ready to move out.

“‘Sup, brotha?” Gunnar tips his chin in Tripp’s direction as he slings a bag of gear into the front passenger seat of Engine Fifteen’s cab. “You’re awfully cheery for this early in the mornin’. What’s gotten into you?”

Tripp grins widely as he reaches the gear racks and kicks off his duty boots in favor of stepping into his fire-rated ones, stomping them on before pulling up his bunker pants. He collects his jacket and helmet and throws them into the back of the engine’s cab, behind Gunnar’s seat before answering. “Who says I’m not the one getting into someone else?”

The laugh that explodes heartily from Gunnar’s chest should probably be insulting, but Tripp’s unbothered, lets it roll right off his back. He got laid this morning, who cares what the fuck anyone else thinks about it? “They say if you can dream it, you can achieve it, sugar,” Gunnar declares with another guffaw and a rough slap to Tripp’s shoulder. “It’s downright adorable you think any of us believes you’re a top.”

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