Kai

KAI

With a grunt, I pushed open the door to Hunter's apartment with my shoulder and stepped inside, arms full of bags. It was easier said than done, considering the moment I stepped through the door, I found myself swarmed by evil creatures made of fur and mischief. It required me to keep the bags firmly in my grasp while trying to ensure I didn't tread on any of them. They might be several times smaller than me but possessed the attitudes of something much larger.

"Oh, for the love of…fuck!" I growled, shooing them away with my foot without accidentally kicking them. That only served to scare off half the furry cloud surrounding my ankles but at least provided me room to get my boots off so I could move down the hallway.

My grumbling stopped when I realized I could hear music from the kitchen. There hadn't been music in the apartment for almost a week. Ever since we'd managed to slip out of Mitchell's failed party, the apartment had been quiet. Hunter without music was a Hunter who was either deeply upset about something or too stuck in his thoughts to enjoy it. I thought it was a little of both.

I couldn't help but smile as I recognized the music, Kesha of all things. I had never seen the appeal, finding it more noise than music, but it had become a sign that Hunter was in a fantastic mood, slowly transforming the noise into a sign that my best friend was happy. I'm sure there was some psychology behind it, but I didn't care. That god-awful noise meant I had come home to my best friend again.

Come home.

The thought made me smile as I entered the kitchen, only for the smile to freeze in surprise.

"And where the hell did you put your clothes?" I asked with a laugh at the man standing with his back to me on the far side of the room, chopping away merrily.

Until said man clad in his underwear let out a bark of surprise and flung an entire cast iron pan in my direction. Taken off guard or not, my instinct had me dodge the deadly object as it hit the wall with a heavy thunk before dropping to the ground with a clatter.

Hunter's eyes were wide with surprise and annoyance. "Jesus Christ, !"

That was a prime example of how I didn't know how I felt about the changes I had seen come over him. It wasn't just the reaction of a man who'd been scarred and traumatized, but someone who had tasted blood and found it not unpalatable. It wasn't because he'd thrown the pan at me, which anyone who'd grown up where we had and gone through what we had would do, but that went double for someone attacked as he had been.

No, it was his reaction after that. Holding the knife he'd been chopping veggies with at the ready and positioning himself quickly by the island so he could duck behind it if necessary. It was in the way his reaction hadn't been so much fearful as purposeful in its surprise. He might have been taken off guard, but the moment he thought there was a threat, he'd been prepared to do as much damage as possible in the smallest amount of time to keep himself safe.

It was...bittersweet. The sweet man who wouldn't think of hurting anyone was gone, replaced by someone...else. The sweetness and kindness were still there. That was a part of Hunter that was damn near impossible to shake off. But parts of him had been removed and replaced or shifted by what he'd gone through, what he had done. I was in love with a man who was still kind but with an edge that could cut through anything. He was a living sculpture made of tempered glass and steel, beautiful and gentle in its way but capable of making you bleed if you weren't careful.

Yeah, it made me sad, but also made me love him more. Human minds are strange.

"If you're going to be that jumpy," I said in wry amusement as I set the bags on the island as casually as if he hadn't just tried to give me a concussion and stab me, "you should probably set up an alarm system to let you know when someone's coming through the door. Or at least remember that you sent me on an errand, so you expect me."

The anger in his face flickered for a moment, then died like a flame snuffed out as he let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry. You're right. I'm just...jumpy after our little visit from the boys in blue."

The last was said with enough sarcasm to fill the entire building, though I couldn't blame him. We'd had the expected and unexpected visit from the cops a couple of days after Mitchell's death. What had struck me wasn't necessarily their visit or even how they had ‘subtly' alluded to what had happened to Hunter and Lucas in the past. That was amusing in an ugly way because they'd fought so hard in the past to pretend nothing had happened. Now, all of a sudden, they were interested in that event, if only because Hunter's accusations had given them fuel.

It was how they connected something from two years ago that had been dismissed and were now willing to follow through on it. If I were to guess, I would say they were guided by an outside figure, someone who had not only connected the dots but also had the power to push the police to Hunter's doorstep. Of course, as far as I could tell, they had nothing to work on, save our rather bland and uninteresting accounts.

Our faces had not been seen clearly by outside security cameras, but there was a connection to the victims, right?

Didn't Hunter once try to pursue charges against them that had gone nowhere because of a ‘lack' of evidence?

Did we know anything about a weapon that might have been used in all the crimes?

Questions and questions. And yet, with an ease that should have been surprising but wasn't, Hunter played the part perfectly. Horrified at the idea of the violence behind the murders, as a knife was exceptionally personal, and yet disdainful at the idea of their deaths, perfectly fitting someone who had accused them of the horrible crimes they had committed against him.

Not for the first time, I was in awe of how he handled people so expertly. Once, he had been able to take one situation and make it another, a way of taking anger and aggression and turning it into a joke fest, for example, yet this was...something else. He had managed to twist the investigators and find those sympathetic to his cause to work for him and those likely to dismiss him as nothing. He knew how to game the system, and the skills that made him kind and gentle were the same ones that let him get away with murder.

Which was so much scarier than my or even his ability to kill someone.

"You're more worried about them than I am," I said with a snort, pulling things out of the bags so he could put them away.

"I haven't had to deal with cops since I was sixteen," he muttered as he looked over everything with an appraising eye. I did my best not to take offense at how meticulous he was. After all, he had always done the shopping, so it made sense to poke through what I'd bought despite giving me a detailed list. It was just...Hunter. The same Hunter who'd been born from having his control ripped away so violently.

Still slightly irritating since I didn't get where I was by being sloppy.

"You dealt with those cops better than anyone," I told him in a low voice, pushing the heirloom tomatoes toward him as he squinted in disappointment at the regular ones. "I bought both because sometimes I want to have slices of tomato without feeling I robbed some desperate vegan of their meal."

He laughed at that. "Regular tomatoes are just fine."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean, when you're not trying to make the right salad, they're not but?—"

"You've grown fancy, I get it."

"Shut up," he said, rolling his eyes as he bundled things up and put them in the fridge.

I watched him as he put the groceries away, trying to measure his mood without being too obvious. Along with the quietness was a certain distance, just like the last time we went after one of the bastards who attacked him. We still shared space, time, and a bed, but an almost cold spot existed between us. Not that I suspected it had anything to do with a problem between us, but simply something inside his head that was keeping us at arm's length.

"I can feel you staring," he said, voice muffled as he bent over to put something in a drawer.

"Just noticed you're in a better mood today," I said lightly, hoping he didn't take offense. Hunter wasn't someone to take offense easily, especially if it was me, but the whole situation had left him...sensitive. I couldn't tell if he was denying or just avoiding the severity of what he was doing and how it was changing him, but deep down, I thought he knew, and it was making him paranoid. That was all the more apparent in how he'd reacted at the party to my worries for him.

"I did my thinking," he said, something thumping as he dropped it onto a shelf. "Realized that I'm okay, and here we are."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," I said, leaning on the counter and watching him closely. His movements weren't sharp or harsh, and he didn't look tense, but the air around him felt wary in a way I couldn't definitively point to as proof. It came from the intuitive level of my brain, and if there was one thing any experienced soldier learned, it was to trust your gut.

I saw my first real sign of tension in him when he paused for a few seconds before I heard something else get dropped into the drawer. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," I said, leaning over the counter to peer into the nearest bowl and wrinkling my nose when I discovered chopped cilantro, "you slept peacefully last night, but all the other nights this week, you've been having your dreams again."

"I had cops come to my door and ask a bunch of questions about why we were even at that party," he said with a snort, closing the door and eyeing me. "And don't worry, that isn't going into anything you'll eat. That's for my food."

"Soap eater," I grumbled.

"Blame your genetics, sweetheart, not me," he said, shaking his head. "I just can't figure out why they even bothered to come here unless they actually suspected we had something to do with it."

I raised a brow, realizing he was finally ready to talk about everything, and motioned for him to keep quiet. Sliding away from the counter, I went to the opposite end of the apartment where the guest room sat. It wasn't like I slept there anymore, but I used it to hold a few things, which included the package I'd received earlier that week. Opening it, I walked back into the kitchen, placing the device on the windowsill. I waited until the lights flashed on before turning back to him to find him standing at the counter, still preparing dinner but watching me curiously.

"Supposedly," I said as I returned to the counter, "that will block anyone trying to listen into our conversation from outside. A little gift."

"Let me guess," he said slowly. "From the same friend who gave you information on Mitchell?"

"The very same," I said with a smile. "An intel guy who specialized in information gathering and digital sabotage."

"And you trust him?"

"With my life, and as it turns out, the feeling is mutual."

"Uh-huh. And, uh, how reliable is he? No offense, but I don't know this guy like you apparently do."

"Stitch is probably the best of the best," I said with a shrug. "Which is why he was snagged before his contract with Big Brother was even over. Not sure what kind of pull that requires, but the military isn't known for generously giving up one of its own when they're as promising as him."

"Stitch?"

"Something he had while in MOS school. Something about how he always managed to find two unconnected things and put them together. Tech stuff was never really my thing, obviously, but even I was impressed with what he could do, and I wasn't blind. I could see how people way more tech literate than me were floored by some of the shit he could cobble together at a moment's notice. He's quick and clever, can work under pressure with the coolest head you've ever seen, and has more discretion than anyone I've ever met, including the Spec Ops guys I worked with."

A furrow formed on his brow as he chopped the last vegetables. "Who would swing their dick around so hard to grab him?"

"I have literally no idea," I said with a snort. "I never saw anyone, and he never said, only that he was being ‘relocated' and probably wouldn't see us again. He got in contact a year later when I was on leave and left me a number to contact him if I ever needed anything...with emphasis on anything. I know plenty of organizations and groups would have loved to have him on their team."

"Interesting friends you've made," he said with a smirk. "And he sent you this when you asked?"

"Funnily, I didn't ask," I said with a shrug. "I just had a message delivered a few days ago that I had something waiting for me at a post office on the other side of the city. When I went there, that was waiting, along with a couple of other things and a note that explained what everything was."

He paused as he heated a pan and stared at me, blinking slowly. "He just...delivered stuff you might need without being prompted?"

"Well," I said, knowing I was reaching particularly tricky water. "You see, he's the smartest person I've ever met, and information was literally his thing. I'm sure if I'd pressed him for more information about Mitchell, we would have had everything you found, everything you didn't find, and stuff no one should be able to find."

"You mean he put the dots together himself," Hunter said with a grimace.

"That would be my guess, yeah."

"I...don't know how I feel about that."

"Your face says you're not happy, but you're not going to throw a fit."

"That's...close, yeah. If he got the information you wanted, then heard the news, it was probably easy to figure out what happened."

"Probably," I said with a smirk.

He gave me a withering look. "Point is, if he figured it out and sent you more stuff, I'm guessing that's his way of accepting it since it's going to help."

"That would be a pretty fair assumption," I said with a shrug. "He's not one for being direct if he can avoid it, and this feels like a very Stitch way of giving me his stamp of approval. Which begs a lot of questions about him as a person and what he's doing these days."

"Questions you won't be asking," Hunter said knowingly.

"Right you are," I said with a snort. "Ask him no questions, and he'll tell you no lies. Plus, if it's not the government he's working for, that's even more reason to keep my nose out of his business."

"What, a mercenary group like those guys Mitchell had?" he asked curiously as steam from the frying meat rose into the air.

"There are more groups and organizations out there than just mercenary groups," I said seriously. "Intelligence agencies that work under the radar while still being open secrets because every nation with the connection and money wants to use them. Wetwork organizations of different moral qualities?—"

"Wetwork? What, like killing people?"

"You could call them assassins, but that's a little Hollywood."

"And I assume ‘killer for hire' sounds like hiring some random thug off the street."

"Pretty much."

"Of course. We wouldn't want to offend the people who kill for money by labeling them something too basic or corny...on second thought, no, that's an excellent idea. Let's not offend them."

I smirked. "A good thing most of them are treated with respect and aren't touchy and prone to killing random people for insulting them, accidentally or otherwise. At least, that's what I've gathered."

"What would stop one of those groups from not being so in control?"

"Probably because there are more groups out there that are in control and professional. They have more resources and connections, making them better equipped and trained and unwilling to deal with people going crazy."

"Are you telling me these assassin groups keep other groups from doing what they want because it would make them look bad?"

"It's pretty common. When you operate outside the law, particularly international law, you want to avoid crossing too many lines. If another group or one of their own starts making too much mess or noise? Well, you don't want attention drawn to you or to scare off potential customers, so you deal with it in-house."

"Assassins killing assassins," he said, turning to grab the veggies and sauce. "It does sound like a movie."

"And that's not including the cells that operate under government control," I said, frowning at the thought. The conversation reminded me of a few groups that primarily operated through information gathering and selling. There were the alphabet agencies, of course, but other, far more infamous groups operated independently of any government.

Which presented more questions about my friend Stitch that I still wasn't going to ask.

"And how do you know about all this? I can't imagine you ran into it doing military stuff."

"I was co-opted by many different groups," I said with a shrug. "I can't even tell you all the players in the game, but the rule of thumb was don't ask questions, and if you hear something you weren't supposed to? No, you didn't."

He turned to eye me. "And how many of them tried bringing you on board?"

"A few," I answered slowly. "Never was given much information about who made the offer, but I was able to put together some pieces for a couple of them."

"And those couple were?"

"Either the FBI or CIA, for one, I'm leaning more toward CIA, though. They operate internationally, more than people know, and are always under the radar. They're known to poach from the military if they can. And the other one, I'm pretty sure was The Company."

He stared at me. "That sounds...generic."

I smirked. "And it's by far the most well-known organization that totally doesn't exist. Probably the biggest wetwork organization in the world, the most connected, and the most feared. But they've got codes of conduct, and they don't screw around with their image."

"I see," he said. "And you...turned them down?"

"I turned them both down at the time because of the military. The alphabet boys because I told myself I didn't want to work for the shadiest parts of the government, but it was another year before I realized that the military is just as bad. And if I was right about it being someone from The Company, I told myself I didn't want to work for anyone but my country. Partially because I didn't trust them, and partially because I felt I was still duty-bound to our country even if I was starting to get a little worn down."

"But now your contract is up...your duty is over."

"And here I am, helping you as much as possible."

"We both know I wouldn't have been able to get to Mitchell on my own," he said as he dumped the contents of the pan into a bowl and turned toward the tortillas to warm in another pan. "If it wasn't for your connections, I wouldn't have realized he could be moved on. And if it hadn't been for your ability to fight, I would have been dead when I tried...or worse."

"You handled Damon pretty expertly," I told him, not begrudgingly admitting it so much as still a little taken aback by how well he'd done on his own. "You managed to remove a witness without causing a mess, got to him without alerting anyone of danger, and took him down before he could present a true threat to you."

Hunter was quiet as he flipped a tortilla. "It's weird. That sounds great, and part of me is even prouder after hearing that from you. The other part, though, is...confused and a little scared by it. Because you're right, I handled that well and did what I set out to do. I don't know how to feel about planning that, more or less putting the plan into action perfectly, dealing with a possible hiccup, and leaving no mess behind."

"Well, not to beat the dead horse, but that other part of you? That's the one that has me worried about you."

"Am I supposed to be horrified by what I'm turning into? Accepting? Or just confused?"

"You're going to be confused for a while," I said softly. "There's been a lot happening and a lot to take in. Nothing we've been doing is going to be easy for someone in your position. This is a whole new world. You're dealing with shit most people don't have to deal with, and those that do? Well, most people aren't like you, and you don't want to be like them or deal with them."

"People like...the dealer?" he asked with a wrinkle of his nose.

"Precisely. What you're experiencing is the final loss of innocence. That doesn't make you wrong or bad or anything like that."

"Some might argue otherwise."

"Then those people are either just like the fuckers we're dealing with, enablers, or people who are ignorant to how bad humanity can be and how much those bad elements need to be pruned, or they poison everything around them."

He made sure every bit of food was put away, including the stack of warmed tortillas placed under a lid to keep them warm, but I could see from the thoughtful expression on his face that it was automatic. "This is...the first time you've ever expressed...I don't want to say support because you've supported me the whole time. But it's...the belief that we're doing what's right, that's what was missing before."

I sighed. "Because I didn't want to sway you. I wanted you to work through things on your own and figure it out on your terms. Me? I've always been harsher than you, more judgmental, more willing to let hard things happen to bad people and not feel the slightest twinge of guilt or regret."

"You weren't saying that when you told me about killing your first person."

"There's a difference between being harder and being sociopathic. Killing another human being is hard, even when it's justified, even when it's your life or theirs. That's built into the human psyche. It takes a fucked-up life or a fucked-up head to do something like that the first time and feel nothing," I told him. "You've only done it a few times, so there's still plenty left in you that's rebelling. It's up to you to figure out how much it's changing you."

"I don't want to become like them," he said quietly, bowing his head.

"Your options aren't just ‘retain that innocence' or ‘become a sadistic monster,'" I told him, finally getting up from the counter to put my hand over his. "You also get a whole multitude of other options. I might be less bothered by all the violence and killing than you, and I believe we're doing the right thing and will never doubt that. But that doesn't mean I get pleasure from killing or hurting people or that I want to go out and do it to more people."

"Yet here you are, helping me," he said, a frown etched into his face.

"I'm helping you bring down monsters that the ‘right' way couldn't touch, and I don't regret that for a moment. I would support you if you kept going beyond just this."

He looked up, eyes wide. "What?"

I gave him a grim smile. "There's a lot of trash in this world that needs to be taken out. But just like these pricks, they're allowed to sit and rot, poisoning everything around them instead of being dealt with properly. My whole career was devoted to doing that, and sometimes, I couldn't always be sure I was doing the right thing. But this? This is the first time in a long time that I feel like what I'm doing not only matters but is important and objectively a good thing."

"I'm so compelled to point out that people might see it differently, but?—"

"Do you remember that god-awful movie you forced me to watch?"

He blinked in confusion and then smiled a little. "You'll have to narrow it down."

"Huh?"

"You hated at least half the movies I had you watch with me."

"I did not."

"You're a great soldier, perfect backup, an amazing friend, and are quickly proving to be a phenomenal boyfriend," he said, turning toward me so he could press against my side and kiss my jaw. "But you're an awful liar. You always made it seem like you didn't hate the stuff I had you watch, but I could see you did. And I always appreciated that you were trying to spare my feelings, even if that wasn't necessary, even back then."

I sighed. "The musical."

"That does narrow it down a little, but I showed you three."

"Not the poor people singing about the dog and AIDS."

"That's Rent."

"Or the weird one about cannibalism and drugs."

"It was organ leasing and stealing. That was Repo."

"The one with the women killing their husbands."

"Ah, Chicago. Not a good choice to follow up with after how much you hated Rent."

"Right, well, there was a line one of them said. Catherine...something or another, the actress."

"Zeta Jones."

"Right, that number they did, talking about why they killed their husbands."

"I know the song by heart, yes."

"It was a murder, but not a crime."

He stared up at me for a moment, puzzled, before scoffing. "Now, I don't know if I'm impressed or annoyed that you remember one lyric from a song in a musical that was like bamboo shoots under your nails. Doubly so because I hate that what you're trying to say makes sense."

"Oh, thank God," I muttered, wrapping my arm around his waist and holding him close. "I thought I'd have to think of some other reference. And I honestly didn't have any."

He laughed, wiggling so he fit against my body, practically ‘making' me push him against the counter. "Well, congratulations on your success, and for the record, it made me understand what you were trying to say and...reminded me how lucky I am to have you."

"You've always had me," I told him softly. "Not always in the way we might have wanted or dreamed of, but you've always had me. And nothing in my power will ever stop me from keeping it that way."

"Nice qualifier," he said in a sad voice, a small smile on his face. "If there's one thing I had to learn two years ago, it's that promises made by the ones you love can't always be kept, and it won't even be their fault."

"There aren't any guarantees in this world," I agreed. "But so long as I can breathe, I'll be yours. No matter what happens, whatever you do, or where you go, I'm going to be right there, helping you and standing by your side or at least having your back."

"Mmm," he hummed, closing his eyes. "If only I had a next step for you to follow."

"I'm surprised you don't," I said with a chuckle. "You were pretty on the ball before."

"That was before the boys in blue showed up, interrogating us as to why we were crashing a party we had no business being at," he said in an annoyed voice. "Funny how they could check on that but not on all the shit I gave them over two years ago."

"Well, we were the odd men out there," I said. "And someone important died, along with part of his security team. If they looked into my history, I'm sure they'd guess someone like me could take down people who weren't ready for me. And since you're on record accusing them of what they did?—"

"I know," he said, shaking his head. "But I can't shake the feeling that it's more than just basic police work."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Wait, really? You've been the one constantly telling me not to be paranoid."

"I'm not paranoid. Of the four guys, three of them are dead, and two of those three were close friends, leaving only the third friend alive. And from what we heard, they know about the dealer. Callum might be an arrogant shit, but I doubt he's stupid."

"Impulsive and controlling," Hunter said in a tight voice. "But he didn't strike me as stupid."

"It felt like Mitchell was starting to put two and two together," I said. "And I bet he said something to Callum. And then for Mitchell to be next, leaving only one? I wouldn't be surprised if it was Callum who identified us."

"Me."

"Well, yeah, he doesn't know me, but I was with you. If he wasn't thinking about the fucked-up fun he and his friends had a couple of years ago, then he definitely is now."

"Good," Hunter said in a light, dismissive voice that felt out of place with the man he once was. "I hope he's thinking about it. I hope he's wondering if maybe what he and his friends did has finally come back around and is costing him something. And I hope he's worried that the job will be finished."

"You do realize that's going to make our job even harder, right? If he's on high alert and suspects you, he'll be on the lookout for both of us and anything strange."

"I know. I'm not planning anything right now because there's no plan I can come up with that will work. Right now, the best I can do is wait and see where the chips fall. This is the final piece, and I have to be careful if I want to walk away successful and not in fucking prison."

"I'll take unhurt if it can be helped."

"Oh, me too. They've caused me enough pain for one lifetime. I have no intention of letting them do it again."

"I hope not," I said softly.

"Hmm," he said, pushing his hips forward so he was pressed against me. "Can we go back to the sweet talk about you being mine? That was a far more interesting conversation, especially after how serious this week has already been."

"I could point out that you were the one to bring it up," I said, finding my hand snaking around his waist to grab onto one half of his ass. "But that would be incredibly unfair. It would be fairer to point out that I can see you trying to start something you intend to finish, but there is a nice meal you cooked that would go to waste."

"Who said anything about waste?" he asked, turning around to slap a cover onto the bowl of meat and vegetables, clicking it closed. "Now there's no way for any creature without opposable thumbs to get into it, and we can always heat it up later."

"Now I'm forced to choose between sex with the man I love and the delicious meal he made for me," I said with a beleaguered sigh. "Never an easy choice, I can tell you that."

"Then let me," he said, reaching down to undo the tie on the sweatpants I'd thrown on before going shopping. "See if I can't sway you one way or the other."

‘Swaying' apparently was a stand-in for ‘giving me head,' by the way he was quickly sliding down, so he knelt in front of me. It took him no time at all to fish my half-hard cock from my pants and just slightly more time for me to get completely hard after he took me into his mouth with a moan. His enthusiasm for sex over the past couple of weeks had been unsurprisingly low, but it apparently wasn't taking him much time to recover as he took me as deep as possible, his fingers digging into my bare ass as he sucked me down.

"Oh shit," I muttered as a jolt of pleasure tried to take my knees out from under me. I could only reach down, one hand on the counter to keep steady and the other on the back of his head as he worked his magic. It wasn't so much the expertise and his knowledge of how to make me feel good that made the whole thing golden, and not even the finger he slipped into me to make it even better. It was the enthusiasm. There was not one single moment of doubt that he wanted to do this and would do it for as long as I let him.

Another time I might have let him finish things right then and there, knowing from personal experience that both of us could enjoy him giving me a blowjob in the kitchen right before a meal. The thing was, what I loved even more was the sight of him, sprawled out and completely helpless from pleasure as I slid into him. It had been over a week since I'd seen that, and I wasn't going to let the opportunity pass.

"Bedroom," I grunted, having to fight him a little and myself quite a lot in order to pull free from his mouth before I lost control and let him have his way.

He chuckled. "Why?"

"Because I want to fuck you," I told him with a growl, reaching down to grip his chin and make him look at me. Of course, that meant I saw how swollen his lips were from what he'd just been doing and my cock, still shining from his spit, neither of which was doing great things for my self-control. "And unless you want me going Greek and pulling out the olive oil?—"

He laughed. "Been there, done that, no thanks. It's a good thing I thought I might end up seducing you before we made it to the bedroom."

"Oh?" I asked as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of lube. "Oh."

"Yeah," he said, getting to his feet and shoving his shorts off, revealing he had gone commando. "Now, how that happens, I'll leave up to you."

Which left me with a slight conundrum. The idea of having him naked and sprawled out in bed, eventually covered in sweat and his own load, definitely had appeal. On the other hand, I was offered the chance to take him right then and there, which definitely had its appeal as well. The problem was the horny brain was demanding and limited in its abilities, so I found myself stuck between both ideas and unable to settle on one.

"Let me help the decision-making," he said, bending over the nearby counter. When I saw the silicone sticking out from inside him, my eyes threatened to pop out of my head.

"Is...that a toy?" I asked.

"A plug, to be exact," he said, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. "I woke up today feeling great, saw you shambling around in fucking shorts and then sweatpants, making a complete spectacle of yourself, and I thought...damn, I need that today. So after you left to get the groceries, I found my old plug and slipped it inside me."

On the one hand, that meant he'd had that damn thing inside him the whole time we had been talking. He had potentially started fighting for his life when I first walked in and startled him, which was just funny and weird to think about. The other hand was what really mattered, which was that he'd been thinking about me fucking him for so long and so intensely that he'd prepared himself so he could take me easily.

"I didn't even know you had one," I admitted, reaching out to grip the toy's base and pulling it. His body tensed but not in the frantic, barely controlled way he did when things were too intense. My eyes widened as I pulled the toy free, watching how much he stretched open, and realized it wouldn't be relative ease but complete ease. "Holy shit, you just...had this?"

"Only tried to take it once. Figured it was as good a time as any," he said, spreading his legs and arching his back. "What do you say?"

"Fuck," I groaned, taking the lube he'd left on the counter and quickly spreading it over my dick, not caring if it was excessive. It wasn't like the time frame to get into him was that short, but I already felt like I was wasting time and didn't want to waste anymore.

"That's the…ugh, okay," he groaned as he undoubtedly felt the head of my dick push into him.

I had never been able to slip into someone so easily. The toy had opened him, so it was no problem, and I didn't know if it was a testament to my size or how tight he was, but even with all that loosening, the grip was fantastic. I was amazed and thrilled at the way I was able to push into him without the slightest pause, that was until I reached the second barrier inside him that the toy hadn't reached.

"Wow," Hunter panted out. "This is better than I imagined."

"Just a little bit more," I said, nudging forward and feeling the inner barrier of muscles open up, drawing a grunt from him.

"Go for it."

"What?"

"Push, damn it!"

"Hunter."

"You're not them, and I know it. Do it!"

Hoping neither of us regretted it, I did as he said, thrusting my hips and pushing through the inner ring of muscles. Hunter gave a cry, his fingers curling against the countertop, but I could see pleasure amid the pain in his expression. I stayed still, shocked at how easily I'd sheathed myself completely, practically squirming to get moving and on to the full show.

But no, I would wait.

"Sorry," he said with a little laugh. "That was more surprising and painful than I thought it would be."

"I can?—"

"No, no," he said quickly, waving me off and giving himself a shake. "It's, uh, kind of nice to realize that I can feel pain down there and not freak out. Actually, I liked it."

"Uh, is that new?"

"No," he said with a sly smile over his shoulder. "I was always a little into pain, especially if someone got a little too eager to fuck me. But you know?—"

"Right," I said, not needing him to finish his sentence. Obviously, after what had happened, any pain of the sexual sort was bound to have too many things tied to it for him to enjoy it.

"And look, I got it back," he said with a chuckle, his body relaxing again. "And you got balls deep in me in less than a minute. If I thought walking around with that toy inside me was something, it's nothing compared to you."

"Stop," I said with a laugh, feeling my dick twitching at the compliment.

"Fat, heavy, and filling me up," he all but purred. "Now fuck me like you mean it."

To call me helpless in the face of his demand would be underselling it, probably because that was exactly what I'd wanted to do from the moment he'd knelt before me and taken me into his mouth. I eased myself back, groaning at the ease of it when usually there would still be tension I had to work my way through slowly, and I loved the comfortable hold he had over me as I pushed back into him.

I knew there was no way in hell I'd last very long, the man knew how to play me, and I wasn't going to pretend to be upset about that. All I could do was grip his waist and begin steadily fucking him, savoring the feel of him around me and the sight before me. Even as I picked up the pace, beginning to slam into him as deep as I could, all I could see was pleasure coming off him and the low groans that grew increasingly louder as I put more force into my thrusts.

Without warning, I gripped his waist and shifted to a different angle, thrusting into him, and was rewarded with a cry of utter pleasure as I found exactly what I was looking for. With that, I held his hips in place and reached around with the other hand gripping his straining cock, and began stroking it in time with my thrusts. I was already mere inches from losing it, and I wanted him there when I finally came inside him.

I was rewarded for my efforts within seconds of my hand wrapping around him. Hunter shoved his hips back into my thrusts twice before his cock jerked, and I felt him come. I had no worries about his cries being overheard. We had left the device in the window, and the walls were thick. That meant only I could see the fruits of my labor as he came hard, his body jerking with every spurt into my hand.

"Yes," I hissed, giving one last thrust as I felt my orgasm sweep through me in a wave of pleasure. I leaned forward, pinning him to the countertop as I came as deep as I could, listening to his little whimpers as he slid free from his orgasm and felt me make a mess inside him. For one moment, the world was gone, and it was me and the man I had loved for years and years, all mine and completely, willingly claimed by me.

Only for the moment to be ruined by a sudden crash behind us. I held him tight and twisted around, surprised that he'd only jerked slightly rather than whirled around with me. I peered at the floor, trying to make sense of what I was seeing before letting out a sigh.

"About your cat-proofing," I said, slipping out of him and looking to make sure I hadn't hurt him and that he wasn't going to leak, causing a mess we'd have to clean up on top of what he'd sprayed on the cabinets.

"I should have known," Hunter said, looking pleased and slightly sleepy but not irritated.

"That was all your hard work."

"Mmm, but the hard work I put into making you do some hard work is what really paid off."

"I love when you're well fucked."

"And I love being well fucked."

I chuckled, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close for a kiss that took me no time to deepen. Even if I was utterly drained, a part of me still couldn't help but perk up its head whenever I kissed him. Maybe one day, it would calm down, and I could do it without trying to calculate when I might be able to fuck him again, but today was not that day.

"Takeout?" he asked against my lips.

My stomach rumbled, and I smiled. "Only if we can eat it on the couch and curl up to watch one of the movies I know is on the list you have somewhere for me to watch."

"Even if it's horrible?"

"Even then."

"Aww, you do love me."

"Yes, I do," I said, pulling him closer and not caring that there was a mess on the floor that had already scared off the cats because of the strong smell. All that mattered was that despite the chaos that had filled our lives for the past few weeks, there were moments like this, eyes in the storm that let us breathe and be together as ourselves. It was a kind of peace that was bound to break eventually. I had lived too storied a life and seen too much to believe otherwise.

But for now, it was just the two of us, and I was going to savor it for what it was worth.