“Not tired. Horny.” Apollo’s yawn belied his words.
“Ha.” Tugging his hand free, he crossed back to the doorway before Apollo could pull him down onto the mattress. “You sleep now.”
“Okay.”
Man, the big guy all docile like this was almost fun, if Dylan could get beyond being worried for him. He was still getting over how his heart had galloped when he’d gotten Apollo’s text. He didn’t want to be this concerned, didn’t want to care this deeply, especially when the only time Apollo would confess to needing him was when he was drugged.
* * *
“Hey?” A gentle hand on Apollo’s shoulder dragged him back to consciousness. Fuck. He needed out of dreamland where he’d had fucked-up dreams with both Dylan and Neal in them. And purple goblins. Because, thank you, painkillers.
“Hi.” Apollo blinked awake to find Dylan sitting next to him on the side of the bed.
“You were moaning in your sleep. I brought the meds upstairs, but you should probably eat something first. Feel up to a late dinner?”
“Dinner? How long was I out?”
“It’s ten, Sleeping Beauty, so about four hours.” Dylan’s deep laugh was the best alarm clock ever, chasing the cobwebs of sleep out of Apollo’s head.
“Fuck. The meds did a number on me.” Apollo cautiously sat up. Miraculously, his back didn’t protest the movement too loudly. Slight twinge, but the noisy symphony of unhappy muscles had been dialed down to background music level.
“I know. What do you think you could eat? My favorite late night dinner is a monte cristo sandwich, but I’m not sure if that would be too heavy for you.”
“Sounds good.” Apollo wasn’t really up to deep discussions about food. Something warm and hot that he didn’t have to cook was sufficient.
“Great. I’ll make it and bring it back up to you—”
“I don’t need a tray like a ninety-year-old. And I can’t stay in your bed all night.”
“Sure you can.” As usual, Dylan didn’t falter in the face of Apollo’s grumpiness, instead giving him a flirty wink. “I already got a pillow and blanket for the couch for me. And as for a tray, I kind of like taking care of you, so how about you let me?”
“I’m not an invalid.” Apollo tossed his legs over the side of the bed.
“You know I liked you better when you were high on meds.” Dylan offered him a hand up. “Tell you what, do you think you could manage a shower while I cook? Or the hot tub? I bet either of those things would help.”
Apollo gave an experimental stretch. His back protested enough to have him regretting the move. “Shower. I reek. But I’m not sure I can wrestle my stupid clothes back on.”
“Oh I can help with that.”
“You can?” I wouldn’t turn you down. Snatches of their earlier conversation came filtering back into Apollo’s brain. Was Dylan expecting sex tonight just because Apollo had a loose tongue when on meds?
“I can see your brain steaming.” Dylan rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t accost your naked self unless you ask very, very nicely. I only meant that I can help you with your clothes.”
“Okay.” Apollo’s brain was muddled enough that he agreed. Yeah, that’s it. Drugs still. Not a desire to be naked with Dylan.
“Here. Let’s use the downstairs bathroom. That way you can call for me when you’re ready, and I’ll start the food.”
Apollo could kiss him for giving him an out from using the master bath. He wasn’t ready to be alone with Dylan in that space. Wait. Kissing bad. No kissing. He didn’t even turn on the light in his bedroom as he rummaged in the dresser, grabbing the first things he found. No matter what Dylan said about the couch, he’d find a way to sleep in here tonight even if it took another pain pill to knock him out first.
You could both share Dylan’s bed...
No. Not going there, no matter how the thought made his cock stir. God, it had all been so much easier when he’d been loopy on the muscle relaxer. Yes, I want you. Yes, let’s do something. Things he couldn’t say sober.
He almost called for Dylan’s help getting his undershirt off, but managed to pull it off little by little, then kick off his boxers and pants. He cranked the shower as hot as he could stand, quickly soaped and rinsed, then arranged himself so that the shower spray pounded his back. He stayed like that until the water went from blistering to tepid. Maybe he’d be able to skip another muscle relaxer and get by with just the high-powered painkiller to sleep.
“Ready for me?” Dylan knocked loudly on the bathroom door.
No. Totally not. “Yeah.” He shut off the taps, then grabbed for a towel from the rack outside the shower.
“Here.” Dylan plucked the towel from his grasp. “No sense in having you turn yourself into a pretzel to dry off.”