Chapter 20

20

QUILLON

A s always, I woke at five-thirty in the morning. I'd always been a morning person, and my time in the Marines had left me unable to sleep in. On the other hand, I could also lie down anywhere and sleep if I needed it. I'd slept on the floor of airports, C-17s, dirty shacks, you name it. Hell, one time, I'd been so sleep-deprived that I'd fallen asleep, relieved from watch for a few hours, while a battle raged around me. Funny how even war could become background noise.

But waking up with York in my arms was new, and I took a few minutes to appreciate the intimacy of it. He was wrapped around me like he'd been all night. Not that I had minded. Hell, if he'd kept me awake all night, I still wouldn't have complained. Just being with him was a reward in itself. My nerdy.

I kissed his forehead, then carefully untangled myself from his grip. My clothes were still in the guest bedroom, so I popped in there to do my morning business and get dressed.

I wanted to get my workout in first. Normally, I preferred to do this later in the day, but I needed to blow off some steam and get some tension out of my body. Tomás had a treadmill in his gym room, bless him, and I started by pounding away a 10k run, programming the machine so it would add some steep hills. Halfway in, my mind cleared, and I reached that blissful runner's high, where my body produced all those happy endorphins. York would probably be able to explain that chemical process to me in detail, and I smiled at the thought.

I loved his sharp mind as much as I loved every other part of him. I'd never met a man who had such broad interests. He read everything he could get his hands on, from science and sociology to psychology and literature. Not history, though, which he'd told me he disliked since it had already happened. He preferred the present and the future, which made total sense. He was a Renaissance man. That was the term for it, wasn't it? A modern Leonardo da Vinci.

And I wasn't lying when I told him I was interested in him sharing his knowledge. Was I able to understand all of it? Hell no. A few days prior, he'd treated me to a discourse on the science behind electric cars and why he thought they weren't much better than gas-powered cars, but I'd lost him after a few sentences. But I'd loved listening to him and watching him getting excited about it.

He was curious, as Ted Lasso would say, always approaching everything with an open, investigative mind. If only more people would do that. The world would be a better place.

The treadmill slowed into cool-down mode, and I guzzled half a bottle of water and wiped my face with a towel. After a half hour of resistance training, I called it a day and headed upstairs again.

York was a heavy sleeper, and when I opened his bedroom to check in on him, he never stirred. He lay on his stomach, which seemed his preferred sleeping position when he wasn't clinging to me like a koala bear to an eucalyptus tree. The sheets had slipped low, revealing the lines of his back and the luscious swell of his ass. Sadly, only the top of his crack was visible.

My cock stirred, but I ignored it. Patience was a virtue, and I wasn't rushing my relationship with York. Yes, I wanted to fuck him, and, hell yes, I wanted him to be inside me, but I could wait. I wanted to wait. It wasn't about the destination or the goal of sex. This one was all about the journey, about enjoying everything with him for the first time. And for him, experiencing it for the first time with a man.

After taking a shower in the guest bathroom—I wasn't risking waking York up by showering in his bathroom—I wolfed down scrambled eggs with toasted Dutch bread. Best. Thing. Ever. I had no idea what the difference was and why the bread was so much lighter and airier, but it had to have something to do with preservatives or the lack thereof. Dutch bread went stale quickly, but when it was fresh, it tasted so much better than American bread.

After unloading the dishwasher and putting everything away, then reloading it with dirty dishes, it was time to face the music.

"Quillon," Remington said. "What's the verdict?"

I took a deep breath. "The verdict is that the threat level has increased, and the FBI doesn't want to take me off the job right now. It'll take time for them to do a thorough background check on someone else, plus I'm the best man to guard York."

"So you'll suspend your relationship until this is over? Could be a while."

York's words when I'd brought that up came back to mind. "It wouldn't make a difference. Whether I'm sleeping with him or not, my feelings for him are the same. Not sleeping with him won't give me more objectivity. That ship sailed a long time ago."

Remington sighed. "I hate it when your argument makes sense."

"In all fairness, it was York's argument when I suggested the same thing."

"His boss warned me he could argue the saddle off a horse without the rider knowing it. That's how she put it."

I felt confident it was okay to laugh now. "That sounds about right."

"But you made it crystal clear to the FBI that I didn't condone this, right?"

"I did. In no uncertain terms."

"Well, then, I guess I have little choice."

"You could fire me."

He snorted. "We both know that's not gonna happen. You're my best man, Quillon, even if your judgment in this case leaves a little to be desired."

"I didn't plan for it to happen…"

"No, that I believe. Anyway, good luck, and in as far as you can, keep me posted."

Well, that had gone better than expected. My next call was to Auden. I updated him on the case. "Four agents arrived and are staying with Miller and LaFontaine for now, but we need to place them somewhere without drawing too much attention."

"Hmm, let me think…" He took his time, but I waited patiently. He'd already proven he was creative when it came to finding solutions. "The Robinsons live across the street from Tomás's house. Mrs. Robinson comes from a family of ten and has an extensive collection of nephews, nieces, cousins, and grandkids we've all lost track of years ago. If we can let them stay with them and pose as her nephews or whatever, that could work."

"Let me discuss it with the FBI."

Coulson thought it the perfect solution, but he didn't want to risk the safety of the Robinsons, so with Auden's help, they were offered an impromptu cruise, supposedly a grand prize in some contest they had won, and their nephew and his partner would be house-sitting. Another problem solved.

I'd ended the call when York stumbled into the kitchen, still in his underwear, his eyes half-lidded. Without hesitation, he stepped into my embrace and plastered himself against me. I held him close, breathing in his scent. Did the man realize how incredibly starved he was for touch? As if he had a lifetime to make up for…and I would never turn him down.

I rubbed his back and possessively splayed my hands on his ass cheeks, squeezing a little. He gave a happy hum and a half laugh. "I like your ass."

"You're an ass man?" His voice was still low and growly from sleep, making him even sexier.

"Yup, always have been. I like a nice dick, don't get me wrong, and for a while, I had a biceps fetish, but asses have always been my favorite."

"Biceps?"

"You know how sexy it is when a man almost bulges out of the sleeves of his shirt?"

"Like Auden."

I chuckled. "Yes, like Auden. Who is hot, by the way."

"You think he's hotter than Tomás and Tiago?"

Like I would be stupid enough to answer that. "I reject the premise of the question."

He let go of me, his eyes dancing with humor as he stepped back. "Smart man."

"I recognize a trap when I see one."

"Good to know."

"Sit down, nerdy. I'll make you breakfast."

He looked down at himself, where his semi made a tent in his underwear. "I figured I'd get dressed first."

"Nah, don't bother. I like the view."

A slow smile spread over his face, and my heart skipped a beat. "Then I won't."

I made him an omelet with spinach, mushrooms, onions, fresh tomatoes, and a heap of cheese. York loved cheese, and according to him, it was a food group in itself. That was debatable, but I wasn't gonna argue with him.

"How did you become such a good cook?" he asked as I plated his omelet.

"I ate crap for many years in the Marines, so when I got out, I wanted to enjoy good food. Because I was single, I either had to cook myself or eat out all the time, and that quickly got too costly, so I learned to cook. My mom had taught me the basics when I was a teen, so it's not like I had to start from scratch."

"I never learned," he said with his mouth half-full. "In that sense, my mother was a traditionalist. She didn't think it necessary for boys to learn to cook."

"Honestly, I think that's a disservice. Everyone should learn. Not teaching boys only reinforces stereotypes about the role of women."

"I agree, though I'm not interested in learning."

"No? I would think cooking would appeal to you. It's a form of science, isn't it?"

He chewed thoroughly, studying me as if trying to determine whether I was serious. "Science? Cooking is science?"

"It's all about chemistry, how certain substances react with each other, complement each other, or clash with each other. Certain processes bring specific results, like fermentation, rising dough, or caramelization. Milk has to be brought to a specific temperature to start the process of yogurt making, for example, and you need a starter, of course. But it's also knowing that searing a steak first preserves the juices inside it and that letting it rest after grilling will bring out the flavors even more."

"I never looked at it that way."

"For a while, the world's best restaurants were all about molecular gastronomy, like the famous El Bulli restaurant in Spain, which was considered the best restaurant in the world."

A slow smile spread across his face. "I like it when you teach me stuff."

"The roles are reversed for once, right?"

His smile faded, and he took a bite of his food and chewed slowly. "I know I lecture too much about things I find interesting."

I stepped close and hugged him from behind, pressing my cheek against his. "No, you don't."

"You couldn't possibly be interested in Fermat's Last Theorem, which I prattled about for nearly thirty minutes yesterday."

"You mean your fascinating account of a mathematical problem so complex it took almost three hundred and sixty years to solve it and how several people throughout those centuries tried and failed? I didn't understand anything about the problem itself and why it was so challenging, but I loved hearing about it and seeing your face light up when you talked about it." I nuzzled his neck, mouthing kisses all over his skin. "I'm interested in you, nerdy, and that means wanting to hear anything and everything you're fascinated with."

He pushed back his empty plate and nudged my arms until I let him go. He got up from his chair, and for a moment, I was worried I'd said something wrong, though for the life of me, I didn't know what. But he turned around and crawled into my arms again, hiding his face against my shoulder. I held him, not saying a word. Something was at play I didn't quite understand, but he'd tell me in due time.

He didn't speak for a long time but leaned against me, sheltering in my embrace. When he finally looked up, his eyes glistened. "Will you take me to bed, Quillon?"