His Hart's Command (Nothing Special 6)

Hart sat up higher, wincing at the soreness in his chest. “I made a judgment call and I expect my commander to back me up.”

Commander Lark’s hazel eyes burned as he took a couple of measured steps toward him. His boss gripped the railing of his bed and squeezed until the metal groaned. Lark’s voice was just as powerful and fierce as the man himself, “And I expect my senior officers to make rational calls that I can support. Not throwing themselves at the mercy of whacked-out meth-heads. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Hart didn’t dispute any further.

Lark stood to his full six feet and straightened his midnight-blue suit jacket. The gold commander’s badge clipped onto his chest was more blinding than the fluorescent lighting over his head. “Get some rest, Captain. See you in a couple weeks.”

Hart dropped his head back to his pillow and immediately wished he hadn’t. He closed his eyes at the pounding in the back of his skull. Why’d I refuse narcotics? Hart took a deep breath and coughed violently behind his mask. Ugh. Fuckin smoke inhalation. He must’ve dozed off, because the next thing he remembered was the feeling of slightly roughened fingertips stroking his beard. He fought through the grogginess, wanting more of that touch.

“He’s all set to go,” a voice said on the other side of him “Is he going home with you?”

“Yes. I’m his partner.”

That sweet voice. And such a comforting confession.

“He’ll need to take it easy for a few days. No strenuous activity, nothing that raises the heart rate. Smoke inhalation can be uncomfortable, but he can take an over-the-counter pain reliever for the discomfort. Same for the bumps and bruises.” The doctor concluded, “He’s one lucky guy.”

“Yeah.”

Hart heard the door close.

“You can stop faking now,” Free whispered. “He’s gone.”

“Good,” Hart rasped. Damn, he sounded like he hadn’t used his voice in years. He slowly opened his eyes. His head throbbed, but he ignored it the best he could so he could gaze in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Hey,” Free said around a watery smile.

“Hey, baby.” Hart turned into Free’s palm. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Free touched their foreheads together then slowly, tenderly kissed his scalp. “Anytime.”

Hart angled his head up for a kiss, despite the dryness in his mouth and the feeling of splintered glass in his throat. He still needed Free’s lips.

His boyfriend eased away with a chastising smirk, “You heard the doctor. Nothing to raise the heart rate.”

Free was right. Maybe they should wait until they were at least out of the hospital, because kissing him always made his pulse race.

“It’s time to go home.”

“Yes.” Hart loved the sound of that.

Free

“Are you sure you’re all packed? We leave first thing in the morning.” Free yelled from the bedroom. He stood in nothing but his low-riding nylon shorts while he surveyed his selection of clothes.

“I told you yes, twice. It doesn’t take me an entire week to pack for one weekend like it’s doing you,” Hart called from the living room. “It might help if you tell me where we’re going.”

“I did tell you.” Free smiled.

“No. Telling me to pack for ‘outdoorsyness’ is not a location, much less an actual way to pack. So, you’ll have to be happy with what I picked,” Hart grumbled.

Free loved their teasing, and he especially loved Hart’s crabbiness. It was a side of him he found charming as hell. Hart had tried every trick he knew to get Free to tell him where he was whisking him away to tomorrow, but none of them had worked. Although, he sure had enjoyed the many attempts. He left the bedroom and stood directly in front of Hart’s recliner. “Is this what you’re gonna do the rest of the day, sit there like a bump on a log and watch mindless TV?”

“Yep. Sure am. I have nothing to do and nowhere to be.” Hart pointed the remote around Free’s hip and started flipping the channels. “Um, excuse me. You’re not made of glass.”

Free didn’t know if he wanted to laugh, scoff, stomp away, or climb onto Hart’s lap. He chose the latter. He yanked Hart’s remote out of his hand, turned off the television and tossed the offensive device to the side. Hart settled into his chair, pulling Free down with him.

“Mmm,” Free moaned. “Why do I have feeling you did that on purpose?”

Hart cupped the back of Free’s head, running his thick fingers through the shorn strands there. “Maybe I did.” Hart’s lips met his and he pushed his tongue deep inside, while digging his fingertips into the waistband of his shorts.

Free arched suggestively when he felt a blunt finger brush over his sensitive hole. Yes. Right there. Hart had been out of the hospital a week and they’d refrained from any strenuous activity, just as the doctor ordered. They’d watched a lot of movies, ordered in, went out to dinner, visited with God and Day on football Sunday, and even went to the Pub together on Wednesday. But yesterday, the doc had given Hart a clean bill of health, and they’d quickly made up for lost time.