Those Words I Dread (Tales of the Tuath Dé #1)

16

1 6

Trent eventually dozed off on the sofa, only waking up when he heard a cabinet door drop shut behind him. It was dark out; he must have been asleep for some time. He turned to face the sound with panic in his chest that was confirmed as he saw Ciaran in the kitchen, searching through the cabinets. The fairy had changed out of his dirty clothes but again decided against a shirt, instead helping himself to a pair of Trent’s sleep pants. They were a bit long on him, so that the hems pooled on the floor around his feet, and they hung low enough to show the lines of his lean hips and a hint of the soft hair just below the waistband.

Ciaran looked over at him with an easy smile that made his stomach tighten. “Not quite so panicky now?” His voice still sounded a bit weak.

“I bought food,” Trent said instead of an answer, and he stood to walk to the kitchen, taking the long way around the island rather than squeezing by the other man. “But you shouldn’t be up. You need to be in bed—sleeping. You need to be sleeping in bed.” He couldn’t look him in the face. He could feel the burning heat in his own cheeks, and the last thing he wanted was for Ciaran to catch him blushing. How could he be so calm? With a brief sigh, he reminded himself that his revelation had only been one-sided. “So you…go. And I’ll bring you something.”

“Such service,” Ciaran chuckled. He leaned against the counter in an attempt to hide how tired he was, but his chest still ached from the exertion of holding himself upright. “Are you all right now, after all that?”

“I bought lots of food,” Trent said again, turning away from him and hiding behind the refrigerator door. He didn’t know how the other man could be concerned about him when he was clearly still sick himself. “Lots of things you’ll like. So just…go away. Lie down, I mean.”

Ciaran hesitated, waiting to see how long Trent would pretend to be looking for something in the fridge, but the younger man was determined not to look at him. “Fine,” he said at last, and he slowly pushed away from the counter and made his way back to bed. He heard Trent moving around in the next room for a few minutes, and then he appeared in the doorway with a tall glass of milk and two slices of spiced cake. He still pointedly kept his gaze away from the fairy’s face as he approached the bed.

“There’s honey in it,” Trent said as he pushed the plate and glass toward him, his eyes on the door.

Ciaran took the offered food with a confused frown. The glass was warm. As soon as the items were out of Trent’s hands, he took a step back from the bed and awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets. Ciaran obediently took a sip of the warm milk, sighing at the calming effect the sweet mixture had on his empty stomach.

“You sure you’re all right, there?” he asked, trying to catch Trent’s avoiding gaze. “You’re a bit scattered.”

“I’m fine,” Trent answered too quickly, almost before Ciaran had finished.

The fairy tilted his head skeptically, and for the first time he noticed the hot flush of color in the other man’s cheeks. Trent, looking nervous and shy? This was a treat. A sly smile curled his lips, and he set the glass and plate on the night stand beside him.

“Won’t you sit with me a while?” he asked, feigning only slightly more feebleness than he felt .

“I have—studying. Homework. I have homework.”

“You know it’s the middle of the night, don’t you?” Trent did his best to hide his grimace, but he could only look down at the floor. “Come on. Sit.” He patted the bed next to him, and Trent hesitated before slowly circling the bed and taking a seat at the very edge, keeping plenty of distance between them.

“Just…eat your food, okay?” Trent grumbled.

“I don’t know if I feel up to it,” Ciaran sighed, slouching against the headboard. “You might have to feed me.”

“Have to—” Trent stopped, biting the inside of his cheek in a vain attempt to curb the heat rising in his face. This was all wrong. He was supposed to have time to think, to work out the right thing to say, not have Ciaran in his bed half naked and asking to be spoon-fed. He didn’t at all like the rapid pattern his heartbeat had taken on, and he definitely didn’t like the tiny, twitching smile at the corners of the fairy’s mouth. He was being teased.

“Unless there’s something you’d rather talk about,” Ciaran pressed with as much innocence as he could muster. He almost felt bad taunting the younger man, but truth be told, he felt just as much quiet anxiousness in his stomach as he could see on Trent’s face. Trent was going to ask him for that favor now, he knew. He’d decided to take Ciaran’s offer of changing his father’s mind, or even worse—his own, and he was embarrassed to say it. Ciaran kept a smile on his face, but in the back of his mind, he was waiting to be proven right and set free. He didn’t think this was a request he could say no to, despite his earlier spitefulness. If Trent asked him now to use magic on him, he would do it, and he would leave, the same as he’d left all the others as soon as he had outlived his usefulness.

He watched Trent with a more serious expression than he intended. “Go on then,” he said softly. “What do you want to talk about?”

Trent shifted anxiously on the bed, looking down at his hands. “I wanted more time,” he said without looking up. “I don’t—how am I supposed to say this?” He shook his head. “No. I need—I need more time.”

“Just ask me!” Ciaran snapped, more harshly than he meant. His heart felt heavy as Trent looked at him with an uneasy frown. “ Just…let’s have it done,” he finished in a softer tone.

“Ask you?” Trent hesitated. “I don’t…want to ask you anything. Unless—I guess I do. But I need to tell you more than ask you.”

Ciaran paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the younger man stumble over his words. “Tell me what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. This is stupid. You’re stupid,” Trent said in a rush.

“You wanted to tell me I’m stupid?”

“No, I—this isn’t right.”

“I don’t think I’m following, Trent.”

Trent huffed out a sigh, finally looking up at Ciaran’s face. “I think I’m in love with you,” he said, his face burning red.

“You—” Ciaran started, but then he didn’t know how to finish. All the air had left his lungs. He could only stare, his mind wiped clean of all thoughts except the other man’s words on repeat. I think I’m in love with you .

“I said it, okay?” Trent got to his feet and took a step toward the door. “So just—get all your laughing done already so I can forget this ever happened.”

“Stop,” Ciaran called as Trent moved to leave. “Come here.” He sat up straighter on the bed and touched the spot beside him. When Trent didn’t move, he frowned at him and said again, “Come here.”

Trent reluctantly did as he was told, taking his assigned place on the bed with a hesitant glance at the other man.

“I’m not laughing,” Ciaran said. “If this is how you’ve decided to play it, then don’t. I know I’ve teased you a lot, but this—don’t do this.” He couldn’t listen to this again. He was done entertaining lies, and he was done risking himself. “Just tell me what you want.”

Trent frowned at him. “I don’t understand you,” he murmured. “You follow me around, you try to help me with my father…you came to get me from that hunter when you could have just skipped town and not had to deal with any of it. All of that, and all of the teasing and the flirting—was all of it just because you feel like you have to…pay me?”

“I won’t be lied to,” Ciaran insisted. “Too many—” He stopped himself. With Trent’s softly furrowed brow staring at him, he had almost let it all slip .

Trent got to his feet again and turned away from him. “You can’t just do everything that you’ve done and—and be the way that you are, and then—you made me think that—” He sighed, holding his elbows in his hands as though he could keep the weight from settling in his stomach. “I should have known better than to tell you. Stupid,” he cursed at himself. “Just…forget I said anything.”

Ciaran’s heart sank. When Trent took a step, he reached out to grip the back of his sleeve. Trent glanced at him over his shoulder with a pained expression that made Ciaran want to pull him close and never let him go. He hated to think he was the one who had put that look on the younger man’s face.

“That isn’t…what I meant,” the fairy said in a whisper. “I’m sorry.” He glanced down at the bed, urging the other man to retake his place there. Trent seemed wary, but he sat, his hands tightly gripping the edges of the mattress. There was no point in keeping it from him now. Trent deserved to know why Ciaran was so untrusting, and Ciaran wanted to tell him. He would tell him anything to wipe that frown off of his face.

“It’s been the same with me for a long time,” Ciaran began softly. “People…want things from me. They pretend to be my friend, but they know what I am, and they think that by being friendly, they can get what they want. The honest ones come right out and ask without pretending, but others…I’ve been led on, is what I’m saying, and I’m just—I can’t do it again.”

“Ciaran,” Trent said, disbelief on his face, “I…can’t stand you. My life has been nothing but trouble and drama and bullshit since you showed up here. You make a mess of the apartment, you bother me while I’m studying, you watch stupid TV shows, your eating habits are absolutely disgusting, you…you have no sense of personal space, you interfere with my family—if I wasn’t in love with you, I would have murdered you by now.”

Ciaran let a faint smile touch his lips. “Well, when you put it like that.”

“You know what I mean.” Before he could start again, Ciaran took his face in his hands, leaning in close to press their foreheads together.

“Say that again,” the fairy whispered, and he shut his eyes at the feeling of Trent’s wavering breath on his lips. “That last bit. ”

“I would have murdered you?”

Ciaran hissed at him in frustration, but Trent smiled. “I’m in love with you,” he answered softly.

“Tá mé i ngrá leat,” Ciaran murmured, his fingers curling into the soft hair at the back of Trent’s neck. “A ghrá geal.”

“Yeah,” Trent said after a moment. “I don’t…actually know what you’re saying.”

“I love you,” Ciaran clarified, leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I love you.”

Trent scoffed and then regretted it when he saw the look on Ciaran’s face. “You’re serious.”

“Weren’t you?”

“I—of course I was! You think I’d say something like that just—to anyone?”

Ciaran smiled at him, and Trent felt a calm warmth in his stomach that he hadn’t anticipated so soon after such an embarrassing confession. Any thoughts about his father and his future were a thousand miles away. Ciaran was there, in front of him, not laughing at him, but saying that he felt the same. Saying that he trusted him not to hurt him like the others. Anything beyond the next moment didn’t seem to matter.

“I’m glad we cleared that up,” Ciaran chuckled, letting his thumb brush the younger man’s cheek. He leaned close to him until his nose touched his cheek, but he paused as Trent’s fingers gripped the blanket uncertainly. He waited, Trent’s breath mixing with his own, until the other man moved ever so slightly and closed the gap between them. Ciaran’s grip tightened on him as their lips met, and he pulled Trent closer to him, finally nipping at the bottom lip he’d been watching for so long.

Trent couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but lose himself in the sweet taste of honey on Ciaran’s lips. He let his hand move to the fairy’s hip as he tried to steady himself, but the hot flesh under his palm only made him more lightheaded. He moved as Ciaran guided him back, kneeling over the other man on the bed and pressing into him desperately as he deepened their kiss. Ciaran’s tongue brushed his, drawing a slightly startled groan from him, and Trent pulled back, holding himself up on his hands to catch his breath. Beneath him, Ciaran’s face was flushed, his lips parted as he panted for air. Trent would have liked to take credit for the breathless and half-lidded look on the fairy’s face, but he knew it was at least partially due to his lingering fever.

“We should...slow down,” Trent said, but he didn’t move from his position over the other man. He didn’t want to forget the sight of Ciaran’s hair against the pillow, his gold amulet fallen back and pulling the leather strap tight around his neck. Trent gently tugged the pendant from underneath Ciaran’s shoulder and settled it back on his chest. “You need rest.”

When Trent moved to leave, Ciaran’s fingers fastened tightly into the front of his shirt. “No more running from me,” he said softly.

Trent hesitated. He put his hand over Ciaran’s and gently pried his fingers away, laying his hand back on the bed as he got to his feet. “You need rest,” he said again. He had never considered himself the sort of person who couldn’t hold back, but every time Ciaran touched him, he felt a yearning tug in his gut that he’d never known before. He knew that if he kissed the fairy again now, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and Ciaran wasn’t well. “Eat something, finish your milk, and go back to sleep. I’ll...be right here. Just give me a minute.”

He went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, then leaned on the vanity to wash his face. His heart was still racing, and he felt just as feverish as Ciaran looked. He glanced down at himself and attempted to will away the ache that had begun to stir in him. He refused to be that typical—rescued from danger, then confessing love to his rescuer and falling into bed with him the very same day? It was too much. The memory of Ciaran’s flushed face and the unsteady rise and fall of his chest would be enough for now. That, and the softly whispered Irish that he could still feel against his lips.

By the time Trent opened the bathroom door again, Ciaran was dead asleep, but the glass of milk on the night stand was empty, and he had left only a few crumbs of spiced cake behind. Trent found himself smiling faintly as he watched the fairy in his bed curl up on his side and draw the blanket up around his chin. He considered leaving him be and sleeping on the sofa or in the guest room, but Ciaran was right. If he was going to be honest—if he was going to admit how he felt—he couldn’t keep running. He couldn’t keep avoiding him.

Trent unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it from his shoulders, dropping it into the nearby hamper. His pants followed shortly after, but for the sake of his own sanity, he kept his boxer briefs right where they were as he set his glasses on the night stand. He paused at the edge of the bed, feeling awkward in his own bedroom, and then he gave a quick, steeling sigh through his nose and pulled the blanket back to climb into the bed beside Ciaran. Ridiculous to feel so embarrassed after what they’d already done together. But this was different. He lay facing Ciaran’s back in the darkness for some time, watching the silhouette of his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. Somehow, lying beside him like this, not even touching, was just as exciting as any passionate touch they’d shared in the last 24 hours.

Ciaran shifted after a while, giving a small grunt of discomfort, and Trent inched closer to him. He hesitated after every incremental movement, doubting himself and trying to calm his pounding heart, until he could feel the heat of the fairy’s back against his chest. Then he slipped his arm forward and wrapped it around Ciaran’s waist, letting his hand lay near the other man’s chest. Trent’s stomach tightened as Ciaran’s fingers intertwined with his, holding his hand close enough to feel his heartbeat. The fairy fit perfectly into the curve of Trent’s body as he settled against him, back to chest, and Trent could smell the faint natural sweetness of the other man’s hair. If this was what love felt like, he would give up every cent of his father’s money just to make it last a little bit longer.