“Well, you said it was going to hurt,” Cym managed shakily.
“You did just fine,” Fourteen assured him, running a hand over his hair soothingly.
Cym tucked his face into Fourteen’s jacket and breathed in the rich smell of leather and Fourteen’s own unique, intoxicating scent. It didn’t clear Cym’s head, but his breathing steadied, and he relaxed a little.
It was pretty nice, actually. Especially since he was getting to cuddle Fourteen guilt-free. Anyone in Cym’s situation right now should be getting at least a little affection.
“I’m sorry, Cymbeline.” Sterling’s voice broke in on his reverie. “I know you’ve been through a lot tonight, but we have to get out of here now, while everyone is busy with the fire. Can you hold it together for a little bit longer?”
Before he could answer, Fourteen said, “I need to tie his arm down first, or it will only get injured further.
“How about his foot? It looks pretty nasty. Is he going to be able to walk on it?”
“I’ll be fine—” Cym began but was cut off when Fourteen’s face went even colder.
The atmosphere in the room turned glacial as Fourteen shifted Cym out of his lap and examined his injured foot. The chill radiating from Fourteen had Cym cringing in anticipation. Had he broken his ankle? Had his idiocy ruined it beyond repair? Would they leave Cym behind if he couldn’t walk?
Fourteen made an indecipherable noise and then ripped off a piece of Cym’s yoga pants to wrap his ankle. “It looks worse than it is, but it won’t be fun to walk on.” Fourteen appropriated a length of rope hanging from the wall and began to carefully bind Cym’s arm to his side. “Cym, I need you to try to walk on it even if it hurts. Hold onto my jacket if you need to, but I need my hands free if I’m going to get us out of here.”
Affronted at being talked to like a child, Cym’s anxiety fled as he lost his temper. “I’m not a china doll; I can keep up. I managed to survive for weeks before I met you!”
Cym conveniently ignored that he was shoeless, half-starved, and freezing when they met, and the frigid silence Fourteen gave him in response told Cym he was thinking the same thing.
For a moment, Cym thought Fourteen was going to bail and leave Cym to his own devices. Why had Fourteen even come after him in the first place. Cym was so fucking useless, why would anyone—
Fourteen took Cym’s face in his gloved hand, cutting off Cym’s toxic train of thought. If the gesture hadn’t granted him Cym’s full attention, Cym would have missed the tiny frown tugging at the corner of Fourteen’s mouth.
It was like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Cym held his breath and waited to see what Fourteen would do.
Fourteen’s eyes locked onto Cym’s and he leaned down slowly, inch by inch, giving Cym plenty of time to move away if he wanted to, until he finally touched his forehead to Cym’s. The relief Cym felt from his power pouring into Fourteen made his limbs feel like jelly. Seeing Fourteen in broken-soldier-mode had been too much for Cym to bear, but he couldn’t be the one to initiate touch. It had to be Fourteen’s choice.
The effect of Cym’s magic was immediate. Fourteen’s face became animated again rather than the cold stone it had been. Now he reminded Cym of a storm—full of barely leashed energy waiting for the right time to strike.
Fourteen’s brows drew together, and his eyes blazed with intensity. “I know you’re a survivor. I’ve seen how tough you are. If your body was as strong as your will, I wouldn’t have asked. But you’re small, unfamiliar with combat, and you’ve lost a lot of blood. If you need help, ask. I came here for you, and it would defeat the purpose to leave you behind just because you were too proud to ask for help.” He punctuated this with a kiss to Cym’s forehead, robbing him of words.
Cym was pretty sure he’d been robbed of a handful of much needed IQ points as well.
Cym’s forehead tingled where it had been kissed, and he reached up to rub the spot with his fingers. Fourteen didn’t appear to have the same reservations as Cym did about Cym’s power taking away his free will. Was it possible Cym had allowed his fears to carry him away? Had he been blowing it out of proportion?
Cym swallowed hard and whispered, “Oh. Okay then.”
His hand itched to touch Fourteen’s face. He wanted to feel the difference between Fourteen’s cheek and the stubble growing on his jaw, but he held back and focused on the present moment. “I didn’t say thank you, did I? For saving me, I mean.”
“Nope.” There was a twinkle in Fourteen’s eye as he leaned down to whisper in Cym’s ear, brushing it with his lips. “I’ll let you thank me later when we get out of here.”
Cym shivered at the promise in Fourteen’s voice, and the instant, partial erection that announced itself proudly had Cym wanting to finish what they had started on the bed earlier, right here and now. They could have both died several times that day, and the idea that Cym’s fear and insecurity would have robbed them of the only happiness they might have ever had together made him want to kick himself.
Maybe Cym wasn’t a horrible person.
Maybe Cym’s magic was helpful for Fourteen.
And maybe, just maybe, Cym could have this.
Chapter 18Cym
Standing up on shaky legs, Cym kissed Fourteen, refusing to make the same mistake again. Fourteen’s body froze, and for a second Cym thought he’d severely misjudged the interaction between them. He tried to pull away, but Fourteen’s hand came to the base of Cym’s neck, stopping his retreat. Fourteen’s mouth came down on his, and Cym stopped thinking and became a creature of pure sensation.
Cym’s heart pounded as Fourteen nipped at his bottom lip, demanding he open up. With a gasp, Cym allowed him inside and was helpless as Fourteen explored Cym like he belonged to him. The soft leather of Fourteen’s gloved hand caressed his spine, pressing Cym against him so tightly that Cym could barely breathe.
Cym didn’t care about breathing, he only cared about getting close enough to Fourteen to show him how he felt. He wanted to erase the memory of Fourteen’s face when he’d ordered him away, wanted to make him forget it had ever happened.
A throat cleared across the room.
They both turned to see Sterling pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed, looking very put out. “It’s clearly too late to avoid traumatizing me with things that can’t be unseen, but if it isn’t too much trouble, could we get out of here before more people show up?”
Fourteen narrowed his eyes menacingly.
Undaunted, Sterling continued. “I don’t care how scary you are. There are some things you just don’t do to a guy—like make out with his brother in front of him.”
Cym’s eyes flew to Fourteen’s face to discover—to his surprise—that he looked like he was trying not to laugh. Cym squeezed Fourteen’s arm, allowing himself to enjoy the muscles he kept hidden under his jacket, and eased back down from his tiptoes, noticing belatedly the throbbing of his poor, fucked up ankle.
Cym whispered hesitantly, “Later?”
Fourteen’s eyes were dark and predatory as they scanned his face. “Later.”
Fourteen’s rough voice sent a shiver down his spine, and Cym wrapped his good arm around himself, realizing he was still freezing.
