CHAPTER TEN.     Tethered Fellows

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            Cassidy Chevalier was always backed into a corner. It was the only way he knew how to be. He was there now, amidst mahogany and lignin. He'd been pulling at the base of his skull ever since he'd stepped foot inside the library alongside Mr. Alcott, tugging on his dark blonde strands with a sense of urgency.

            He'd ran out of his mint gum. He'd ran out of his tobacco. But as he forced his eyes forward, he recalled Killian's presence.

            He'd ran out of all of his indulgences.

            Now all that was left to wallow in was the writer from the Isles.

            Killian's eyes flickered, caught Cassidy. Trapped him there at a standstill. The candlelight danced along Cassidy's jawline, which feathered shortly thereafter. It was a beautiful sight.

            But he betrayed it with a small shake of his head. Cassidy took a step toward the man regardless, but Killian pushed his arm outward to keep him at bay. To keep him safe.

            Cassidy's expression contorted, shifting from torment to embarrassment. He took another step, so much closer that Killian's fingers grazed his exposed collarbones. Cassidy had stripped himself of his sport coat, unbuttoned the top two buttons for a release that never came. He hadn't been able to breathe, so he'd blamed the shirt. It was easier to blame a garment than his own father. Or himself.

            Their eyes clashed. There was a hidden message behind Cassidy's gaze: Why?

            You know why. Killian replied, wordlessly.

            Cassidy eased closer. Killian did not remove his fingers, instead flattening his palm against the man's flesh. He was incredibly warm to the touch. His heart was hammering beneath the tawny blanket that separated Killian's fingertips from Cassidy's veins.

            "Why?" Cassidy vocalized in the form of a plea.

            Killian drew a breath, allowed his fingertips to curve around the base of Cassidy's neck. It was so gentle, and so tender. Cassidy's eyes glazed over, then fluttered shut all together. He relished just then. He took, and took, and gave what he could just for a moment.
     
            Killian, with his watchful eye, traced the shadows consuming every edge of Cassidy's face. His wound jaw. His plump lips. The tips of his reddened ears, the tip of his slightly bulbous nose. A smatter of freckles lined the base of his nose, scattering outward and becoming sparse beneath his eyes. Like a constellation. His hair was a mussed mess, left disheveled and angled in different directions from the distressed yanking.

            He loved him like this. Loved, loved, loved. Unwound. Vulnerable. His for the taking. But he didn't take, not yet. Maybe not ever. Instead, he ran the knuckle of his thumb along Cassidy's Adam's apple.

Cassidy kept his eyes bound shut as Killian rubbed the skin there. It was soft, like a feather. And then it was gone.

Killian wrenched himself away, shoved his hand over his mouth and stretched the skin there. He pulled it over to his cheek, then downward, leaving behind a trail of blotchy, alabaster skin.

Cassidy hung his head low and his shoulders followed. When he reopened his eyes, all he could make out was the shadow of Killian's clothed back.

He'd humiliated himself enough, there would be no harm in making it worse, so he sauntered toward him. With an outstretched hand, he curved his fingers over the slope of one of his taut shoulders.

At first, Killian's muscles stiffened beneath his hand. But once Cassidy dug the base of his thumb into them, they relaxed. Cassidy understood this as a triumph, so he used his free hand; his middle finger, as an assured guide. He glided it along Killian's forearm, traveling it up toward his elbow, just as he lowered his mouth to his neck, right at the base where his spine began.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Killian whispers into the lowlight.

"I have no issue in learning." Cassidy murmurs with a smirk attached to Killian's skin. His eyes raise, mark a tiny freckle behind the writer's earlobe. Hidden and obscured by someone who didn't venture.

Cassidy had always yearned to rove.

"That is not what I meant, Cass." Killian affirms, his tone a stark contrast to the unrelenting need his body seemed to stand in need of.

Cassidy drags his lips along the flesh tucked behind Killian's ear. He can feel the man's pulse against his tongue as it darts out, eliciting a lowly groan from Killian's throat.

The sound of himself pulls Killian from his daze.

He's grabbing at his skin now, every small place Cassidy unknowingly marked. Cassidy watches, admires, and then settles back against the leather sofa centered in the middle of the space filled with literature. Words written, and words unspoken.

"Why did you invite Lorna?" Killian spits, because he can't seem to gather his bearings enough to  initiate a more rational form of conversation. There are so many better things to say, to ask. Are you okay? Is this okay? Is it me that you truly desire? Could that be okay, if only for a moment?

Cassidy folds his arms across his chest as Killian turns slightly, hands positioned on either hip and chest heaving. His eyes land on Cassidy with considerable effort.

"Is that really what you wish to discuss with me, Killian?"

Killian turns his head, lets out a scoff that Cassidy's ears perk at the sound of. When the man's eyes return to him, Cassidy tilts his head.

"We were supposed to handle this," Cassidy recollects. Killian's eyes avert, a means to escape, yet all he seems to be able to do at present is breathe and bathe in whatever soap Cassidy fancies that smells so damned delightful.

"Handle these feelings as men are meant to." Cassidy echoes the man's words evenly from the previous night. Killian curses him inwardly, and apologizes all in the same dreadful thought. He digs his fingers into his hips, tries to satiate the ache in his chest, tries to ween off the desire to feel Cassidy's lips against his skin once more.

Killian lowers his head, his lips, and confesses: "I'm afraid I was mistaken. There is no possibility of doing so."

"Then what are we to do, Mr. Alcott?"

Killian swallows, then lifts his eyes unhurriedly. He finds Cassidy's latched onto him already. "There will be pain," he starts. Cassidy remains as Killian begins his descent, edging closer with every spoken word. "A potential suffering. I cannot bear it, Cassidy. I will not bear it."

Cassidy eyes search, his chin tilted upward as the man evades his space, "You will not have to."

"You don't understand!" he bellows, the first onslaught Cassidy has ever witnessed from him. An anguish within the confines of a composed man. His voice softens, "There is no other outcome, dear heart. There is no other outcome."

"We will find one." Cassidy declares, reaching out only to fall short when Killian backs away. Again. He's always backing away. Backed into a corner, just like Cassidy.

Killian's hands find his hips again and Cassidy rises to his feet.

"Cassidy," Killian maintains, but Cassidy will not bear this. He cannot. Will not.

"Killian," Cassidy pleads. His arms reach and Killian does not budge this time. Both of his hands ease toward the man's inflamed cheeks, slow but deliberate. His eyes search for an opposition, but Killian does not convey one, so their skin tethers.

"We. Will. Find. One."