Morning came way too early. The sun peeked through the curtains and directly into Christian’s eyes. He tried rolling onto his side, but no matter which way he turned, somehow it was too bright. Finally, he grabbed a pillow and shoved it over his face. Much better. Except now he couldn’t breathe. With a frustrated huff, he pushed the pillow back off and opened his eyes. Ow.

It had been sometime in the wee hours of the night that he’d finally drifted off to sleep, but even then he hadn’t exactly rested. A series of dreams had plagued him, half-memory, half-fantasy. Maybe ‘plagued’ was too harsh of a word. He’d certainly enjoyed them, even if they had left him frustrated and unsatisfied.

Like the night before, the dream had taken place on the deck, overlooking the water. They’d both been completely naked, though, and while they were lying on the bare wood, it hadn’t been uncomfortable in the slightest. Jonah was above him, his hair hanging down in his face as he thrust into Christian with sharp snaps of his hips. Sweat and precome stained Christian’s skin as he pulled Jonah in for a deep, possessive kiss. He bit Jonah’s lower lip, then slid his tongue across the sensitive skin to soothe it as Jonah groaned. And then, just as he’d been about to come, he’d woken up.

His cock was still hard, so he reached down and wrapped his hand around it, stroking quickly. He bit his lip to keep from making too much noise. The last thing he needed was for Jonah to walk in on him like this.

Jonah.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he remembered the way Jonah had looked the night before—his hair mussed, chest heaving, the look of contentment on his face after they’d both come. He rolled his hips, thrusting into his hand and imagining it was Jonah’s mouth. Fuck, that mouth. Jonah had been generous with the use of his tongue, sliding it along Christian’s shaft, licking up the precum he’d leaked.

He stroked faster, his hips arching off the bed as he worked his cock in short, efficient movements that left him breathless. Jonah had steered clear of anything below his cock, but in Christian’s imagination, he kept going, teasing Christian’s balls before slicking a finger with his spit and trailing it down the cleft of his ass. As Imaginary Jonah pushed inside, Christian came, hot spurts landing on his abdomen and covering his hand. He worked himself through the aftershocks before finally collapsing back on the bed, his chest heaving as he worked to regain his breath.

After a quick shower, Christian dressed and walked out into the hallway. The house was quiet—far quieter than he expected it to be. He made his way to the kitchen, but there was still no sign of Jonah. There was, however, a covered plate on the bar and a note. Underneath the paper towel was a plate of blueberry pancakes. Christian picked up the note and unfolded it.

Christian,

Don’t worry. I haven’t done a runner. Check out front. My car’s still there and everything. I’m out on a hike around the loop. Should be back in a few hours. I would have woken you up, but you were sound asleep so I thought it best to leave you. There’s bacon in the microwave and syrup in the pantry. Help yourself. I’ll see you when I get back.

Jonah

Padding across the kitchen tile, Christian looked out the window. Sure enough, the white SUV was still parked in the drive, right next to his Prius. For some reason, it warmed his heart, seeing that. Knowing that Jonah really hadn’t run away. More than likely, he just needed some time to think. He’d seemed pretty muddled the night before, so the crisp autumn air would do him some good.

Rather than dwelling on what might be going through Jonah’s head, Christian assembled his breakfast—including coffee, which Jonah had started. He headed toward the back deck, then stopped. If he really wanted to enjoy his breakfast, instead of dwelling on the night before, he needed to pick a different place to eat. So he settled on the breakfast nook to the side of the kitchen.

Cutting his pancakes into tiny squares, Christian took a bite and paused mid-chew. It was… good. Really good. He hadn’t realized Jonah could cook. Granted, pancakes weren’t exactly a three course meal, but he’d expected that if Jonah had ever known how to cook, he didn’t need to anymore, what with all the personal chefs and on-set catering he probably had. The bacon was just as good—crispy without being too burned. It was perfect. Which meant Jonah was definitely cooking tonight.

He sipped at his coffee and turned to look outside. Grey clouds were rolling in, bringing with them the promise of an afternoon shower. If Jonah didn’t hurry back, he was going to be soaked. The river below reflected his mood almost too accurately, churning and whirling around the bend, and Christian couldn’t help but wonder if that was how Jonah was feeling, too.

Letting out a slow breath, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to process it. Not just what had happened on the deck, but afterward. What it meant for him. For them. He’d told Jonah it didn’t have to mean anything, and that was the truth, but if he were being honest with himself, he wanted it to. He’d wanted to mean something to Jonah since they’d first met. Only now, he actually had a shot at that happening.

He snorted. A shot? Their days together were numbered. Literally. The only shot they had was making the most of the rest of their week together, whether as friends or something more. He finished his pancakes and downed the rest of his coffee, then carried his plate back into the kitchen. It didn’t matter what he and Jonah did for the rest of the week, one thing was certain: if he didn’t get that second article done, he wasn’t going to have a job when he went back to the real world.

* * *

The light drizzle that had started a few hours earlier had turned into a full-blown rainstorm by early afternoon, and Jonah was still nowhere to be found. Christian grabbed his phone off the desk for the fourth time in about as many minutes, but still nothing. No missed calls, no texts. Letting out a frustrated growl, he slid the unlock and pulled up Jonah’s number, but it rang out.

“Hi, you’ve reached Jonah McGreggor. If this is business-related, please call my agent, Asp—”

Christian ended the call. Well, so much for Jonah not pulling a runner. Except, the cabin was a good mile and a half away from the neighbors, and too far from town to walk. With both cars here, there was no way he could have made it far.

Unless he’d gone tumbling down the cliff into the river. Christian’s heart raced at the thought. It was a stupid one, though. Jonah knew better than to get close to the drop off. He wouldn’t be that stupid. Unless he did it intentionally. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Those thoughts certainly weren’t helpful.

“Goddammit, Jonah. Where the fuck are you?” he muttered.

Well he couldn’t just sit around and do nothing, especially if there was a possibility Jonah was injured. He pushed away from the desk with a huff and started toward the front door, grabbing his jacket from the hall. Pulling the door open, he stormed out of the house and barreled right into—

“Chris? Jesus Christ, slow down. What’s wrong?”

Jonah’s hair was plastered to his forehead and his clothes clung to his body, but other than that, he looked completely unscathed.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? You left before I woke up this morning. It’s three in the afternoon. I thought you’d run away. Or died!” His fingers twitched, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to punch Jonah or pull him close.

“Oh.” Shifting from one foot to the other, Jonah slid his hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, I didn’t realize how late it was. And my phone died.”

Safe. He was safe. No matter how angry he was, that was all that mattered right now. Christian took a deep breath and stepped back inside. “I’ll get some towels for you to walk on. I don’t really feel like cleaning the floors.”

“Good idea. I’ll, uh, wait here.”

Thirty minutes later, the towels were in the wash and Jonah appeared into the living room. His hair was still wet but he smelled freshly showered, and he’d changed into a pair of grey pajama pants and a black top. Walking over to the armchair nearest the fireplace, he flopped down in it and curled his legs underneath him.

“So,” Christian said, drawing the word out. “You want to talk about it?”

“Hm?”

“It. Whatever you’re thinking or feeling. Whatever kept you out in the rain for hours. I just… I just want to know you’re okay.”

He’d felt so good about their encounter the night before, but now he wasn’t so certain. Maybe Jonah was having second thoughts. The note had helped reassure him, but maybe Jonah wasn’t ready to admit he felt weird about it.

“I’m…” Jonah ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It’s kind of a hard thing to realize you’re not straight when you’re in your late twenties. I just… I don’t get it. You always hear about people coming out and saying they always knew they were gay or bi or whatever. How did I miss that?”

That wasn’t necessarily what Christian was expecting, but he really should have seen it coming. Jonah had gone his entire life thinking he was straight, and now he wasn’t. It was a huge thing to adjust to.

“The easiest answer to that is compulsory heterosexuality,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, look at where we grew up. Look at what our expectations were. Well… not so much mine. My mom never had expectations of anyone except her dealer. Anyway, not the point. The point is, you were always just sort of put on that track and expected to stay on it.”

Jonah shook his head. “But my parents aren’t homophobes.”

“I never said they were. But any time they talked about you bringing someone home, did they ever contemplate you bringing a guy?”

“No.”

“And when you moved to Hollywood and your agent started setting you up with all these women, did she ever ask if you would rather be set up with men?”

“No.”

“And—”

“Okay,” Jonah said, wrapping his arms around himself. “I get it. No one ever presented the option. But why was it different with you? Why did you get to know something about yourself at a young age that I didn’t get to know about me?”

There was no accusation in his voice, only pain. Pain that Christian knew he couldn’t take away. He sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t know why it was different with me. Maybe because I don’t like women at all. Maybe it was easier to bury that part of yourself because you could be just as happy with a woman as you could a man. I wish I had a better answer for you, but I don’t.”

Jonah nodded slowly, shifting again in his chair. “I think… there was someone. Once. Someone I wanted.”

Jealousy stirred in Christian’s chest, but he tamped it down. Jonah didn’t need that right now. “Who was he?”

“He was in one of my very first acting classes. His name was Samuel and he was gorgeous.” He laughed without amusement. “I thought I just wanted to be his friend.”

“Oh trust me, that can still be confusing sometimes. Did you um… did you ever think about doing stuff with him?”

Looking up, Jonah met his eyes and nodded.

“Do you want to do that stuff with me?”

“Yes,” Jonah whispered.

The tight band that seemed to be squeezing his chest eased, and Christian finally let out a breath. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Jonah had said no. Climbing out of his chair, he walked over and knelt down in front of Jonah. He reached up to cup his cheek and guided him down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Are you going to think of him?” Christian asked, then wished he hadn’t.

Jonah just smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth. “No. He was a long time ago. You’re right here. When we do this, I’m only going to be thinking about you.”