Love for the Cold-Blooded (33 page)

What was with the
evil
, seriously. “Look, I know I fucked up. The companion thing, that was wrong. But I’m still the same person I always was. You do know me. And dude, that I didn’t tell you about being a minion? That doesn’t even count. Like you would have told me you were Silver Paladin?”

“Everyone knows I am Silver Paladin.”

“Not the point! But fine, imagine you were Mr. Liberty instead, or anyone with an actually
secret
secret identity. Would you have told me about your superhero alter ego? Fair warning, if you say yes, I’m not going to believe you.”

The look Nick gave him spoke of many things, but first and foremost of his disgust with Pat’s entire existence. “That’s a completely different thing.”

“It’s different from the thing where I impersonated a companion, yeah. It’s exactly the same as the thing where I didn’t tell you about being Sir Toby’s minion.”

“It is not the same at all! Mr. Liberty is a hero.”

“Not in my context,” Pat said, forcefully. “In my context, he’s a hoagie.”

Nick started the tiniest bit at the word, a hint of indignation tightening his mouth. Pat felt guilty immediately, but refused to give in. The term ‘hoagie’ was no worse than ‘villain’ or ‘evil minion’, and he had a point to make. “It’s a question of point of view, is what I’m saying. Challenger or villain, hoagie or superhero. Depending on where you’re standing, the entire vista shifts. You wouldn’t be mad at a superhero who didn’t reveal his secret identity as soon as he started dating, would you? So you can’t be mad at me for not telling you I’m a minion.”

It was clear that Pat’s words had reached their target; the rigidly controlled anger was fading from Nick’s stance, leaving behind a different kind of intensity. Nick was trying hard to understand. It was plain to see in the inquisitive angle of his eyebrows, the minute forward shift of his shoulders as he studied Pat’s face.

“And by the way, dude? You can stop calling me evil any time.”

The smile that flew over Nick’s face was no more than the subtlest curve of the lips, there and gone so quickly Pat would have missed it entirely if he hadn’t been watching so closely. “Oh? You’re not evil in your context, then?”

Seriously?

“You know I’m not. You know
me
.” It was too much, of a sudden. Pat’s voice thinned embarrassingly on the last word, and he broke off, shaking his head in frustration. Nick didn’t need to be told who Pat was. If he’d just open his eyes and see that…

There was nothing more to say. Pat had already said everything. He needed to get out of the kitchenette Nick had him backed into; needed to get away from Nick’s unrelenting stare. Needed to breathe.

Nick turned to the side to let Pat squeeze past, but grabbed his arm before he’d fully escaped into the living room. Pat froze, blinking down at the large hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Patrick West.” Nick spoke so quietly the words were hardly more than a soft exhalation. “Student. Swimmer. Fan of lurid supernatural romances, €linore, and BadMadRad. Casual gamer. Admirer of Jaguar, fictional warrior princesses, and soprano witch queens. Lover of historical buildings. Idealist who wants to build cities where people can live well. Owner of strong opinions he never hesitates to defend, no matter how obviously wrong. Quick to laugh. Spontaneous and unselfconscious, except when he thinks too much, or tries too hard. Talks too much, with hardly any filter between the brain and the mouth. Adaptable. Outgoing. Unreserved. Loud. Talented. Whole-hearted. Foolhardy. Stronger than he thinks. Wiser than he seems.”

When Nick trailed off, Pat remembered that he should breathe every once in a while, and gulped in a too-deep breath that left him slightly dizzy.

“I knew you were paying attention.” He hadn’t meant to whisper. It was just — Nick did know Pat, didn’t he? He really did. Pat would not have described himself that way; Pat didn’t see himself that way. But Nick did, and he was not wrong, for all that it was a different view of Pat than the one Pat himself usually worked with.

“I know you, too,” Pat blurted, breathless. “Nicholas Andersen, aka Silver Paladin. Brilliant engineer, inventor, and all-around tech geek. Lover of hypotheticals and logic puzzles. Focused and intense. More comfortable with machines than humans; uncertain of how to interact with people outside of familiar patterns and situations. Thoughtful and kind without noticing. Subtle, dry sense of humor. Passionate about the greater good, driven by the need to help, to use his advantages for everyone’s benefit. Alone in his own inner world. Serious and wound tight. Eager to learn, to know more, to experience new things. Scary smart. Courageous. Honest with himself as well as others. Observant. Open-minded and adaptable. Sweet.”

Nick said nothing for a long moment, and then cleared his throat carefully. “Sweet?”

It was almost hesitant, as though he might have misheard. Pat nodded decisively, because hell yes. “You bet, bro.”

“No one’s ever called me sweet before.”

“No one’s ever done a lot of things they should have with you.”

Pat didn’t mean it as innuendo — all he meant was that Nick should have been dragged out of his lab long ago, shown how to lighten up and have fun, how to escape his own drive and intensity a little from time to time. Apparently, everyone had always taken the man as seriously as he took himself, and that kind of thing wasn’t good for a person. So what if Nick was an obscenely rich genius who flew around as a superhero in his spare time? He was still just a guy, and someone should know to mock him when he was being ridiculous. To make him listen to good music and play video games and think outside of the box. To live a little.

That’s what Pat meant. From the way Nick’s eyes went deep and soft, it was obvious that wasn’t what he heard, though; not the only thing, at any rate.

His hand around Pat’s wrist was very warm. When he tugged Pat gently closer, Pat went willingly. “You’d better make up for lost time then, hadn’t you,” Nick murmured. He was so close his lips nearly brushed Pat’s as he spoke, and his gaze was dark with intent.

Pat licked his lips nervously; Nick’s gaze flicked to his mouth and lingered.

All Pat had to do to kiss him was lean forward the slightest bit. Nick was already tilting his head, and it would be so easy — so easy and so wonderful. Pat wanted to laugh with joy, wanted to — he’d thought, he’d feared —

A sudden, cold burst of clarity made Pat pull away. He exhaled shakily as he leaned into the cupboard at his back and looked down, biting his lip. Nick had frozen in place, his free hand large and warm on Pat’s hip.

They weren’t done talking yet. Pat wanted this so badly, wanted
Nick
so badly… and that was exactly why he had to get this right. He couldn’t risk any more secrets coming between them. “Nick, remember when I said the minion thing was a family matter?” His voice was thin and nervous, but there was no help for it. “Networking is a big thing with most challengers. There’s like a — a community, or whatever. I mean, most challengers are loners but there’s still unspoken laws and support structures and alliances. Being a minion is… I guess you could say it’s like an internship program for challengers’ kids and associates. My sisters and I have this rotation going where we take turns on minion duty, because —”

“What are you doing?” Nick was narrowing his eyes at him, frowning.

Contrariness, thy name is Nicholas.

Pat shoved at Nick’s chest to get some space. You couldn’t stare at someone with disgust when they were all up in your face. “Dude, remember how you were just all ‘you misled me’ and ‘I demand full disclosure’? This is me disclosing, so shut up and listen!”

“Not now, Patrick!” It wasn’t quite a shout, but it was close, and wow, that was some truly impressive scorching power the man had going on. “Tonight is about clearing the air, acknowledging past faults and reconnecting. It’s too early for full disclosure. We need to do this properly.”

Nick’s expression was stormy almost exactly the way it would have been if he’d been furious, but — something was off. Pat knew him well enough by now to realize that this wasn’t anger, but something else entirely. In fact, now that Pat looked closer, the set angle of his chin and the wideness of his eyes seemed almost wrenchingly vulnerable… far too open and bare. Pat kinda wanted to cover him up, except for how that was ridiculous because Nick was fully dressed in a fancy suit, jacket and all. He was even wearing a waistcoat. It really didn’t get any more covered up than that.

His fingers hurt. He glanced down at his hands dumbly, discovering he was clutching the edge of the countertop behind him with enough force to make it bite painfully into his flesh.

“Do you know what it’s been like, these past few weeks?” Nick’s voice was soft now, almost gentle. Pat was going to get emotional whiplash if this conversation went on for much longer.

“Yeah,” he managed to force out. “Yeah, I know exactly. It sucked big time, dude.”

Nick’s quiet laugh sounded as though it hurt. “Yes, it did. And that’s still too close, now.” Nick shifted, bringing a hand up to cup Pat’s neck, fingers curling around to his nape. The gesture felt familiar, possessive, and Pat couldn’t help but lean into it. “We need the chance to connect with each other again, to heal. To get to know each other better. And then… then, we’ll be ready to weather full disclosures, and whatever else the world wants to throw at us.”

“Sounds good in theory,” Pat said, softly. “But what if — just, if you’re going to hate me anyway then I don’t want to have to wait for it. That will just make it worse.”

Nick made a low rumbling sound as he contemplated this. His thumb began to trace absently over the sensitive skin just below Pat’s ear, a slow, gentle back and forth, as though he weren’t even aware he was doing it. “Tell me. Have you killed, raped, tortured, maimed, stalked, or traumatized anyone, or have you caused or allowed anyone else to do so by action or inaction, or do you plan on or anticipate doing so at any time in the future?”

There was an interlude of blank incomprehension as Pat’s brain attempted to parse this sentence. The task was made considerably more challenging by the fact Nick was still caressing his neck, the gentle persistence of his touch an absurd contrast to his words.

“What the fuck?” Pat managed at last. Astonishment and outrage battled to break through the fog of slow arousal. “Of course not! What do you think I —”

“Then it will be fine,” Nick said, with stony finality. “I won’t hate you for anything else. I’ve been told I already know the important things about you, anyway. Say, that you’re obnoxious, crass, abrasive, and rude, and that you really need a haircut. Also, how kind you are. How you draw people in. How much you care. How intelligent you —”

Pat wasn’t narcissistic or anything, but he loved hearing good things about himself. He didn’t get praised like this anywhere near often enough for him to be casual about it. So really, too bad he had no choice but to surge forward, grab Nick’s face with both hands, and kiss him.

Nick staggered slightly, but returned the kiss with enthusiasm. Pat steered him quickly to the couch, pushing the jacket off his shoulders to drop unheeded to the floor. The waistcoat followed in short order, Pat’s fingers as eager and fumbling on the buttons as though this were the first time they were touching. Nick cooperated with no prompting at all, and went down easily when Pat pushed him onto the cushions to scramble on top, knees on either side of Nick’s hips.

An odd, unexpected thrill went through Pat at having Nick pinned beneath him on his own couch, in his own home. Somehow, it made it more real… like Nick was an actual part of his life. Like he fit.

Nick was still talking, gasping out fragments of praise and insults. “Quick to catch on,” he gasped while Pat tasted the hollow of his throat. “Inappropriate,” was his comment when Pat shifted back to take in the sight of him, sprawled flushed and tousled and smiling over Pat’s too-small sofa, one leg spilling over and braced on the floor.

“You love that I’m inappropriate,” Pat managed before sinking into another kiss.

“Patrick,” Nick murmured against his mouth. Pat didn’t catch the rest; if Nick had wanted to have a conversation, he shouldn’t have been smoothing firm palms down Pat’s back, should he. And he definitely shouldn’t have been dipping beneath Pat’s jeans and boxers to cup his butt and haul him in tight. Damn, that teasing slide of hard heat against Pat’s cock and belly, the press of Nick’s thigh just there…

It wasn’t enough, though. Pat needed to get closer. He needed more of Nick —
everything
of Nick.

He tugged open Nick’s shirtfront with enough force that a button hit him in the arm, rebounding into the cushions to be lost forever. Trained abs bunched into a ridiculously perfect six-pack beneath Pat’s greedy touch, and he fumbled with Nick’s pants for a moment before giving up and simply sliding his hand inside. Heat and soft skin and coarse hair, and Nick trembled and gulped in air, head falling back against the sofa’s armrest. Yes, this was good. So good, curling his fingers around Nick to feel his warm weight; to press down firmly with the heel of his hand, the tip of Nick’s erection slipping wetly against his wrist.

Nick gave a small, strangled noise and arched into Pat’s touch. His cock lay along Pat’s hand and wrist, the flared head protruding red and swollen from his still-closed pants.

“Yeah,” Pat mumbled, nonsensically. He couldn’t get a real grip, but he found himself caught by the sight of his hand working slowly beneath the front of Nick’s pants, knuckles outlined against expensive wool. Even more beautiful was the sight of the flush climbing up Nick’s chest, visible in glimpses where the buttons of the shirt had come undone. His pulse was fluttering in his throat, and he closed his eyes as he swallowed, reaching out to curve one hand over Pat’s shoulder.

The sofa creaked as Pat shifted his weight to fold down.

Pressing the flat of his tongue against the exposed cap of his cock made Nick jerk like he’d been punched in the gut; licking delicately around the rim made him throw back his head with a strangled gasp. Pat was almost dizzy with the joy and the power of it. He could make Nick sound this way, move this way… and it was easy. All he had to do was, like, close his lips around the head of his cock and —