The scent alone made something inside him ease.
Jordan walked toward the bed and stared at the man sleeping in it.
It was pretty dark. The room was illuminated only by the pale moonlight. But he would’ve recognized this man half-blind, the shape of him, the way the shadows seemed to envelop him gently, accentuating his sharp, angular features and strong, clean-shaven jaw.
Rationally, Jordan knew that this was a very dangerous, cold-hearted man. But he felt like safety to him, no matter how irrational it was.
Damiano was lying on his side, his bare chest rising and falling rhythmically. Jordan could see that the bruises on his ribs had been treated, and when he stepped closer and craned his neck, he saw that Damiano’s back had some kind of bandages.
Thank fuck. At least he’d gotten medical help somewhere. Jordan tried to ignore the crazy, idiotic part of him that wondered obsessively who Damiano had trusted enough to reveal his weakened state to. Who, who, who?
Quashing those bizarre, ridiculous thoughts, Jordan climbed into the bed and stretched out, facing Damiano.
He breathed deeply, his muscles relaxing and all the remaining anxiety leaving his body.
Damiano murmured something in Italian and threw his arm over Jordan, hauling him close and stretching half on top of him in his customary position. Jordan smiled sleepily, feeling a rush of unbearable affection. For a man who didn’t cuddle Damiano sure had his favorite way of doing so.
He was still smiling as he fell asleep, feeling perfectly content with the world.
***
He wasn’t sure what woke him up. The comforting feeling of being crushed under Damiano’s weight was still there, and he felt safe and marvelous and sleepy, but…
He could feel someone watching him.
Jordan opened his eyes blearily and made a questioning sound.
“What are you doing here?” Damiano said.
Yawning, Jordan peered at him. The room was brighter, so it was probably around dawn, and he could see Damiano’s face fairly well.
Not that it helped him read him: his face was absolutely blank, only his eyes watching Jordan intently.
“I…” Jordan licked his lips, feeling awake enough to feel awkward. “I can go if you don’t want me here.”
Damiano didn’t move, still watching him like a hawk. “How long have you been here?” he said, and there was something like bemusement in his voice now.
“I have no idea,” Jordan said, rubbing at his eyes. “Probably three, four hours? Maybe more?”
Damiano’s expression became faintly pinched. “Impossible. I sleep light. I should have woken up the moment you approached the bed, much less…” He looked at the way their bodies were entangled with a tight look in his eyes.
Jordan reached up and stroked his dark hair gently. It was so soft and thick when it was clean. “You must have gotten so used to sleeping with me that your body subconsciously didn’t consider me a threat.”
Damiano didn’t exactly look reassured by that. “You can’t be here,” he bit off, even though he was leaning into the touch. “Why are you here?”
“Do you want me to go?” Jordan said, feeling a rush of fondness mixed with amusement. It was like petting a wild, dangerous cat that leaned into his touch even as it bared its teeth at him menacingly.
“Why are you here?” Damiano said again, ignoring his question—or refusing to answer it.
Jordan buried his other hand in Damiano’s hair. “I couldn’t sleep without you,” he answered with a rueful smile. “I guess you aren’t the only one whose body got used to certain things.”
Damiano’s throat worked.
“Are you under the impression that this is what I do normally?” he said in a clipped voice. “I don’t cuddle. Much less with my stepbrother’s boyfriend.”
Carding his fingers through his hair, Jordan murmured, “I don’t do this normally, either. I’m not—I’m not this needy normally. The whole thing fucked us up. I’m sure it’ll pass. We just need time.”
Damiano’s lips pressed together. He opened his mouth, staring at Jordan weirdly, but then closed it without saying anything. He sighed, tucking his face into the crook of Jordan’s neck. “Fine. Just for tonight.” A pause. “You’re returning home soon, right?”
“Tomorrow,” Jordan said, his stomach clenching at the thought. It was good. Being an ocean away sounded like a good way to get rid of this clinginess.
Damiano bit him on his neck, then sucked, and a small sound left Jordan’s mouth.
I adore you, came an unbidden thought, his throat closing up from the intensity of the emotion. What the fuck. He couldn’t adore him. He would go home tomorrow, and they would never see each other again, would go on with their lives an ocean apart. He hated the thought, and he hated the way it made him feel: panicky and desperate, as if he were back in the cellar without Damiano. He didn’t want to say goodbye, not like this, not yet. Jordan wanted—needed—more of him.