Chapter Twenty Two
Shannon
Dallas had been cold, wet, and dreary for the past week. So when they climbed into bed the night before, Shannon didn’t even think to close the curtains. The bright morning sun pouring through the window had him pulling the covers over his head to block the light. Rory shifted, scooting closer and draping an arm over his stomach. Sighing, Shannon smiled, happy to have his lover home and back in his bed. He could tell the previous day when Rory had walked into his apartment that his time in Washington had been difficult. Usually polished and pristine when on the job, Rory’s suit was wrinkled, his tie hanging loose around his neck. And while Shannon dug the two-day-old scruff and finger-combed hair, he missed the smile his lover usually wore when he walked into his apartment.
Sprinting over to the door, he’d jumped Rory before he could set down his duffle, wrapping his legs around Rory’s waist. “God, I missed you.” They kissed, Shannon eager to drag Rory into the bedroom and show him just how much he was missed. But Rory was dog-tired and distant. He couldn’t blame the man; after all, Shannon had spent years living in the shadow of Bruce Pearson. He knew firsthand how volatile and condescending the attorney was. Still, there was something in Rory’s eyes that worried him. “Baby, you okay? What happened? You have to tell me.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Rory reached for him, pulling him close and sighing. It wasn’t an, “I’m happy to see you” sigh, or an “I’m exhausted, and it’s been a long couple of days” sigh. No, the noise Rory made was more resigned, finite. Leaning back, he held Shannon’s face, thumbs running over his cheeks before leaning in for a kiss. “I missed you, babe.”
“I missed you too.” Shannon melted against him, loving the feeling of Rory’s arms wrapped around him.
“Is that lasagna I smell?” Rory’s tone was jovial and he sounded more like himself.
Grinning, Shannon led him to the stove. “Why yes, yes it is.” It was Rory’s favorite, and he made it a couple of times a month. While Rory loved the meal, Shannon always looked forward to dessert, which usually consisted of him butt-ass naked and spread out on the dining table while Rory pounded him until he screamed. Who knew tomato sauce was an aphrodisiac?
There was no dinner-table sex last night, though. Instead, they showered together before crawling into bed, Rory hesitant to tell Shannon about what happened in Washington. It was like pulling teeth, but he persisted—he had to know what happened, what they found at Bruce’s condo and what Bruce might have told Rory and Rand about him. Did the attorney with a key to the gates of hell make it sound like Shannon had asked for it, or enjoyed it? And if he did, did Rory, Rand, and Connie believe the sadistic liar? No, that wasn’t possible. “Please, baby, tell me.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rory leaned back against the headboard, still not immediately answering Shannon when prodded. “He had a box, babe. A box full of pictures of all the guys on the board back at the station, including you.” Turning to look at him, Rory reached for his hand, grasping Shannon’s fingers tight. “There was one of you, sitting on the bed, your back…” Rory shuddered, eyes losing focus, and Shannon tried to pull his hand away, but Rory held tight.
“Oh God…that…that’s all you’re gonna see now when you look at me.” Tears stung his eyes, the pain in his chest so sudden and gripping that he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think Bruce would have kept that picture, or any pictures for that matter, of him once he’d escaped. The one Rory spoke of was an image taken at the lowest point in his life: when Shannon was considering suicide as an option if it would stop the fear and pain he dealt with on a daily basis. It was an aspect of his time with Bruce that he’d not shared the night he opened up to the three of them about his past in Washington.
Rory held tight, arms around him until he stopped trying to climb out of the bed, until he stopped shaking. Hands so gentle and assured, Rory coaxed him, pushing and pulling until Shannon straddled his lap, lifting his chin with a finger. “Look at me, babe, and hear me. I love you, every damn part of you. What I see when I look at you is a survivor, a lover, a young man that faced the devil and lived to tell the tale. Once a boy that blindly trusted a predator and paid the price, and yet, you still grew into a beautiful, kind, loving soul when you could have easily become a monster like him. I love you, Shannon Dupree, all of you, even the ugly parts.”
Smiling so wide his face hurt, Shannon tried damn hard to attack Rory. Kissing, biting, grabbing the hem of Rory’s shirt to lift it over his head. “Hey, listen,” Rory stilled him, hands on his hips. “This isn’t about sex for me, Shan, our relationship is so much more than that. But if what you need right now is for me to make love to you, I will. But I’d rather just hold you, babe. Have you fall asleep in my arms and then wake up in the morning with you still there.”
“Rory,” he whispered, climbing off his lap and settling on the bed beside him. “You’ll never stop amazing me, will you?”
Smiling, Rory kissed him. “Hope not.” They lay in the dark, holding on to one another while they talked. Rory gave him more details about what happened in Washington over the past couple of days, but Shannon felt like he was holding something back. While he wanted to know every detail, he could also understand Rory’s need to shield him and protect him. That was what you did for someone you loved. Shannon was still navigating the ins and outs of his relationship with Rory, having never been on equal footing with a partner or lover before.
It occurred to him then that he’d not only been mortified that Rory had seen the photos cataloging the abuse Bruce had put him through, Rand had seen them as well. Would the detective be able to brush off the pictures as Rory obviously had? See Shannon as the man he was presently, not the scared, confused and gullible teenager he was back then?
Refusing to think about the day before for another second, he rolled over and lifted his hand to trace the incline of Rory’s nose. Running a finger over his lips, then his eyelids, he chuckled when Rory blinked one eye open, grinning at him lazily. “Morning, beautiful.”
“Hey, I was considering breakfast in bed, but then I remembered you saying you wanted to wake up with me in your arms.” He kissed the tip of Rory’s nose, giggling when Rory tickled his ribs before pulling him close.
“No rush, I’d rather lie here with you for a little while.” When they kissed again it was with more passion and promise, Rory rolling their bodies until he was on top, sliding his knees under Shannon’s legs. “What do you say to working up an appetite before breakfast?”
The way the man looked at him, green eyes alight with desire, was such a fucking turn on. This was the Rory he knew, his Rory, the man that curled his toes with just a glance. “There you are,” he smiled up at Rory, wrapping his legs around his waist.
They made love the first time before winding up in the bathroom to clean up, which led to Rory rimming him almost to the point of orgasm. Hands braced against the wall, head resting on Rory’s shoulder they made love a second time, Shannon crying out as he came. They’d both been tested and, when the tests came back negative, made a conscious decision to stop using condoms. It had taken their sex life to another level—being able to feel Rory’s skin inside his body was something he’d never shared with another man.
Dressed in shorts and tank tops, they made banana pancakes for breakfast, drinking coffee, eating and talking for another hour before Rory went off in search of his phone while Shannon washed the dishes.
Once the kitchen was clean, he went and found Rory in the bedroom, clean-shaven and dressed in one of the suits he kept in Shannon’s closet. He’d hoped to have his man home for at least one day, but he knew Rory had a job to do, so he tamped down the disappointment and crossed the room. “Aw man, I was liking the scruff.” He came up behind Rory, reaching around and tying his tie, winking at him.
Turning, Rory slid his arms around his waist, kissing his throat then his chin. “Yeah, you like the feel of my whiskers against your ass cheeks while I fuck that pretty hole with my tongue?” Waggling his eyebrows, Rory slid his tongue along the seam of his lips, teasing but not quite kissing.
“Holy fuck.” Shannon let his head roll to the side, loving the feel of Rory’s mouth on his neck. “You have five seconds to either stop doing that or get naked and fuck me again, Agent.”
Rory growled, fingers digging into his hips, teeth nipping the spot on Shannon’s neck that drove him wild. “As tempting as that sounds, I have to go into work for a few hours. Raincheck?”
“Of course,” Shannon purred, loving the flash of heat he saw in Rory’s eyes.
Once Rory was out the door, with nothing else to do, Shannon headed downstairs to the studio. It had been far too long since he’d danced freely, no students, no expectations, just him and the music. Dance had been an escape for him as a child, a place he could go and disconnect from the world, from life, and from his emotionally barren parents. As he grew up his love only deepened. When he’d left Washington and fled to Austin, he was in a very dark place—no longer suicidal, but broken and scarred, unsure of himself. Sex helped for a while, a short while. But it was meeting Taylor and having the positive influence of someone that loved him unconditionally in his life that reminded him that there was something he loved deeply as well: dancing.
Enya serenading him, Shannon danced until his muscles ached and his head was clear, not stopping until the jingle of the bell over the front door rang out. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was eleven—time for his three-day-a-week Mommy and Me class. The next time he looked at the clock, it was going on seven and his last class was leaving. Locking up and heading upstairs, he was surprised to find his apartment dark. When Rory left that morning, he said he only had to work for a few hours. Almost nine hours later, he thought surely Rory would be waiting for him. Flipping on the kitchen light, Shannon grabbed his cell from the cabinet where he’d left it charging and saw a missed call from Rory as well as two texts.
Babe: Hey sexy, I’m going to be here longer than I thought. We’re interviewing a witness this afternoon at 4 so I should be there around 6. Miss you.
The second text came in just after five p.m.
Babe: FML. The witness isn’t here yet. His flight was delayed and now he’s stuck in rush hour traffic. I’ll be home as soon as I can, but it might be late. Don’t wait up if you’re tired. Love you.
Shannon typed out a quick response telling Rory he understood, and he’d see him when he got there, ending with Love you too. It wasn’t the first time Rory had been late, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. The downside to falling for an FBI agent was long nights spent at home alone and extended, unplanned trips at the drop of a hat. But if he got to call Rory his, got to be loved by the man, who was he to complain?
Throwing together a salad, he relaxed on the couch to catch up on American Horror Story; he was three episodes behind. He wound up passing out halfway through the second episode, waking when he heard Rory climbing the stairs. Shannon could hear the knob jiggle, and he shook his head, smiling. “Babe, where did you leave your key this time?” he called out, walking over and swinging the door open. But it wasn’t Rory standing on his welcome mat.