For the first time in weeks, Brent felt like he could breathe. The vise of anxiety that had been clamped around his chest for the past month had started to open when Gabriel had come to his office an hour ago to tell him, “I just got off the phone with my Fairy Godmother-in-law. Her eerie powers continue to strengthen. I thought you might want to know that Will Adams is back in town.” 

Brent had felt a massive flood of relief at this news, but swept up in the flood waters were log jams of anxiety, frustration, and raw need.

Gabriel continued unraveling the secrets of the universe for him as he tried to focus, “Apparently, there was a funeral today that a bunch of guys in the department were going to. Will was one of them. The cops always go to this one bar, the Galway Bay, after funerals. You might find him there around five o’clock, which is coming right up, and he might be in need of a ride home, you never know.”

“Gabriel, thank you.” Brent could have kissed him in gratitude, but he liked all of his facial features right where they were, so he did not. Gabriel was deceptively sweet and pretty, but he was also tough as hell. An Omega with whom one did not fuck.

“Brent, if he’s really drunk, then all he needs is a ride home," Gabriel reminded him.

One side of Brent's mouth quirked. Gabriel was preaching to the choir, but Brent was cool with it. “Gabriel, first of all, thank you for looking out for Will by saying that. Second of all, I’m kind of a consent freak. I would never take advantage of anyone like that, not even my unwilling mate, especially not my unwilling mate, but it’s still good that you said it.”

“I figured, but I like to incorporate my messaging throughout my daily life, kind of like uncompensated product placement. The More You Knoooow….”

“I gotta run. Thank you so much.”

“Figured you might have plans for the afternoon. Good luck out there.”

He'd arrived at the Galway Bay at the tick of five o'clock, his hands gripping the steering wheel, palms sweating. He didn't remember getting out of the car and walking into the bar, even. Everything since that point, other than Will's suggestion about investigating his kilt, was a blur. Now, though? Now Brent couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak, but at least he could finally breathe. He pulled a lungful of air in through his nose as he sucked at the satiny skin on the side of Will’s neck, the irresistible, undefinable, unsurvivable scent of Will washing over him like cool water on a burn. The vise had released its grip on him completely.

Will was ok. Will was back. Will had been standing there, singing a melancholy farewell in a clear, heartrending baritone at a wake that could have too easily been assembled in his honor, given his line of work. That could have been his glass sitting untouched on the bar as his sad friends drunkenly harmonized. But no, he was safe, and he was real, and he was back, and he was, miraculously, shockingly, already under Brent’s hands through a chain of events that Brent didn’t quite understand, because he knew for a fact that he hadn’t said anything that had earned him this--he'd barely been able to speak. Now? Now he had to keep Will in his hands for as long as possible. 

Brent couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t have this and then not have it again, not have anything from Will for a month. He wanted to beg. He had driven to the bar in a cloud of irrational, inchoate anger and anxiety and anticipation but the second he’d seen Will, his knees had turned to water and all anger had gone out of him, replaced by pure need. Brent had wanted to fall onto his liquid knees in front of Will in that moment, and to wrap his arms around him, and crush his face against Will's body and breathe him in and plead with him never to disappear again. This would have been a fatal mistake, he was sure. Understandably. It was not reasonable to expect Will to understand this level of desperation. Fortunately, he’d been so shaken that propping his vibrating body against the wall had been his only option, watching and listening to his mate’s song--how was it fair that he could sing like that, too?-- before his presence would inevitably be noticed and the look on Will’s face would change from open and sincere to irritated and closed-off.

It hadn’t, though. When Will had finally seen Brent, the smile on his face hadn’t vanished. It had grown. Brent had felt a touch of lightness in his chest looking at that smile, a smile which he hadn’t even been capable of returning. He hadn’t smiled at anyone but the Quirls for weeks, and he hadn’t even smiled at them nearly enough, and he wasn’t sure he still knew how. He thought the lightness might have been hope, but he’d lived without that for a month as well, and wasn’t sure he could still recognize it. 

He let the bad memories fall away and dropped a hand to Will’s bare thigh which was muscled and strong in his hand. Didn’t forget these fucking soccer legs. Of course he has to have soccer legs. In a kilt. In a KILT. He slid his hand upwards under that kilt as slowly as he could to give himself time to remember a couple of words.

“Can I?” he managed as his hand reached the top of Will’s thigh.

Will tilted his head back against the wall of the entryway, eyes closed. “Yes!” 

He slid his fingers up, hoping, and yesss, straight around Will’s bare, rigid cock which felt like a brand in his fist. He hissed in pleasure. “Oh, you good boy. You beautiful, good boy,” he grated.

Will made a sound between a grunt and sob as Brent’s big hand caressed and tugged at him while his mouth made a trail of liquid heat running up Will’s neck. “Oh my God. Ah! Yes!”

Brent growled in pleasure at this and began to steer him backwards to the bedroom where there was a big bed and a supply of condoms and lube just waiting for them. Will walked slowly in reverse, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Eventually Brent lost patience and just picked Will up, carrying him into the room and then pressing him into the bed with the weight of his body. Will arched against him, reaching for Brent's shirt and pulling at the buttons. Brent reached up and yanked, sending buttons flying.

“Holy shit, I thought that only happened in cartoons,” said Will, wide-eyed as he watched the buttons scatter. He eased Brent’s probably expensive, now-buttonless shirt off of his shoulders and then gasped as Brent latched onto his nipple, suckling and tugging at him with thirty days and nights’ worth of unsatisfied hunger. “Brent, ahh, ahh!”

Hearing his name in that tone made Brent’s cock jerk as another bead of pre-come slipped out to add to the dampness saturating his fly. He could not wait much longer. He needed to get Will ready. He pushed himself up and started to reach for the nightstand drawer. Will took the opportunity to slide out from underneath him and sit up. Brent wanted to grab his mate, to pull Will back beneath him, where he was safe and near and could be touched. And touched and touched. Instead he paused, and waited. Will reached out and pulled him over onto his back on the bed and then straddled him, dress shirt hanging open, lean waist still buckled into his fucking kilt, the hard curve of his bare ass pressing against Brent’s cock where it lay trapped under layers of unwanted fabric. 

“These are in the way,” said Will as he unfastened Brent’s black trousers and tugged them out from under his ass, stepping off the bed to pull them off completely and then climbing back up onto the bed. He looked down at Brent’s body and his jaw dropped slightly. “Seriously, Brent?” In a slightly awed movement, he ran a hand down the swells of muscle in Brent’s abdomen and over his hip until suddenly, with a full-body contraction and a laugh like a bark, Brent grabbed his wrist and gasped “stop!”

Will kneeled there, looking shocked and then suddenly smiled. “You’re ticklish? You? I’m surprised you can even feel my fingers with all those abs.”

“Oh, I feel them.” 

Will flashed his white teeth at this in a way that made a previously undocumented dimple appear in his cheek, and Brent stared, shaking his head. So exquisite. Like Will was bespoke, tailored to perfectly fit Brent’s tastes. 

“Ticklish!” Will grinned, shaking his head incredulously and then bending down to lick the space between Brent’s collarbones, which led to another jerk of Brent’s long, sculptural body, this time without the bark of laughter. He ran his fingers over the dusting of golden hair that covered the sheets of firm muscle that were Brent’s pecs, over the flat, brown nipples, down the valley between the ridges of abs. Finally, as Brent, who had pushed himself onto his elbows, watched, Will wrapped his hand around Brent’s cock.

The feel of Will’s strong fingers sliding up and down Brent’s cock, squeezing and kneading exactly in the way he had imagined it dozens of times made Brent go mute with the mindbending pleasure of it. Brent shifted his weight to one arm and lifted the other, wrapping a hand around Will’s head, rubbing Will’s cheekbone with his thumb, staring into his eyes, trying to believe this was real. 

“Kiss me,” Brent requested roughly, hoping for a reminder of just one of the many kisses Will had lavished on him an endless month ago, on an afternoon when Brent had been blissfully ignorant about the fact that he wouldn’t get to repeat those kisses for weeks. Will dipped his head and shoulders and Brent realized he’d been misunderstood. He tightened his fingers and pulled Will gently but inexorably towards his face instead.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean… Kiss me.”

Will looked a little surprised, but understood then what Brent was looking for, because here was the slow parade of nudges, nibbles, laps, and tugs at his lips that had given Brent a wet dream two nights ago, his first since he was a teenager. Then came the slow sweep of Will’s tongue, the way it caressed and petted and danced around Brent’s, the taste and feel of his mate’s mouth shrinking Brent’s world down to this one point of contact. Finally came the sweetly insistent way Will pulled Brent’s tongue into his own mouth, inviting Brent to take possession. He accepted that invitation gratefully, at first lifting a second hand to Will’s head so that he could hold him close, then lying back, pulling Will down on top of him, throwing an arm over him, ravaging his mouth with kisses that demanded Will take some responsibility for what Brent had endured during his absence. Will accepted this punishment as bravely as if he had no idea that he was being punished at all. 

Eventually, though, Will pulled away with some reluctance. His pupils were dilated and his breath was coming in puffs, as if the kisses had affected him almost as much as Brent. Good. Welcome to my world, Will. On a mission, Will recommenced his trail of carefully calibrated tortures as he worked his way back down Brent’s torso, biting, licking, sucking, stroking, and scraping as he made his way to his goal.

When, at last, Will took Brent’s cock in hand again, Brent looked down at him, lids heavy, expression pleading. He met Will’s gaze, the pale, rare blue of the hottest flames, and tried to convey his need without words. Will understood. Like a mate would, he understood what Brent needed. This time when he settled between Brent’s legs, raised Brent’s cock in his hand, and dipped his head, Brent did not stop him.