Nate had been angry and hurt. Then he’d opened the door to the interview room and seen Miguel sitting there, shoulders slumped, his normally bright eyes desolate. Alone and hopeless. And Nate’s anger had transferred to the jerks who had brought Miguel in for questioning. He also realized he’d been wrong before. Miguel wasn’t a river, he was the sun. He had a warmth Nate was drawn to almost without thought, the way plants move as the sun moves during the day, how cats and dogs seek elusive rays of warmth when sunshine sneaks inside between blinds and through gaps in curtains.

He’d known why Miguel hadn’t said where he’d spent the night. Still, the reason stung. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Did it mean that little? Nate didn’t think so; regardless of his personal failings, he was generally pretty aware of other people’s feelings. But Miguel couldn’t know, could he? That Nate could give a rat’s ass what people thought about him. When he’d laid eyes on Miguel in that shitty room, seen him try to hide his fear and hopelessness, he’d known the man had only been trying to protect him.

What a fucking mess, to use his boss’s favorite word. Nate had promised Klay that he wouldn’t do anything rash when he went to spring Miguel. The whole process still took a ridiculous amount of time, and the longer it took the angrier Nate got. But finally a uniformed officer (neither of the two who had brought Miguel in) led him to the room. At least they hadn’t handcuffed him—although the door had been locked, a possible violation of Miguel’s rights; he was being questioned, not arrested for any crime. And he had come with the officers willingly.

Nate was pretty sure he was one short step away from falling in love with Miguel Ramirez. Not that Nate exactly knew what love felt like, but he was sure he was very close to it. He felt much like he had when he’d decided to join the Feds. He’d never questioned his choice of careers; he’d known immediately that it was the right path for him. Boom, done. Never looked back, no regrets.

A little voice warned him that Miguel wasn’t going to make it easy. Nate was going to have to work hard for his trust. Nate didn’t know Miguel’s history, what in his past made him fine with giving his body away but wary of his heart. Whatever it was, Nate was going to find a way to work around it. He would prove to Miguel that he was worthy.

 

It had been twenty-four hours since the last time Nate pulled into the carport with Miguel in the passenger seat. Life couldn’t have felt more different. Nate couldn’t have felt more alive, more aware of himself. Not only sexually. He felt more… aware of himself as a person. He’d been with Miguel one night, and his life was forever changed.

Unlocking the side door and letting Miguel inside before locking the door behind himself, he tossed his car keys into the little ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter. Miguel continued down the hallway toward the other side of the house. Nate’s eyes were drawn to his butt. It was difficult not to appreciate. Miguel had a nice curve to his back where it met up with his firm backside. It had felt good in Nate’s hands last night and against him again this morning in the shower. He wanted to feel it again.

The sound of the shower turning on drifted out through the open bedroom door. Stripping off his suit, he debated taking the time to hang it up before he helped Miguel shower. In the end he hung it up; it was his favorite, Armani, and even on discount had put Nate back a couple thousand dollars. Chances were he’d be too distracted later… hopefully.

“Did you change your mind?” Miguel called out over the thrum of the water.

Hell no.

Nate slid the shower enclosure aside so he could step in. Even though it was warm out and Nate didn’t have air conditioning, Miguel had the water turned on as hot as he could stand, and steam billowed out, filling the small stall.

Miguel stood directly under the spray, the water pounding against his head and shoulders, hands against the wall for support. Nate tucked himself in behind him again, letting himself revel momentarily in sensation. This shower wasn’t about him, it was about Miguel feeing clean and untouched by lies or the stink of fear. Nate grabbed the shower gel and squirted some into his palm. Miguel waited.

He started with Miguel’s back and chest. He couldn’t help but become aroused, but he made certain he didn’t press against his lover. Kneeling, Nate squirted more gel into his hand and soaped up and down Miguel’s strong legs, between them, and along his groin. Miguel was semi aroused.

Nate stood and turned Miguel so the spray would rinse the soap off his back. Then he did the same with Miguel’s chest, rubbing the gel in, massaging and caressing his skin. Nate couldn’t help but flick a nipple; it was right there, a darker shade of brown than the rest of Miguel’s skin, peaked with awareness. Miguel let out a whimper and opened his eyes.

Every ridiculous, overly dramatic romantic description Nate had ever heard or read ran through his mind. He’d been privately derisive of people who used flowery language to describe their lovers. Yet describing Miguel’s eyes as inviting green pools that he wanted to swim in didn’t seem far from the truth.

He’d literally spent forty hours with Miguel, yet he felt like they connected on a level Nate had never experienced. Nate had never been one to overthink his solitary state. He liked being alone much of the time. When he’d dated or tried to date in the past, it had been out of a sense of duty. That he should date, that it was time. Whatever.

The problem, he knew now with a startling awareness, was that none of those people had been Miguel Ramirez.

He rubbed shampoo into Miguel’s scalp, massaging along the top and back of his skull and then his neck. Miguel sagged against him with a groan. Nate didn’t let him fall. Not now, not ever. If it was in Nate’s power to keep Miguel from falling, he would. If he couldn’t, Nate would catch him.

Turning the water off before it ran cold, Nate opened the door and grabbed a towel. Wordlessly, he toweled Miguel off as best he could before drying himself. Miguel wandered out of the bathroom and over to Nate’s bed, which was still messy from the night before. He lay down, pulling the sheet over himself, patting the mattress in invitation. One Nate did not turn down.

They lay face to face, and Miguel reached a hand out to trace Nate’s jaw. “Where did you come from?”

Nate knew Miguel meant it figuratively, but still he answered, “New Jersey.”

“Dumbass.” He squinted at Nate. “Really? New Jersey?”

“Yep. Went to Princeton on a scholarship, was recruited by the Feds, decided it was the right place for me. Moved to Virginia for a few years, and moved here a year ago.”

“Huh.”

“What about you?”

“Spokane—it’s in eastern Washington. I came here after a bad breakup.”

“Yeah? What happened? Do you mind me asking?”

Miguel sighed. “I really don’t want to bring my ex into bed with us, but I guess there is no other, better time. But I don’t want to talk about him after this.” Nate nodded his understanding. “I met him at my first real mechanic job. He was bringing his car in, one thing led to another, and soon enough we were dating and I moved in with him.

“Sadly, it’s a pretty typical story. Justin ended up being super controlling, and before I realized it, he’d alienated me from all my friends. Convinced me to get a different job because the first place ‘didn’t treat me right,’ had me on his bank account so he could monitor my purchases—although he claimed it was so I never had to worry about money. He ended up controlling everything about my life. And yeah, he hit me a couple times. When I got up the balls to leave him, he ruined my life. He was a cop with friends in high places. In the end I bought a ticket that got me as far as Skagit and then crossed my fingers he would never come looking for me.”

“Has he?” Nate wanted to kill this Justin person.

“Not as far as I know. Let’s talk about something else.” To emphasize his point, Miguel ran his hand across Nate’s back and down to his butt, bringing him tightly against Miguel. It was tantalizing having Miguel’s fingers so close to his ass, pulling his crease slightly apart. Nate felt his penis swell, pushing against Miguel’s abdomen. “Like that, do you? I wonder, what else do you like?”

Miguel’s eyes bored into Nate’s. Letting go of his ass, which Nate immediately missed, Miguel reached between them and grasped Nate’s erection. It felt good. He plumped further in Miguel’s grip and knew he’d dribbled a little precome. Miguel smiled a naughty smile, lifted his hand away, and licked his fingers. Nate pulsed again and let out a whimper.

“I think we’re going to need to do something about this. Next time we’ll go slow.”

Miguel pushed Nate onto his back and leaned over him, latching his hot mouth onto Nate’s nipple. At the same time, he pumped Nate’s rock-hard, now-painful erection. Miguel sucked hard on Nate’s nipple, and Nate pressed his head into the pillow, helplessly arching his back, thrusting his hips up into Miguel’s strong hand. It was hard to keep track of where Miguel’s fingers were, but Nate knew when Miguel pumped again and then let go, trailing his hand down between Nate’s legs, where work-roughened fingers began to caress his balls and farther back, the small circle of his anus. Miguel pressed against the sensitive circle of muscle, and the tip of his finger slipped inside Nate.

Letting go of Nate’s nipple, Miguel dragged his lips down Nate’s stomach to lick his weeping erection. A pool of precome cooled on his belly, and Miguel ran his hand through it, spreading it across Nate’s chest.

“I like you messy, Fed.”

All Nate could do was groan and pump his hips, begging for more, for harder, for wet and hot. Oh, fucking, fuck, Miguel pushed his finger in just a little farther and brought his mouth down onto the head of Nate’s cock at the same time, sucking hard. Nate erupted into his hot mouth. He’d never come so hard in his life; he must have forgotten to breathe for a moment, because when he surfaced he was lightheaded.

“Can I come on you?” Miguel whispered against Nate’s ear. Nate nodded, dazed from emptying himself. Miguel kneeled between Nate’s legs, grabbed his own cock, which was leaking a stream of precome, and pumped just two or three times before he shot over Nate’s stomach and chest.

“Fuuuck,” Miguel groaned before collapsing half on, half off of Nate, smearing their come together. They fell into a light doze, pressed against each other.

“We need another shower,” Nate observed when he could form words. He was uncertain how much time had passed, but the shadows had shifted on his bedroom wall.

“Mmm, in a sec. I bet I can make you come again; might as well conserve water.” Miguel dragged a finger up Nate’s semi-soft penis. It twitched. Nate watched with fascination as Miguel continued his soft caresses and he felt himself reacting. For someone who had minimal sexual experience, it was like having a door suddenly opened wide.

Had he been fooling himself all this time or merely oblivious to what his body truly wanted? Nate supposed it was the latter. He was never one to try to avoid truths, no matter how difficult, whether about himself or others.

Miguel pinched him. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry.” He smiled at the gorgeous man in his bed. “Wondering how I’d gone this long without knowing all… this.” He waved a hand generally.

Miguel quit stroking him.

“Don’t stop, please.”

He started up again. “There’s lots of reasons. No one is the same as someone else. We all judge ourselves harshly, using the light of someone else’s fire. You can only use your own experience. What I mean is, uh. Look, I’ve never been ashamed or anything of my sexuality. I knew early I was bi, but I was also exposed to a lot of different people from when I was very young. I knew there was more out there than the milk and vanilla wafers society was selling.”

“I guess.”

“You seem okay with it. I mean, you don’t seem to be freaking out about hot man sex?”

Nate rolled over so they were face to face. “Hell no. This feels more right than anything I’ve ever done before. It’s not that I never looked at guys before, but I was never motivated to act before. I—” he pointed at himself, “—think you—” at Miguel, “—are hot, sexy, and probably more than I can handle, but I don’t want to stop.”

A wicked smile crossed Miguel’s face. “Good. Later, we should probably watch some more videos.”

“You mean porn.”

“Porn… videos, yeah. Yeah, you’ll get an idea of what you like, what you might want to try.”

“What about you?”

Miguel chuckled from deep in his belly. “There’s not much I haven’t tried, just for the sake of trying. In the end, though, I’m a guy. I like sex, I like to come, and I like to touch. A lot. I’m simple.”

If Miguel thought he was simple, well, he’d been selling himself short for far too long. Nate didn’t know him that well… yet. However, the man was anything but simple. He slung a leg over the top of Miguel’s thigh, bringing them closer. Miguel continued to stroke Nate. He was getting harder and knew he was going to come, again.

This time he could trace its origins; the spark started from the bottom of his spine and spread like fireworks. The slow kind, where you watch and wonder if it’s ever going to reach the apex of its flight. Then it finally does, and even though you were waiting for it, you’re still surprised by its beauty, by the way the tracers fall delicately, each describing an arc but leaving nothing behind.

“You’re beautiful.”

Miguel’s voice startled Nate. He’d been lost in the languid echo of orgasm. Opening his eyes to find deep green ones staring back, Nate frowned. “I’m not.”

“Pretty sure you aren’t the one looking.”

“Yeah, at seven million freckles, skin pale enough to cause serious glare in the sunlight, red hair that rivals fire engines.”

“Mmmm. You’ve got it all wrong.” Miguel traced a finger across Nate’s cheek. “You’re a secret. Yeah, you’ve got cop face. But when you smile, when you let go… you light up a room. You light me up.”

“Huh.”

“When I saw you that night at Buck’s wedding?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d just sworn off men.”

“How’s that going for you?” Now Nate grinned.

Miguel traced his lips, “That. That smile is outrageous. I seem to have fallen off the wagon. I like it down here.”

Nate tried to push the perilous thought aside, but like any noxious weed it refused to be ignored: how long would it be before Miguel got bored with a redheaded freak from Jersey?

The doorbell rang, interrupting his derailing train of thought.

“The fuck?” Miguel started to leap out of bed, but Nate held him back with a hand.

“You get in the shower; I’ll answer the door.” Miguel opened his mouth. “Don’t argue. I’ll take care of whoever it is.”

As quickly as he could, Nate threw on a pair of sweats and old sweatshirt. There was no way he didn’t smell like sex, but maybe he was a little proud of that. With a smile plastered on his face, Nate opened his front door to find the grim faces of Buck and Joey Swanfeldt-James, or whatever they had finally decided on.

Nate greeted the two men. “Come in, make yourselves comfortable.”