That morning was no different from the others.
Until a knock on the door cut through his sleepy thoughts.
James didn’t bother getting up. It was probably the staff. He wasn’t hungry.
But the knocking didn’t stop.
When it became louder, James sighed, dragged himself out of bed and padded toward the door, rubbing at his eyes.
He opened the door and froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Ryan stood on the other side, tall and larger than life, his hands in the pockets of his dark, thick jacket. Ryan’s jaw was set, his face difficult to read as his green eyes roamed all over James. That made him realize that he was wearing only a pair of gray boxers.
“You look terrible.” Ryan stepped into the room and shut the door.
“Thanks,” James said when he found his voice. It was scratchy, as if from lack of use. Come to think of it, when was the last time he’d spoken to anyone? He crossed his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits to resist the almost overwhelming urge to jump onto Ryan and wrap around him like an octopus. “What are you doing here?” His voice came out hostile.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He took his jacket off and threw it onto the couch. “We were worried. Luke has been missing for ten days.”
James blinked. “Ten days?”
Ryan stared at him. “You didn’t know?”
Frowning, James shook his head. He knew Luke had been gone for a while, but it hadn’t seemed that long. Shit. When had he lost his grip on reality?
“Your father was worried about you. I can now see why.”
“Dad called you?” he said numbly.
“Yes,” Ryan said, stalking over. He took James’s shoulders in his hands, gripping them hard. “What the fuck, Jamie?”
Breathing shallowly, James lifted his chin. Ryan smelled of winter and crisp, fresh air and Ryan. It made him dizzy, but at the same time his mind felt sharper than it had felt in forever. The room seemed sharper, brighter. He felt more like himself, as if he had been sleeping for a long time and suddenly woke up to this strange world that didn’t make much sense. “What?” he said defensively.
“What?” Ryan repeated. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’ve lost at least ten pounds.”
Had he?
James shrugged. “I’m fine. I guess I’m just not a fan of Russian cuisine.”
“Bullshit,” Ryan said, gripping his chin and forcing him to look him in the eye. His fingers were icy cold. “Jamie,” he said, softer this time, a strange expression on his face. “It’s me. Talk to me.”
James swallowed, feeling more pathetic than ever. He hated how Ryan kept calling him Jamie. He didn’t feel like Jamie. Jamie was someone happier, someone who belonged. Jamie was Ryan’s. He wasn’t Ryan’s. He never had been.
He glared at Ryan. “Go back to London. I told you: you don’t need to worry about my stupid feelings anymore. I’m not your concern.”
Anger flickered across Ryan’s face. “You know what’s stupid? That you think you aren’t my concern. You’ll stop being my concern when I’m dead.”
They glowered at each other, breathing hard.
“You know what’s really stupid?” James bit off. “That you think I want to be your concern. Get a goddamn puppy if you want something to stroke your hero complex. Or even better—knock Hannah up! That way you’ll have something to care for. You don’t need me for that—”
Ryan slammed their mouths together. It was such a shock to Jamie’s system after months of nothing that a pitiful sound left his throat. He could only stand, soaking it in as Ryan took, and took, and took, an unrestrained, brutal kiss full of burning need. It turned Jamie’s knees into a jelly. Ryan bit at his lip possessively, causing Jamie to moan, lean forward, demand more. His blood was pounding as Ryan devoured his mouth with starved, rough kisses, and yet he couldn’t fully believe this was really happening, waiting for the blow he was certain would come—for Ryan to step back, say it was a mistake, that he didn’t want Jamie that way. But instead, Ryan twisted his fingers in his hair and thrust his tongue halfway down his throat, kissing him brutally, his desire unmistakable as he pulled Jamie’s hips against his hard cock.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan said hoarsely, nibbling along Jamie’s jawline, his hands stroking along Jamie’s back and then slipping into his boxers to grip his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said, pushing Jamie toward the bed.
Even through his desire-hazed mind, Jamie knew what Ryan was apologizing for: this still didn’t mean anything. But at the moment, with Ryan’s scent and body all over him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted him, he wanted him, he missed him—missed him so much he wanted to crawl inside him or put Ryan inside himself, glue him to himself.
Jamie moaned when Ryan pushed him back on the bed and crawled on top of him, covering his face and neck with urgent, wet, open-mouthed kisses, sucking hickeys into his skin. “Jamie,” Ryan said, his name sounding like a prayer. “Jamie,” he said again, trailing his parted lips down Jamie’s chest. “Jamie,” he mumbled into James’s belly-button, his voice thick and barely recognizable. “Baby.” He bit and licked at Jamie’s hipbone, making him jerk and thrash under Ryan with soft, broken moans. He didn’t even notice Ryan take his boxers off; he realized that he was naked only when Ryan spread his legs and stopped to stare at Jamie’s groin.