Page 71 of Vanish Into Light

Beck lifted his head. “I want it to be hot.”

“You’ll just pass out again,” Rose said, evenly.

He sighed. “Fine. Put me down.” His legs buckled the moment his feet touched the floor.

Lance had been ready for that, and caught him around the waist, one hand gripped tight on his hip where there wasn’t any damage. Beck didn’t wince, or hiss, or curse, but his whole body shuddered in Lance’s grip, and Lance knew it had taken a tremendous effort to keep silent – an effort he wasn’t sure why Beck had bothered with, given it was only the three of them.

When he met Rose’s gaze, she pressed her lips to a thin line and shook her head, once. Her voice was soft, though, when she said, “Let’s get these off,” and unfastened Beck’s pants.

He had to be helped out of them, one hand fisted so tightly in the back of Lance’s shirt Lance was afraid it might rip the fabric; he felt the prick of claws.

There was no way Beck could manage this on his own, not in this shape, so Lance slipped his phone out of his back pocket, handed it to Rose, and led his charge forward into the large stall and beneath the spray.

The water was lukewarm, and immediately unpleasant as it struck Lance’s clothes, and boots. But he kept his arm around Beck, and steered him around so the jets pounded against his back, and the uninjured skin there, his wings. Even that much effort left Beck’s head hanging, hair swinging forward to shield his face. His ribs heaved against Lance’s arm, and the percussion of the water wasn’t strong enough to hide the fine tremors that wracked his body.

“Do you want to get out?”

Beck didn’t answer for a long moment, then shook his head, now-wet hair flicking back and forth, droplets scattering. “No.” But he made no move to reach for the soap, and no doubt couldn’t without pulling at every abused muscle in his chest and stomach.

Lance bit back the reprimand he wanted to deliver.Stop being a stubborn dumbass and go to bed.So what if you can heal super fast, you aren’t invincible. You can still hurt.

And that was the thing that was bothering him most. Beck might actuallybeinvincible, but he still felt pain, and seeing him suffering pained Lance.

Rose joined them, stripped down to her sports bra and underwear. She plucked up the soap, frothed it between her hands, and then set about washing Beck with deft, gentle strokes. Down his arms – getting suds on Lance – and across his chest, down his stomach. She washed over each newly-closed wound, fingertips only ghosting there, though Beck shuddered and breathed raggedly as if he were being struck. Down his ribs and between his legs, the length of his soft cock. She knelt to wash his shins, his feet, between his toes. Then Lance maneuvered him around so he faced the shower head, and the water rinsed all the blood-pink foam away.

Beck tipped his head back, eyes closed, and let the water strike him full in the face. Up close, Lance was struck, suddenly, by the sharpness of his profile, the dark lengths of his lashes. The way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, again and again, and he wondered how much of the water sliding down his cut-glass cheeks was salty with tears.

He passed out again while they were drying him off. Lance carried him out to the bedroom and laid him out carefully in the center of the bed. Checked his chest – still rising and falling, rising and falling, the shiny pink of new tissue gleaming in the lamplight.

Lance thought about going back in to take a hot shower of his own. Thought about going downstairs to see if anyone still liked him enough to have left him a plate for dinner. He needed to clean his weapons, and radio in to base, and do any number of things.

Instead, he peeled off his soaked clothes and left them in a heap on the floor. Naked, chilled, he climbed in under the covers and curled up on his side, head on the pillow beside Beck’s.

A moment later, the mattress shifted as Rose climbed in on Beck’s other side. Expression tight with worry, she reached to smooth his hair away from his face – and then leaned across to chase a water droplet along Lance’s hairline with her thumb.

He offered her the best smile he could muster, and had it returned, a slim, fretful echo.

~*~

A clap of thunder like the blast of anti-aircraft artillery woke Rose. She opened her eyes to the rattling of the windows, the sift of debris falling down in the great hall – and to the sight of Beck sitting up against the headboard, wings folded behind him, one hand petting slowly and contemplatively through Lance’s hair. Lance had shifted so he lay with his head in Beck’s sheet-covered lap, one arm flung over his thighs. He was snoring.

Beck’s head lifted when he sensed her regard, and though his smile was fleeting, she could see that some of the tension of pain had left his face. If she hadn’t known to search for the bullet scars across his chest, she wouldn’t have immediately noticed the shiny, silver patches that had been gaping holes only hours ago.

She propped up on an elbow. “Feeling okay?” she asked, softly, so as not to wake Lance.

His lips quirked. “Alive, now, at least. That’s an improvement.”

She swallowed the hot ball of anguish in her throat and managed to keep her voice even when she said, “Maybe next time you’ll wear a vest.”

The hooked apex of his near wing hitched upward. “It won’t fit.”

“Beck.”

“I know.” His gaze dropped to his lap again – to his hand, claws raking steadily again and again through Lance’s short hair. “I…”

She waited. Thunder crashed again – it seemed the storms were stronger and more frequent the past few days. Rain lashed the windows and she heard dripping somewhere behind the walls.

“I remembered something.” His voice grew faint, introspective. A low, catlike hum vibrated beneath. “I think…well, it doesn’t matter, really. But it put some things into perspective.”

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