Page 10 of Playing with Fire

The clinical explanation felt like ice water down my back at first. Was the kiss just tactical, another problem solved? But something didn't add up. The lingering touch on my face, the way his eyes kept returning to my lips, the slight roughness in his usually controlled voice—these weren't the hallmarks of Xavier's usual efficiency. They suggested something I barely dared hope for: that maybe, just maybe, there was more behind that kiss than simple problem-solving.

"You're safe." His voice carried that edge again. The one that allowed for no argument. But beneath it, I caught a note of reassurance directed as much at himself as at me. "You're here. No one can touch you while I'm around."

The possessive edge in his voice felt like solid ground in an earthquake. I leaned into his touch without meaning to, seeking that unwavering strength.

"Someone tried to kill me," I whispered. My lips still tingled from his kiss, making it hard to focus. I kept touching them unconsciously, tracing where his teeth had been. "They waited until we were awake. They wanted us to know we were burning."

"Yes." Xavier's voice carried the weight of promised violence. "And they're going to regret that very, very much." His thumb brushed my cheek, the touch carrying none of our usual casual friendship. This was deliberate. Possessive. Different now that he'd crossed the line between us, shattered two years of careful distance with one brutal kiss.

He stepped back abruptly, as if suddenly aware of how long he'd been touching me. His hands flexed at his sides, seeming unsure what to do now that they weren't anchored to my skin. The brief glimpse of doubt made him look younger, more human than I was used to seeing him.

"Go shower. We'll figure everything out tomorrow."

He pressed a stack of clothes into my arms. Soft flannel pants. One of his Bad Omens shirts. And his favorite hoodie—the one he wore when he was coding for hours, when he was in his element. The casual intimacy of borrowing his clothes made my chest ache with feelings I wasn't ready to examine, especially now, with the ghost of his mouth still haunting mine. I'd seen him wear this hoodie hundreds of times. It meant something that he'd chosen this specific one for me.

The hallway felt endless as I made my way to the bathroom, my bare feet cold against the wooden floor. Everything felt different now. The walls, the floor, the air itself seemed charged with new potential. One kiss had reconfigured my entire understanding of our relationship. If he could kiss me once, could he do it again? Was this a new feature permanently installed in our interactions, or a one-time emergency protocol never to be activated again?

Even the Laskin house's bathroom felt different after what had happened. I'd teased Xavier enough about his expensive hair products, all promising things like "volcanic charcoal" and "smoke and leather." Of course Xavier would smell like fire even in the shower. It was built into his code, hardwired into his DNA in a way I found terrifyingly attractive. But now I knew he tasted like smoke and danger and control too.

The hot water hit like absolution, washing away ash and fear in equal measure. I stood under the spray until my skin flushed with heat, the water running gray as it spiraled down the drain. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flames. Felt the heat pressing in. Heard that horrible whoosh as my home transformed into a death trap.

I shook my head and grabbed Xavier's body wash, working it into a thick lather before bringing it to my face. It smelled like him, and that helped. Like leather jackets and midnight rides and the particular scent of his skin when he'd been coding for hours, that mixture of concentration and brilliance that made my brain short circuit with want.

My cock stirred as I breathed in his scent, the treacherous thing hardening despite my attempts to focus on anything else. This was Xavier's shower. Xavier's soap. Xavier's private space, and here I was, getting aroused just from the smell of him. My hand drifted lower, almost of its own accord, but I snatched it back. The last thing I needed was to jerk off in my best friend's shower when he'd never want me that way.

Though after that kiss... maybe he did want me? At least in some way I didn't fully understand yet?

A knock jolted me from my thoughts. "Leo? You okay? You've been in there twenty minutes."

"Sorry!" I scrambled to shut off the water, suddenly aware I'd been having a breakdown in Xavier's shower. "I'll be right out."

I pulled his hoodie over my head, and his scent enveloped me immediately. I couldn't help burying my nose in the collar, breathing in that unique Xavier smell. It felt like being wrapped in his presence, like being claimed and protected all at once. The sleeves fell past my hands. Everything was too big, but that only made it better. More comforting. Like being surrounded by him.

When I emerged in a cloud of steam, Xavier was sprawled in his desk chair, scrolling through something on his monitors. The deep blue light of his screens painted his face in shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the concentration in his eyes. He looked up as I appeared, his gaze sweeping over me with something more possessive than our usual friendly concern.

"Better?"

I nodded, pushing wet hair from my eyes. Without my glasses, everything blurred at the edges. Softer. Less real. I picked them up and tried to clean the soot away, my hands still betraying me with their tremors.

"You know where everything is," Xavier said, turning back to his screens. Then, after a pause that seemed to hold unexpected weight: "Take my bed."

The casual way he offered his most private space made something warm bloom in my chest.

"I can take Xander's..."

"Leo." His voice carried that edge again, but something softer lingered beneath it. "You almost died tonight. If you expect me to sleep, the only way that's going to happen is if I'm right fucking next to you, listening to you breathe."

His words stole my breath all over again. Something raw lived in his voice, something that transcended our usual friendship.

"Okay," I said softly, because what else could I say when he looked at me like that? Like I was something precious he needed to guard.

Xavier nodded once, seemingly satisfied with my surrender, though I caught a flash of relief in his eyes.

I hesitated for a moment before going to bed, my fingers instinctively moving to form the sign of the cross. The gesture was so automatic I barely noticed I was doing it. I hadn't been to mass since leaving home, hadn't been to confession in three years, but some rituals were carved too deeply to abandon.

I whispered a quick prayer under my breath before I climbed into his bed. Surrounded by his scent, I immediately regretted every life choice that had led to this moment. The black sheets felt cool against my skin, but the weight of his comforter wrapped around me like his presence. Like being claimed. My cock hardened instantly at that thought, blood rushing south so fast it made me dizzy. I was fully, uncomfortably erect within seconds, the borrowed sweats doing nothing to hide my arousal. I shifted anxiously, my erection throbbing almost painfully against the soft fabric, tenting the material in a way that would be impossible to explain if Xavier turned around. I tried to think about anything except how many times I'd jerked off in my own bed, imagining Xavier claiming me like this.

I watched him work, the blue glow of his monitors painting shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles that made him look dangerous. I pulled the comforter higher, trying to hide the obscene bulge in the sweatpants that was simultaneously shameful and exhilarating. My cock twitched with each heartbeat, demanding attention I couldn't give it, reminding me with every throb how much I wanted what Xavier couldn't provide.

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