Page 83 of Walking Wounded

He still thinks, when the thought crosses his mind, that he might have really hurt Patrick, that day in the coffee shop, when he said he wasn’t looking to do anything serious. Patrick hadn’t loved him, no, but maybe he’d wanted to. Maybe they could have had something.

He spent almost a year having uncomplicated, casual hookups with a fellow employee atCandid, Mark. Mark cottoned on pretty quick that Luke was pining away over someone and urged him to make a move.

So he’s had a lot of kisses. Some were careful, some chaste, some hot and heavy. Some almost cruel. But no kiss in his life has ever compared to the kiss he shared with Hal three years ago, the night of The Incident.

No kiss until this one.

Hal’s lips are soft and damp, and gentle against Luke’s. A quiet clasp. Breath held, nerves buzzing. It lingers, the touch between them. Hal tips his head, slants his mouth, and opens it against Luke’s; teases the seam of his lips with the very tip of his tongue. Asking. So sweetly.

As far as kisses go, it’s nothing. Virginal.

But in the history of Luke and Hal, it is a question asked in a dozen languages. It is hope, and love, and an apology. Regret. And for Luke, it’s pure cocaine…and he knows he has to stop now before his addiction worsens.

But he opens his mouth and tastes Hal’s tongue against his own. Leans into his solid chest and pulls him deeper, hungry and shaking for more, so much more, for everything.

Hal’s thumbs sweep his cheeks, forward and back, and Luke feels the glide of wetness beneath them. Tears – his own. He doesn’t care. He grabs a double handful of the front of Hal’s shirt and holds on for dear life.

Hal tastes like whiskey, and Coke, and there are messages in the little creases of his lips, in the pads of his fingers. An emotion that vibrates through his body, one that he pours into Luke, transferring it through the points of contact.

Luke wants more, feverish and touch-starved, and settles for bringing their hips together, curling his spine so he can press in hard. Hal responds; he presses back. His hands slip to the back of Luke’s head, fingers spearing through his hair.

“Please,” Hal gasps against Luke’s mouth. Broken, urgent. “Oh my God. Please, baby,please–”

Baby. The word jars Luke back to his senses.Baby. They’ve known each other their entire lives, and never has Hal said such a thing to him.

Luke pulls his head back, breaks their connection, and sucks in an unsteady breath. His glasses are half-fogged, but he sees the tears in Hal’s eyes. Is almost distracted by the wet, red shape of Hal’s kiss-flushed mouth. Almost. “Baby?” he demands. “What–”

Hal’s eyes widen. “Wait. Please. Just let me–”

A chill skitters down Luke’s back, clamps tight around the base of his spine. His hands fall, limp. “Why are you doing this?” His voice comes out flat.

“Because–” Hal starts, but he really, really doesn’t want to hear whatever he has to say.

“You’re hard up, I get it,” he says, still emotionless. He puts pressure against Hal’s hold on him. “Hard job, long hours, no girlfriend, no booty call, obviously, so why not–”

“No!” Halgrowlsat him. A low, angry rumble that lifts the hair on the back of Luke’s neck. He drops his hands to Luke’s waist and holds tight, face flushed with violent emotion. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Luke, don’t!”

They stare at one another, breathing in ragged gasps.

“Okay then,” Luke says. “Why are you kissing me?”

Hal says, “Because I love you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s great and all, buddy, but you’re the one who put the kibosh on being kissing friends. I’m your BFF, okay? But that doesn’t mean you can rub one out on me just ‘cause you don’t have any other options.”

“No.” Hal sighs through his nostrils, long and low. He cups the back of Luke’s neck, hands so warm. “Luke, Iloveyou.” His mouth quirks in a brief smile before seriousness takes hold again. “I’m not…notusingyou. God, I’m not…” His gaze is pleading. “I’min lovewith you. And I know I shouldn’t even say it. You deserve so, so much better than this, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, three years ago, I…” He starts to hyperventilate. “Luke, I’mtrying…” He wheezes and gasps like he has pneumonia.

“Shit.” Luke ducks out of his hold. “Here, come sit down. Breathe. Breathe.” He urges Hal toward the sofa and he goes down willingly. “Put your head between your knees. Do you need a paper bag? Do you evenhavea paper bag?”

Hal pulls air down into his lungs, forces it back out.

“Slow,” Luke cautions, sitting cross-legged in front of him on the rug. He puts his hand on the crown of Hal’s head, the crunchy gelled tips of his hair. “Poor idiot,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to say those things if they give you a heart attack.”

Hal drags in a huge breath and tips his head back, dislodging Luke’s hand. “You’re such a little shit.”

“Agreed.”

“I’m trying to tell you something important.”

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