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Xavier was up in a flash, heading for the brisket. But Marcus just stood there, shaking his head. Cash came up behind him, clapping him on the back.

“You chose him,” he said. “That was all you.”

Marcus let out a fake sigh, his smile poking through. “He put a spell on me. I’m almost sure of it.”

Both of them laughed, turning back toward the food. I pulled myself up from the bench and held out a hand to Rhett who was still sitting there, stiff as a board.

“Come on,” I said. “Aren’t you starvin’?”

“Y-Yeah,” he nodded after a moment. “Let’s eat.”

Chapter 22

Westley

The thing about Rhett’s smile was that I’d learned to tell the real ones from the fake ones. And by the time we made it back to the apartment that evening, full on brisket and pie, he’d been resting on fake for quite a while.

I noticed it before we hit the stairs up to the apartment. He’d gone quiet somewhere between Marcus’s place and the front door, his jaw set in a way that made him look older than he was. And when I reached for his hand on the landing, he let me take it, but his fingers didn’t curl back around mine the way they usually did.

“You alright?” I asked, same question I’d asked a dozen times that day already.

“Got a headache,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes as he pushed open the door. “Think it’s the heat, maybe. Or the beer.”

I followed him inside and watched him drop down onto the edge of the bed, rubbing at his temple with the heel of his hand like he was trying to grind the thoughts right out of his skull. Something about the way he held himself, shoulders up around his ears again after I’d watched them come down so nice and easy all evening at the cookout. It didn’t sit right with me. But I figured pushing at it wasn’t going to do either of us any good either, not tonight. Besides, he’d told me he wasn’t ready for the socializing yet and I made him go anyway.

“Well,” I said, crossing the room and kneeling down in front of him, settling my hands on his knees. “I know somethin’ that might help with that.”

That got the ghost of a real smile out of him, small as it was. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I slid my hands up his thighs, slow, watching his breath catch even through whatever was weighing on him. “Heard it does wonders. Clears those pesky headaches right up.”

“Is that so?”

“I guarantee it, or the next one’s free,” I said, and leaned up to kiss him, soft at first, just testing the waters. He melted into it after a second, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, and whatever had been sitting so heavy on him seemed to loosen a bit, at least for a minute.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to try,” he murmured against my mouth. “Any remedy’s worth a shot.”

“That’s the spirit, Buttercup.”

I stayed there on the floor, kneeling between his thighs. Looking up at him, I reached out, pulling his boots off one at a time and pushing them under the bed. Next came his belt, my fingers working it loose without breaking eye contact. His breath hitched when I popped the button on his jeans, and I felt his fingers come to rest on the top of my head, threading through my hair.

“Westley,” he said, voice already gone a little rough, “you don’t gotta⁠—”

“Hush,” I said, glancing up at him with what I hoped was a convincing smirk. “I’m workin’ here.”

That pulled a real laugh out of him this time, short and surprised, and some of that tightness around his eyes finally started to ease. I tugged his jeans down over his hips, and he lifted himself up off the mattress just enough to help me along, already half hard in his briefs. I took my time with those too, dragging them down slowly, pressing a kiss to the sharp jut of his hip bone before I finally freed him, his cock bouncing free.

He was warm and heavy in my hand when I wrapped my fingers around the base of his dick. The sound he made, soft and shaky, went straight through me the same as it always did, my own cock throbbing in response, still trapped in my jeans. But I left it there, untouched. This moment wasn’t about me, it was about him. I licked a slow line up the underside of his shaft, watching his stomach tighten, and his head fell back against his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I didn’t know you were gonna get so good at that so fast.”

“I do pay attention to everything when it comes to you, Buttercup,” I said, and took him into my mouth before he could come back with some smart ass reply.

I’d gotten better at this since that first morning. I’d learned how he liked these things slow instead of fast. That and I’d learned how to use my hand for what my mouth couldn’t take, and learned the particular hitch in his breathing that meant I was doing something right. I worked him nice and easy, taking my time, savoring the weight of his cock on my tongue and the soft sounds spilling out of him above me. Each gasp was a little looser, a little further from whatever had been sitting so heavy on his shoulders all evening.

When I pulled off to catch my breath, I pressed a kiss to his inner thigh and reached for the little bottle we kept tucked in the nightstand drawer now, slicking up my fingers while I kept my mouth busy with soft, open kisses along his hip and the base of his cock.

“West,” he said again, breathless this time, no protest left in it at all.