Jordan wasn’t going to win that competition anytime soon; that was for sure. Every time Damiano was taken away, he came undone embarrassingly fast, feeling caged and panicky, scared shitless that this would be the time they would finally give up and kill Damiano, and then Jordan would be alone, only him and the four walls and darkness.
Every time Damiano was thrown back into the cellar, Jordan felt almost dizzy with sheer relief. He fixed Damiano as well as he could given their lack of resources and the stubborn man’s refusal to talk about the injuries he’d sustained, and then he grabbed Damiano’s hand—and breathed.
When Damiano told him that it was night by his calculations, Jordan allowed himself to hope for some respite. Surely even bad guys had to sleep at night.
When several hours passed and no one came for Damiano, Jordan finally relaxed and tried to fall asleep.
But it was impossible.
It was miserably cold, the humidity making him shiver uncontrollably on the thin bedding that those assholes dropped into the cellar the last time they had brought Damiano. The bedding was better than nothing, but it wasn’t a high bar to clear.
Jordan wrapped his jacket around him as best as he could, but it wasn’t much help, considering how damp it was from the humidity.
Fuck it.
He sat up and shoved his bedding close to Damiano’s and snuggled up against him, ignoring the way the other man’s body went rigid.
“Are you under the impression that I’m a cuddler?” Damiano said. He sounded a mix of coldly amused and irritated.
“No,” Jordan said, squirming closer and throwing an arm around him. “But I don’t care. I have no intention of getting pneumonia and dying before we’re rescued. So suck it up. This is the smart thing to do. You know I’m right. Getting a cold would only make you weaker on top of those nasty bruises you’re sporting.”
“You’re extremely aggravating.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from you.” Jordan covered them both with his jacket, sighing in delight as he finally felt moderately warm for the first time since they were kidnapped. “Sleep. I won’t tell anyone that we cuddled under duress.” He tucked his face against Damiano’s bicep and closed his eyes. Warmth. Blessed, sweet warmth. It felt impossibly good after a day of shivering in misery. This was the safest, warmest, and calmest he’d felt since the whole ordeal started. Jordan tried not to dwell on it too much. He generally wasn’t one to freak out over things. It was what it was.
Damiano remained very tense against him for a long time.
After what seemed like forever, his body slowly relaxed, his breathing evening out.
Feeling like he’d won some important battle, Jordan allowed himself to drift off.
Chapter 10
It was amazing how much more at ease one felt with a person when one spent hours cuddled up to them.
Jordan snuggled even closer, pressing his face against Damiano’s throat and breathing in deeply. One upside of waterboarding was how clean Damiano smelled despite the torture he endured every few hours. All Jordan could smell was skin and man. He wouldn’t be able to identify what exactly Damiano smelled like even if his life depended on it, but he smelled good. His heartbeat was firm and steady under Jordan’s hand, reminding him with its every beat that he wasn’t alone.
“Get off me,” Damiano said. “My bladder is killing me.”
Jordan reluctantly rolled back, allowing the other man to get to his feet. He closed his eyes as Damiano took a leak.
When Damiano returned to the bedding and lay down, Jordan reached for him greedily again, laying a hand over his firm pec. His heart beat steadily under his palm.
“Do you really have claustrophobia or is it just an excuse to grope me?”
“Arrogant dick,” Jordan mumbled into his bicep. Damiano’s shirt was in a sorry state, and his arms were practically bare now. The firmness of his muscles calmed him, his lizard brain taking comfort in it. There was something oddly reassuring about this man. He kind of wanted to slip his hand under Damiano’s shirt and feel his heartbeat without the fabric in the way. He wondered if it would be weird.
“You can’t be still cold,” Damiano said tersely, but he wasn’t pushing him away. He could have, if he really wanted to.
“I’m not,” Jordan said. “And I don’t want to become cold again. You’re not afraid of a little touch, are you?”
“I’m not afraid.”
Jordan almost smiled. “Then why are you so worked up?”
“I’m not worked up. I just don’t do this. I don’t like people touching me.”
Jordan frowned. Was this really making him uncomfortable? He had thought it was just an aversion to anything remotely sentimental, but could it be something more than that?
“Do you have bad memories or something?” Jordan said. He would feel like a giant dick if that was the case.