Jamie came awake suddenly, but it wasn’t with the jump of anxiety that often sent him tumbling from the couch. Instead, he smiled and turned his face to the warm light filtering through the curtains, revelling in the strong arms clamped around his waist. Marc’s arms.

Fuck. Jamie opened his eyes and shifted gingerly, half-expecting to find Marc wide-awake and watching over him, but Marc was still asleep and his only reaction to Jamie’s wriggling was to roll onto his back.

It was fascinating to see Marc so peaceful—no frown ceasing his forehead or concern clouding his eyes. Marc was a man who lived to take care of anyone lucky enough to cross his path, and sleeping when Jamie so desperately wanted him awake was probably the most selfish thing he’d ever done. Not like you. Jamie’s fingers trembled as they hovered over Marc’s bare chest, like they believed as much as he did that he had no right to touch Marc—no right to absorb the warmth of his body still pressed tight against Jamie, even though he’d rolled over.

But I do have the right . . . because he gave it to me.

Jamie betrayed the devil and laid his palm over Marc’s heart, letting each beat seep into him and calm him. Anxiety stopped at the gates. Jamie’s gaze drifted over the rest of Marc’s body, taking in the nicks and marks he hadn’t had time to pay attention to before. Most were random, but the scar on Marc’s hip was unmistakable. Jamie traced it with his fingertip and tried to picture the bullet blasting through Marc’s flesh and bone. The wound was small, and had carved a mere fragment out of Marc’s hip, but the sight of it, both real and in Jamie’s imagination, made him shudder all the same.

He tore his eyes away and moved down Marc’s body. At some point in the night, one of them had made a haphazard attempt to cover them with the blankets Jamie had stacked at the foot of his unused bed, but Jamie’s fidgeting had pushed them down. The temptation to wake Marc up with his mouth was strong, but Marc’s prosthesis caught his attention before he could reach for Marc’s cock.

He put it back on. That had never happened before, and they’d been naked around each other enough for Jamie to be fairly sure that any self-consciousness Marc might have felt about taking it off was long gone.

Jamie’s hands moved of their own accord to the suspension system that held Marc’s leg in place. The vacuum and cloth liners were simple enough to remove and he gently slid the prosthesis away from Marc’s stump, and set it carefully to one side.

He glanced back to find Marc awake and watching him through hooded, sleep-heavy eyes. “Shit, I thought you were asleep.”

“Evidently.” Marc sat up on his elbows, his expression unreadable. “And I was until you unclipped the pros and the metal against the sheets went straight through me.”

“What?”

Marc dragged the prosthesis towards him. To Jamie it made no sound, but given Marc’s wince, it was apparently like fingernails down a blackboard.

“Sorry,” Jamie said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I can’t believe I didn’t notice you taking it off, though. I punched a nurse who tried to do that once.”

“Seriously?”

“No, but I wanted to.”

“Erm . . . sorry?”

Marc laughed. “God, don’t be sorry. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to fall asleep with it on—I put it back on to make a cuppa a few hours ago. And I’m glad you took it off—it’s bad for the stump to wear it when I don’t need it.”

Jamie vaguely remembered Marc mentioning that before. He took the prosthesis while Marc cleaned up his stump with some wet wipes, and laid it on the carpet beside the bed. With that done, he turned his attention to the stump left behind, frowning at the reddened skin. “Is it sore now?”

“No more than usual.”

“Can I touch it?”

“If you like.”

Marc’s expression gave nothing away, and he lay back against the pillows as Jamie ran his fingers over the textured flesh. It felt much the same as it had the first time he’d done this—on his knees in the kitchen—but the surgery scars had faded since then to silvery lines, and Marc was far more active than he’d been back then. Running when the weather allowed, working out with his random collection of homemade equipment. And the air between them had shifted since then, so when Marc’s cock hardened in response to Jamie’s teasing touch, Jamie took him in his mouth without a second thought.

“Jesus!” Marc jerked violently, his hips canting up, driving his dick deeper down Jamie’s throat.

Jamie grinned around him and glanced up to find Marc watching him for the second time that morning, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Feeling devilish, Jamie flicked his tongue, and Marc’s head fell back, and he groaned, giving Jamie all the encouragement he needed to enjoy having a man’s cock in his mouth again. A cock he’d chosen to suck. And a man he had no choice but to love.

Jamie could’ve sucked Marc for hours, revelling in the way Marc trembled and moaned beneath him. The way he bucked and yelled out when Jamie hit a particularly sweet spot. Zac reckoned giving good head was a power trip, and perhaps he wasn’t wrong. Marc was the strongest man Jamie had ever known, and to see him in pieces, convulsing at the mercy of Jamie’s tongue, was fucking incredible. I want to make him come.

And for a while, it seemed that he wouldn’t have to wait long, but then Marc growled, seized Jamie’s shoulders, and yanked him up the bed to claim his mouth in a crazed kiss that sent shockwaves through Jamie’s already charged nerves.

“What do you want?” Jamie asked hoarsely. “You want me to ride you? ’Cause I think I was dreaming of that all night long.”

It wasn’t far from the truth. Marc had pretty much fucked them both into a coma the night before, and Jamie’s fantasies had continued long after they’d both fallen asleep. His subconscious had climbed all over Marc then, grinding on him, rocking down on him until they’d both yelled out, and waking to find that it was a likely reality? Yeah. Best high ever.

Jamie kissed Marc like a starving man, and straddled his waist as Marc reached for the lube one of them must’ve slept on. Then, teetering on the verge of desperation, Jamie impaled himself on Marc’s dick. The burning stretch was agonising without Marc’s care from the night before, but Jamie welcomed it, absorbed it, and let it merge with the mind-blowing pleasure that was fast robbing him of his senses.

In his dreams, he’d fucked Marc slowly, like Marc had him, drawing out every push and slide, every tortuous circle of his hips, until Marc begged him to let them both come. But it wasn’t going to happen that way now. What control Jamie had was fast ebbing away, and the crazy heat where he and Marc were joined sent him headlong into a frenzied fucking that he had no will to resist.

Beneath him, Marc thrashed his head from side to side, his hands balled into fists. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

His frustration made little sense to Jamie, but nothing did right now, and then he was coming—coming so hard he was sure his eyes would bleed. And Marc wasn’t far behind, releasing inside Jamie with a shout that curled Jamie’s toes.

Panting, Jamie collapsed on Marc’s chest. “That was insane.”

Marc’s reply was unintelligible.

Jamie forced his head up to look at him. “What?”

Marc exhaled a shaky breath and brought his hand to his chest, laying it over his heart like he was counting the beats. “You have no idea.”

The repeat of his earlier words caught Jamie’s orgasm-addled attention. He tilted his head to one side. “You didn’t like it?”

No. That wasn’t it—it couldn’t be. Jamie didn’t know much, but he knew a man enjoying a damn good fuck when he saw one.

Marc shook his head, confirming it. “Of course I liked it—you blew my bloody mind. I’m— I guess I’m not used to being stuck there at someone else’s mercy. I know I’ve tried too hard to let you control things, but that’s not how I usually fuck.”

Damn. Jamie shuddered. Could he have taken more? The greedy addict in him said yes, but the ache in the base of his spine protested, and there had been nothing missing from what had just happened. He lifted himself from Marc’s softening cock and rolled sideways, though he didn’t take his hands from Marc’s chest. “Was it tougher for you to give up control than you thought?”

“Yes and no.”

“Explain.”

Marc shrugged, though the faint shudders running through him remained. “Part of the reason I tried to force the issue in the beginning was because I kind of get off on the idea of you dominating me, but at the same time, the idea of being held down by anyone—even you—is fucking terrifying. Vanity aside, the worst thing about losing my leg was knowing that I’d be vulnerable for the rest of my life.”

Vulnerable wasn’t a word that Jamie had ever associated with Marc, but as they lay together in their cooling sweat, naked in Jamie’s clinically pristine bedroom, how vulnerable they both were hit Jamie like a truck. “Sorry I freaked out last night.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to see me like that.”

“You see me with a gristly stump for a leg.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

Jamie shook his head, though he could find no logical argument to voice out loud. “I’m embarrassed.”

“So am I.” Marc sat up. “I need to piss, which means I have to hop to your bathroom, or ask you to pass me my fake leg. And the hopping is more likely, unless I ask you to help me to the bog, because you were right to take the prosthesis off. What’s left of my leg hurts like a bitch.”

Marc hauled himself to the edge of the bed, clearly analysing the distance to the door and the furniture that lay in between, and perhaps whether his still-shaking arms could hold him. Fuck that. Jamie helped him stand and supported him to the bathroom door so he could use the sink to navigate the rest of the way on his own.

He turned his back while Marc relieved himself, only looking around when he heard the toilet flush. “Do you want a shower?”

“I could go for a bath if you’ll join me?”

How could Jamie refuse? He set the bath to run and fetched coffee while Marc waited, and then they lay together in the steamy water, talking about everything and nothing, until the real world called them back.

* * *

It was early afternoon by the time Marc forced himself to get dressed. They’d spent much of the morning rolling around Jamie’s bed—kissing, fucking, and everything that came in between—but eventually, Marc had to go home and get ready for work.

He didn’t fancy driving, and when Jamie insisted on walking him home, they took a detour to the river on the way. “I wish you didn’t have to work tonight.”

Marc cast a glance Jamie’s way as they ambled lazily along the waterside. “Yeah? Thought I’d worn you out.”

Jamie flushed, still taken aback by how a simple look from Marc could get him so hot under the collar. “You have. I just don’t feel like letting you go yet, and I’m hungry.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Food always tastes better when you’re around.”

Marc chuckled, but his humour didn’t last long before he fixed Jamie with a shrewd stare. “I’m going to talk to some people tonight. See if I can get you referred.”

Reality draped itself over Jamie like a cold, dreary rain cloud. “There’s probably no need. I feel good today.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jamie scowled and jerked away as Marc reached for him. “Don’t baby me. I’m fine.”

“I know you are right now, but you deserve to feel like that all the time. It won’t hurt to talk to someone who can help you get there.”

Put like that, Jamie had no sensible defence. He sighed and slipped his arm through Marc’s, slowing briefly to knock his head on Marc’s shoulder. “Sorry. I’m just scared of it. I read somewhere that the only way to get better from stuff like this is to face all the things that you’re afraid of. What if they make me roll in dust, or something?”

“What if they do? You’ve survived worse.”

“Stop being so logical.”

“Sorry,” Marc said, though he didn’t sound all that contrite. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Calling the library and arranging for them to come and collect a few boxes of your mum’s books. The antique man is coming to get the boxes in the hall on Tuesday, but I was thinking about the rest of the books . . .”

“Thinking what?” Marc pressed when Jamie trailed off.

“I was thinking that I could maybe take them to the community kitchen? There’s a lounge area where people hangout while they’re waiting for food parcels. There’s magazines and stuff, but they’re all shit gossip ones. It’d be good to put some real literature in there.”

“Does this mean you got offered the job in the kitchen?”

“Yeah. Sheila sent me an email this morning.”

“Are you going to take it?”

Jamie shrugged. “I might as well. I’m nearly done at your place, and no one else will hire me.”

“Your friend came looking for you, not the other way around. I’d say that was a pretty good indication that you have something they need.”

Stop running yourself down. Marc didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to—Jamie could read him. “Do you want me to give your key back when I’m done with upstairs?”

Marc stopped walking. “What?”

“Your key. I won’t need it after—”

Marc pressed his hand over Jamie’s mouth. “Jesus Christ, do you not listen to a word I say to you? I told you I fucking loved you last night, and I meant it. Why on earth would I want the key back?”

Jamie squirmed until Marc let him go. “Okay, okay. I’ll keep it. You don’t need to manhandle me.”

“No? I thought you liked that shit.”

“Not the point.” Jamie ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to fix it. “But I’ll keep the key. Maybe I’ll sneak up on you one night, eh?”

“I’m sorta hoping that you’ll already be there. You know you can stay at mine whenever you like, don’t you? Don’t ever be alone and scared in that flat if being at my house will help you feel better.”

That Marc knew how fucking terrified Jamie had been in a place he was meant to call home broke his heart. And he couldn’t deny that being in Marc’s house was a balm to his soul, even if his OCD had eventually followed him there. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m going to miss you tonight.”

Marc sighed. “I’ll miss you too, but I’ll be home before you know it, and you can always call if you need me. If I don’t answer, I’ll ring back as soon as I can.”

It had never occurred to Jamie to contact Marc at work. He pictured him elbow-deep in blood and guts, his phone blaring obnoxiously in his back pocket, and knew he’d never do it.

“Thank you,” he said again. “But I think I’ll be okay. There’s a meeting I can go to later, and I might go and see Sheila after. I can meet you for breakfast in the morning, though?”

Marc trailed to a stop and pulled Jamie close, hugging him tightly before kissing him like they were still all alone in Jamie’s bed. “It’s a date.”