Page 96 of Wristlocked
The three weeks Gale and I spent without Lyot were a strange kind of torture. We hadn’t all been separated for that long since the beginning of our relationship, and Gale’s angry panic, combined with my frustration and fear, made for a lot of vicious sex and violent words without our third to ground us.
When Lyot finally got back to the States, we spent the first two days naked and the next two in the hospital. Since we brought Gale home, we’ve spent most of our time tiptoeing around and trying to get him to take his pain meds so he’ll actually sleep instead of complain, but given his history with Jamie, he’s been understandably reluctant. Which means his mood has been worse than ever.
“Yeah, well, it’s the only thing I’m good for now. Or at least it was.” He glares at his crotch, hidden beneath the blankets.
“Stop it.” I’m trying to be patient, but I suck at it, and it’s never been our particular dynamic anyway. “The surgery went perfectly. You’re young and resilient, and you don’t back down from a fight. If you stick to your recovery plan and don’t do anything stupid, you’re only grounded for six months. You’ll be back in the air with us within a year. It’s nothing.”
“It’s notnothing. I can’t even fuck you right now.” He sounds more defeated than pissed off this time.
“You’ll be off the drugs in, like, three days. And you’re avoiding what’s really pissing you off.” I brush a lock of hair out of his eyes and tug his face around to look at me. “I probably should have spent less time riding your dick last month and more time making you talk to me.”
“I talked plenty.”
“Telling me how I take your cock like a perfect little slut doesn’t count.” That gets a smile out of him.
“But I’m so good at it.”
“You’re good at lots of things, Gale. More than sex and circus.”
He turns his head away, pulling free of my touch. “Sure.”
I climb up carefully to straddle his hips and plant my hands on his chest, urging him to look at me again. “You pushed us to take the Shadow Chasers act to Young Stage when Lyot and I wanted to wait. You negotiated the deal with Cirque that kept us all together when they wanted to split us up to capitalize on our concept. You’re ourwarrior.” I slide my hands down and curl my fingers into his abs to make my point.
“You’re the warrior,” he says, but his good hand comes up to capture my wrists, holding me against him.
“I’m the criminal mastermind,” I tell him. “You’re the battlefield commander.”
He huffs, but his cock twitches against my ass, and his hand moves to my hip. Percocet’s got nothing on Gale Shepard’s libido. It’s the self-pity that’s killing him, and I’m done enabling it.
“What does that make Lyot?” he asks.
“The guardian angel neither of us deserves.”
We smile at each other then, complicit in our love for him.
“We’re kind of a mixed metaphor, aren’t we?”
“Shut up,” I cry, poking his ribs before he can stop me. “We’re perfect.”
“Why are you yelling at him in the dark?” Lyot flicks the switch beside the door as he enters, flooding the room with golden light. When he sees me straddling Gale’s hips, he stops, lips twitching. “Ah. It’s that kind of argument. The patient is feeling better, I see.”
“I’m torturing him back to health with love and common sense.” I stick my tongue out at Gale while he rolls his eyes at me.
Lyot joins us on the bed, laying a kiss on Gale’s unbandaged shoulder before propping himself up on the mass of pillows.
“I wanna talk to you guys about something.” He eyes Gale’s hand on my hip. “Unless you’ve got other plans?”
I shift my body back and snuggle between Gale’s thighs, lacing my hands over his abdomen and propping my chin up to look at Lyot.
“I can wait. Gale says the drugs are messing with his dick anyway.” I wriggle my breasts against the definitely half-hard cock beneath them. “We can prove him wrong together after we talk.”
Scowling at me, Gale lifts his hips in a warning nudge, and Lyot bites back a chuckle, running his hand through our grouchy boyfriend’s hair. Gale relaxes into his touch, shifting to lean his head on Lyot’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall closed. My own edgy tension settles too.
Whole.
“I’m glad you’re home,” I tell Lyot, letting my smile say the rest.
“Me too.”
