Nick rested his temple against Kelly’s and smiled against his neck. “I missed you.”
“Me too.” Kelly wrapped his arm around Nick’s neck and dropped his carry-on bag to the floor to get another kiss, but Nick raised his head instead.
“Is that your bag? With all the patches on it?”
Kelly grunted and turned to the conveyor. His rucksack had patches from almost every destination he’d traveled, so it was hard to miss. “Yeah. Fucking cockblock.”
Nick burst out laughing. It was a sound Kelly had sorely missed. It sent a shiver through him, making the scar of the bullet wound on his chest throb. He rubbed at it as Nick kissed him again before letting him go and then striding over to catch his rucksack for him. The coat made him look even wider at the shoulders than he already was. Kelly flashed back to all the many mornings he’d seen Nick stalking across whatever camp, base, or ship they’d been stationed on, barking orders.
He wondered sometimes how he’d gone five years in Recon without molesting his friend. He’d either been absolutely blind to the attraction or he was rewriting the memories in his head, because damn.
Nick returned, Kelly’s bag thrown over his shoulder and a smile on his face. “Ready to go home?”
“You’re not even going to feed me first?” Kelly teased.
“Just going to take me to your boat and f**k me?”
“That’s SOP, yeah. Come on.” He led Kelly out into the brisk evening.
His Range Rover was parked in a no loading zone right beside the taxi lane, and airport security was standing beside it, writing out a ticket. Nick handed Kelly his bag and gestured for him to load it in the car. Kelly watched him as he slid his overcoat and suit jacket aside and tapped the badge on his belt with one long finger.
The rent-a-cop gave him a wave and moved away, and Kelly climbed into the passenger side. Nick got into the car a moment later, grinning crookedly.
“You just abused your authority,” Kelly told him.
Nick nodded and started the car.
“You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
Nick side-eyed him. “So did you.”
“So much.”
Chapter 2
he choppy water lapped at the hull of Nick’s yacht, Tthe sound rhythmic and deep, like Kelly could feel it in his chest as he lay awake in the main cabin. Nick was curled beside him, his breathing uneven, his body tense.
He was dreaming, and his restlessness made it impossible for Kelly to sleep. Nick tossed his head and murmured something, and as he moved, his fingers grazed Kelly’s arm.
Kelly flinched, wincing in anticipation of Nick waking. The last time Nick had rolled into him during a dream, he’d startled awake and pinned Kelly to the mattress, his hand around Kelly’s throat, before Kelly could say anything to calm him.
Not that Kelly minded, because not only could he defend himself with ease, but also the way Nick apologized was pretty fantastically sweaty and naked.
That had been weeks ago, of course, in Kelly’s cabin in Colorado where Nick wasn’t quite as familiar with his surroundings. Nick usually slept easy, especially on his boat, and the more time that passed since his last deployment, the fewer issues he had. But on stormy nights, when the seas tossed the boat beneath them, when thunder crashed above them and the sounds of the sea infiltrated the hul , Nick was restless and quick to strike out when his nightmares were interrupted.
Nick murmured something in his sleep again, and Kelly finally gave up on trying to get to sleep himself and pushed the blanket off. He slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Nick as he headed for the salon upstairs.
Photos were scattered on the walls there, and the occasional knickknack sat around, but other than that the décor of the yacht was pretty sparse. It wasn’t Spartan or empty, though.
Kelly had spent plenty of time aboard the yacht since Nick had purchased it. He’d thought nothing on board was foreign to him, but when Nick had shown him the drawer full of sex toys beneath his bed, Kelly had been both shocked and incredibly turned on. He kind of wondered what else Nick had managed to hide away in spaces Kelly didn’t know were there.
The clouds hid the moon in the sky, and only the skyline of Boston provided light. Kelly closed the shades against it and threw the yacht into almost pitch darkness. He didn’t like the press of a big city so close to him.
He flopped onto the couch in the salon, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness and glancing around at the nooks and crannies where Nick stored all his personal belongings.
Hardback books were piled everywhere, most of them on history, archaeology, or lost treasures and mysteries. That had always been Nick’s thing, though. Nick was one of the only jarheads Kelly had ever met who didn’t have a single gun magazine subscription or hang knives on his walls. Kelly wasn’t even sure where Nick kept his medals, because he sure as hell didn’t have them sitting out or displayed.
The coffee table was covered with files Nick had brought home from work. He’d intended to take vacation days, but Kelly had convinced him not to. He’d used enough of his vacation last year for emergencies; Kelly didn’t want him wasting more to stay home. He wanted him to take real vacations this year. Preferably somewhere warm. Preferably with him.
Over dinner Nick had mentioned a few details of the case he was working on, a robbery gone wrong that had ended up in murder. Then he’d apologized for bringing work home when Kelly was there to spend time with him, and he’d shoved the files away in favor of resting his head in Kelly’s lap as they watched a movie on Netflix.
Kelly smiled softly with the memory. Nick had swiftly drifted off to sleep, and Kelly had ignored the movie in favor of twisting his fingers through Nick’s curly hair.
The memory made the silent boat feel that much lonelier.
Kelly fought past the tumbling feeling in his gut. He had two more weeks here. He wasn’t going to start getting melancholy about leaving yet, Jesus.
He stretched to flip on a lamp beside the couch so he wasn’t sitting in the dark like a creeper, and then absently flipped through the pages of Nick’s files on the table. Was it illegal for him to be seeing this information? He shrugged and scanned Nick’s handwritten notes. He loved the way Nick wrote; block print, no discernible quirks, only the slightest hint of a lefty slant. But the faster he wrote, or the more agitated he grew, the more beautiful the scrawl became. He lost the blocking and it took on a personality all its own, a hybrid of print and cursive with precise curves and flourishes.