Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(32)

“Well, the proxy got off, too.” Frank grinned wryly. “Yeah, mindf*ck. I’m . . . I went into hiding when Andrew died. Took a while to even peer out again, and then you . . . hitting all my buttons, and hard, rattling my cage with everything you did, and then I couldn’t throw you off the scent, and that too screwed my mind. I’m doing all right for my age and the overall situation, but you . . . I didn’t believe . . . didn’t trust . . .” My instincts. Still not sure I can.

“The hunt feels a lot less sure from the hunter’s viewpoint.” Brandon rubbed his face against Frank’s chest. “Certainly didn’t think it was trust issues.”

“What else?”

“Monogamous partner hidden in the attic somewhere? Bulletproof business sense? I don’t know. Thought it had to be serious. Or maybe you didn’t like me the way you do Mike and Geoff.”

“They’re old friends. That’s totally different. We— No. They have an open relationship, but I’m not really a part of that. They’ve stood by me over the years.”

“But you guys do . . .” Brandon lifted his eyebrow.

Frank ran his fingers through Brandon’s short, still-damp hair. “How do you figure?”

Brandon shrugged. “Hooker’s sixth sense?”

Frank laughed. “Is that what you all call it these days?”

“Something like that.” Brandon chuckled. “I don’t know, I just got that vibe from you guys. You’re all part of that pervy paintball group, and you seem pretty chummy with them.”

“Very intuitive. Yes, we’ve been . . . intimate at times.”

“Intimate at times?” That trademark smirk, the Stefan look, came to life on his lips. “Is that a polite way of saying you guys get together for threesomes?”

“How do you know I don’t f*ck one of them at a time?”

“If you did, I’d say all three of you are idiots.”

“Would you, now?”

“Fuck yeah.” Brandon wriggled a little, then turned onto his side and propped his head up with one arm. “They’re both hot. You’re hot. And I know at least two of the three of you are damn good f*cks. I would hope you guys could, well, put two and two together and figure out a threesome would be even better.”

“You a fan of three-ways, then?”

“With the right pair of guys, sure.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But I do tend to prefer to focus on one victim at a time.”

“A victim?” Frank laughed. “Christ. No wonder you’re so popular at the Garden. You and that attitude.”

Brandon grinned. “The dick and the attitude. I’m the complete package. So to speak.”

“Certainly nearly more than I can handle.” Frank kissed Brandon’s shoulder. “I need something to drink. Water. You want something?”

Brandon shook his head and spread out more, relaxing, claiming space, which Frank figured was a good sign.

“I’ll be back in five. Don’t go anywhere.”

Brandon gave him an ironic look and flopped a bit more.

Frank slid out of bed, deliciously sore, found his boxers and put them on, then headed downstairs into the kitchen. Pills. He couldn’t forget the pills, wouldn’t upset the carefully balanced routine that kept him healthy.

Vitamins. Minerals. All washed down with a large glass of water, then he started setting up his pills for tomorrow morning, made small piles of the different colours and shapes. It was routine now, he even had a tray for them, which in the beginning had reminded him of suddenly turning eighty years old, held together only by pills. He’d made his peace with it, though. Didn’t mean he wanted Brandon to see any of it.

Between getting water for both of them and dealing with medication, five minutes turned into fifteen. He kept expecting Brandon to come strolling into the kitchen, imagined his expression at the massive amounts of pills. Maybe a smirk and a comment about “don’t forget an aspirin a day for your heart” or “any of those make you see crazy shit?” Or maybe, given the kid’s prior history, a silent and more sombre reaction. A look, followed by a refusal to look again.

Fortunately, Brandon didn’t come down. When Frank made it back to the bedroom, Brandon hadn’t moved. In fact, he’d fallen asleep. Lying like that, on his stomach with one arm under the pillow and the other tucked against his side, he looked half Brandon, half Stefan. Boyish, peaceful, almost innocent, but the tattoo and the scrape on his elbow reminded Frank of the camouflaged hunter on the field.

On one hand, here was the sleeping form of a tough guy, a former soldier, someone who could carry out a calculated attack on a field and, likely, a battlefield. On the other, he was so young. A kid. Seemed like a crime that someone like him had experienced the things he had. And then carry Frank’s shit, too? Didn’t seem fair.

Frank’s throat tightened. If only he could protect Brandon from carrying all that crap, from having to face the same heartache again.

Ask me over breakfast.

Damn, he did care way too much about him after only one night.

And two weeks where you’ve beaten yourself up over it.

That, too.

That wasn’t to say there was anything more to this than some incredibly hot sex and maybe some much-needed empathy from someone who knew about certain things. They weren’t running off to pick out curtains or anything. Nothing was set in stone.