Nature's Calling

I was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

I cleared my throat and searched for something to say to Kieran. Unfortunately, idle chitchat also wasn't my forte. "Do you live here year..."

He made a soft sighing noise.

Hitching up on my elbow, I gazed down into Kieran's face, his eyes closed, lashes dark twin crescents on his pale skin. Deep, even breaths whispered in and out of his slightly parted mouth. He looked so... young. Innocent. A real Sleeping Beauty. My hand rose and my fingers hung, suspended and trembling, over that silky hair, preparing to smooth it off his forehead, but the emotion currently gripping my heart halted me.

Tenderness. I didn't do tenderness, not with anyone, and I didn't plan to start here. Not in this moment, at this place, with this man. No. I refused to.

My fingers curled into a fist but I couldn't quite tear my gaze from his peaceful slumber.

Shit, I was really in trouble here, wasn't I?

~*~Day Two~*~

I awoke at the buttcrack of dawn.

It took me several long seconds to recognize my surroundings. You know the feeling, that anxiety you couldn't entirely quell when you were confronted by things unfamiliar to you, that thought of, oh, shit, where the fuck am I? I stared up at the open ceiling, the first bright rays of dawn glinting and burning my retinas, the cobwebs dusting off my memory enough for me to remember, vaguely, that I was somewhere in the wilderness with Molly and Rick.

And Kieran.

A blush burned my cheeks as I remembered -- shit, did I remember -- the night before, that close call I'd had where I'd nearly caressed the man's silky hair. I didn't normally do shit like that and the fact that I'd almost done it to Kieran, to a man... It was fucking with my mind.

I'd actually slept with him. Well, next to him. Pressed right up against his warm, muscular body all night long, keeping me on edge even in my dreams, I'd snuggled up close, breathing in the woodsy, spicy scent of his cologne. It was soothing, damn him.

Speaking of, where the hell was he?

Stretching my arms above my head, I pulled the kinks out of my back, feeling my bladder protest. I had to piss worse than a fucking racehorse and that running water I heard was not helping matters.

I rolled to my feet, a jarring impact that left my legs tingling, and paused for a moment to orient myself. The water I heard wasn't coming from upstairs but it didn't appear to be coming from outside, either. I tilted my head, listening closely. It seemed to be coming from... there.

More curious than I was concerned with relieving my bladder, I followed the sound to the back of the cabin, not even pausing at the door I'd assumed led outside. I shoved it open. Strode over the threshold.

And gaped.

Kieran, all nekkid and wet and glistening, stood just a few tantalizing inches away. But almost as enticing as that view was, but not quite, was the actual room he was in. If it could even be called a simple room. There were no walls, no ceiling, only the trees standing sentinel against prying eyes, the floor smooth granite that tapered off into the springy grass. There was some ingenious pipe work at play, a pole extending to the middle of the space, a round showerhead spitting out a gentle stream of water.

Water that was currently pelting the delectably naked and oblivious Kieran O'Brien.

I fully admitted it took several minutes for me to avert my eyes. It was a backside view but I couldn't say I was complaining. His broad shoulders tapered down to slim hips, muscles rippling in his back as he raised his arms to lather up that raven-black hair, teasing water droplets sluicing down that smooth back. I followed one particular drop's journey, mouth watering as it crept closer and closer to the dip in the small of his back, heading right for the crease in his firm, muscled ass—

Oh, my God. I was ogling him again. While he was naked. Without his knowledge.

How skeevy could a guy get here?

And, yet, I couldn't stop myself from lowering my gaze, following the trail of that single droplet as it continued its desultory journey. I was going to hell for this, I knew it, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop even with mental berating echoing in my cranium over the whole straight issue.

I frowned suddenly. Wait. Was that...?

What... was... that?

Almost indistinguishable against that alabaster complexion were crisscrossing, pale lines marring the perfection of his body. Some were puckered, some tinged the slightest shade of pink, but they were all angry and long, bisecting both cheeks, curving around his hips and even running in jagged spears down his thighs. There were so many, dozens.

I would've thought kinky but some instinct had me knowing those were inflicted rather than accepted.

My horror in that moment surmounted anything I'd felt at myself for the feelings only he seemed able to evoke in me. A tiny, barely audible sound of distress squeaked past my throat, but apparently it was loud enough to alert Kieran.

He whipped around, aquamarine eyes snagging my own, his lips parting ever so slightly. His nostrils flared, eyes widening just enough that their icy depths crystallized even more, becoming two glaciers. His version of shocked, I assumed.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, stumbling back and out of that outdoor shower room.

Hands shaking and transmitting the trembles to the rest of my body, I scrambled up the stairs and into the bathroom, pressing my back against the closed door. The barely suppressed fury contained inside me wanted to explode out and crush skulls.

Who the hell had done that to him? And where was the motherfucker so I could kill him?

I banged my head against the door, grimacing. Why the fuck did I even care? I never got this involved with a girlfriend before, never concerned myself with their past hurts or even fears, and yet with Kieran I cared. Inexplicably, impossibly, I cared.

Fuck. I was really in trouble.

Shaking my head, trying to rattle out those ridiculous notions tumbling around my brain, I drained the weasel, quickly washing my hands and brushing my teeth. I think I stalled a little more by organizing his medicine cabinet but finally I just had to buck up and go back downstairs. Face Kieran and pretend I hadn't seen anything.

I found him in the kitchen. He'd thrown on a pair of jeans, riding low on his hips and exposing a few of the scars curving up around his smooth skin, but he was shirtless and barefoot. Jesus, even his feet were gorgeous. How was that even possible?

Tentatively, I tiptoed in, scooting out a barstool pushed up to the island and copping a squat. Kieran made no reaction that he heard me but his shoulders tensed briefly and he asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Starving, actually," I admitted. "I could probably eat a horse, hooves and all."

Those broad shoulders tensed even more, shaking, and I got the distinct impression that he was stifling an amused chuckle. When he spoke again, I could hear a smile in his voice. "No horse," he said. "But we do have waffles, bacon and hash browns."

"Breakfast fit for a king," I approved lightly. "Need any help?"

A minute shake of his head answered me.

I sat silently, watching him bustle around the kitchen preparing breakfast, his movements so graceful and confident. Not once did he turn to fully look at me and that incident in the outdoor shower was hanging out right there in the kitchen with us, a big, fat elephant we were both trying to ignore. It wasn't a successful attempt on my part.

Clearing his throat, keeping his gaze lowered, Kieran placed a steaming plate of food in front of me. Silently, he sat across from me, twirling his fork between his fingers before quickly cutting into his waffles. His impeccable table manners were putting mine to shame. He speared up small bites and I watched his lips close over each one, sliding along the tines with almost pornographic aplomb. I doubted he even realized how erotic he looked while eating.

Jesus, I think I was drooling. Again.

"Do you live here year round?" I asked him, biting into the crisp bacon.

He slowly shook his head. "No, I only stay here when I need some R&R," he mumbled.

"R&R?" I smirked. "What do you do, anyway?" I, of course, was imagining that he did nothing. I mean, come on. He had a rich daddy supporting him. What was so stressful in his life that he needed any rest and relaxation? Wasn't his whole life rest and relaxation?

"I founded a non-profit organization called Shelter From the Storm," he told me, making certain to keep his eyes downcast. "It provides shelter, food and clothes for impoverished people. Currently, I've bought some property and renovations are in development for apartments. Something very affordable for them."

My eyebrows sprang up, impressed despite myself. "How old are you?" I demanded.

"Twenty-two."

Jesus, I was twenty and hadn't even decided if psychology was even the road I wanted to travel down. He was only two years older and already had a business, one that actually benefitted others. Maybe I'd misjudged him. Maybe he wasn't the spoiled, rich golden boy I'd imagined. Maybe there was actually some depth to him.

Of course, if that was the case, I really was screwed. I'd accepted my attraction for him to some degree but I'd had hope stored away over the fact that he was a spoiled, rich golden boy who was born with a diamond encrusted spoon shoved up his ass. Those types always turned me off -- at least the few shallow debutantes I'd dated had -- so I'd been safe in that attraction.

Now, not so much.

"Does your dad help you out with that venture?" I asked, pushing down those other thoughts for now and forking up a heaping pile of hash browns. They were delicious but I doused them with ketchup, anyway. Everything always tasted better with ketchup.

Kieran's eyes flicked up briefly but he quickly glanced back down. "Um, no. We aren't really on speaking terms."

I cocked a brow. "Falling out?"

He made a soft scoffing sound. "Something like that," he murmured. "He's not exactly happy with the lifestyle I've chosen."

My fork paused mid air, jaw hanging open to accept the syrupy triangle of waffles, my gaze snagging his as he glanced up. The lifestyle he chose? Did that mean a gay lifestyle or doing charity work? Or something else I wasn't aware of?

Those scars I'd glimpsed flashed through my mind and my stomach turned over, heaving violently, bile creeping up my throat. No, it couldn't be...

Kieran's expression betrayed nothing, as usual, but his icy eyes held mine, old and new pain bleeding into their aquamarine depths, bruising them a deep sapphire. A touch of color stained his cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes but I couldn't get that image out of my head. Or get rid of my newest suspicions.

We finished breakfast in amiable silence. Kieran seemed content without conversation but I had to mentally restrain myself from shooting out questions and demands. The last thing he needed from me was a damn interrogation. And the last thing I needed was to get caught up in this thing, to get even more entangled in Kieran O'Brien.

As much as I told myself to leave it be, I found myself wandering outside the minute Kieran retreated upstairs to finish getting dressed, searching for Molly. The tent offered only a snoring Rick splayed out on sleeping bags, his mouth hanging loose and drool seeping from the corners. Jesus, he was disgusting. How did Molly stand the lumbering jackass?

Shaking my head, I backed away from the tent, arms huddled against myself and chafing my hands together for warmth. The dewy dampness of the chilly early morning had goose bumps pebbling my skin but I had to admit the place looked enchanted. Everything fresh and new, the earthy scent of damp earth wafting up my nose, the silvery hue of dawn sparkling off everything.

I picked my way around the cabin, passing by Kieran's outdoor shower, and came upon a small deck around back that overlooked the sparkling moat. Molly sat up there, her legs crossed at the ankles and propped on the railing, her bare toes wiggling. The sun lent a copper shine to her red hair, the freckles across the bridge of her nose in stark relief.

I had no idea what she was fiddling with -- was that a bar of soap? -- but she didn't appear to be projecting the need for space. I climbed the stairs and sank into the lounge chair beside hers.

"Hey, Fitzgerald," I greeted. "I gotta ask you something about—"

"Doesn't this smell good?" she interrupted, shoving the soap under my nose.

I sniffed. "Yeah, sure. Now, about Kieran—"

"I make this for Kieran," she said, again interrupting me. "He likes using that outdoor shower while he's here. It's the most eco-friendly shower ever and I make this soap out of all natural ingredients so it's not harmful to the environment."

I blinked. "You make soap?" I demanded incredulously, momentarily forgetting my agenda. How hadn't I known that?

"Yup." She bobbed her head. "Shampoo and conditioner, too."

Shaking my head, I snorted a laugh, marveling at Molly's eccentricities. "Um, that's weird," I told her. "But, uh, about Kieran—"

"I'm not gonna delve into Kieran's personal life," she murmured, long lashes veiling her eyes. "Not even for you, Ethan."

"Can you just tell me if his dad..." What? Beat him? Whipped him? Hated him? How the hell could I finish that sentence?

Molly's mouth twisted in a grimace. "His dad," she sneered. "His dad disowned him years ago and Kieran, glutton for punishment that he is, keeps going back searching for his approval. Approval that he'll never get because Uncle Liam is a narrow-minded prick too set in his backwater, bigoted ways."

O-kay, then. "But what about—"

"He couldn't accept him the way he was so he tried molding him into the perfect, model son. When that didn't work, he tried beating him into submission. When that still didn't work, he disowned him, completely renounced him as his son." Her eyes narrowed. "Kieran's been through some shit but instead of just surviving, he's thriving. And he deserves some happiness, for once. Deserves someone his dad will be ashamed of but who he'll always cherish."

Shit, that's why Molly brought me here...?

"And you do, too, Ethan," she continued quietly. "You deserve to finally get what you need, what you want."

My jaw clenched. "What I want is for you to quit bringing this shit up."

"But Ethan..." she beseeched.

"No," I snapped. "I'm not gay, Molly."

It was the first time I'd said it aloud and the lie tasted bitter on my tongue. The most truthful I'd been had been yesterday, to Kieran, but I still couldn't bring myself to explore any of it further. For one, would a true gay dude only lust after one man? Then again, did a completely straight guy do any lusting after the Y chromosome at all?

You could see what a quandary I was in here.

"Ethan," Molly started quietly. "You really need to stop denying who you are. So you like guys. Is that really such a bad thing?"

"One guy," I corrected against my better judgment. And, yeah, it was a very bad, disturbing thing.

She frowned. "Huh?"

"You said guys. No, only one guy," I gritted out.

"Kieran?" she demanded.

Damn it, why was my head nodding? I shouldn't have been nodding, shouldn't have been encouraging her, giving her more ammunition to fire at me later on. But I couldn't seem to stop myself. My fists clenched and I purposely kept my gaze straying. The minute my eyes stopped roving I was afraid they'd fill with tears or some shit and I was not turning into a crybaby.

"That... is so... romantic," Molly sighed dreamily, clasping her hands over her heart. "It's like a movie of the week. One man, a womanizer too afraid of commitment to keep a relationship for over a year, being swept off his Nikes by the only man he's ever desired. That would be the best rom-com."

"More like a horror movie," I groused.

"Oh, what do you know? It's romantic," she insisted.

"Whatever," I muttered. "Can we drop this now?"

"Depends." Molly quirked an eyebrow. "Are you still in denial?"

Sighing, I left Molly there with her homemade soap, retreating back into the cabin. I didn't have time to dwell on my confusing and conflicting feelings, thank God, because soon the other three were raring to start the day. Molly suggested fishing and majority ruled in her favor. I think it was safe to assume I was the only one who objected to it -- you might remember me mentioning getting my cheek hooked? I had no desire to repeat that experience but I was dragged along, anyway.

So there I was again, stomping through the underbrush, mosquitos swarming and making a snack out of me, the tree cover so dense the sun couldn't even penetrate. But this time I wasn't lagging behind all by my lonesome.

I peeked at Kieran from the corner of my eye. He shortened his long strides to meet mine, steadying me whenever I stumbled, sweeping away scraggly branches before they could slap me in the face, all without directly looking at me. We were both excelling at maintaining distance without actually separating physically.

Damn it, what was it about him that he had me questioning every relationship I'd ever had? In hindsight, each one of them had been shallow, superficial, only concerning ourselves with getting off on a regular basis. I hadn't invested much of myself in those relationships, never got to know any of them past a surface level, and I never allowed them to get any glimpses inside me. All those women had been mild distractions, nothing less and nothing more.

So why did I actually feel around him? For him?

I was really harping on this, wasn't I? Sue me. This was fucking life-altering shit here. I reserved the right to harp.

So caught up in my internal battle was I that I didn't notice Rick and Molly shove past some low-hanging branches. Branches that swung back and lashed me directly in the face. The sting of it brought a tear to my eye, the shock of it stealing my breath.

Kieran jerked to a halt beside me, his cool hands suddenly gripping my chin, tilting my face up to him. His aquamarine eyes, always so carefully devoid of emotion, were radiating worry and concern for me now as he inspected my face. It was touching, really. His thumb brushed along a sensitive spot on my cheek and I winced despite myself.

"Just a scratch," he murmured, but his thumb was still feathering caresses along my cheek.

Why hadn't he moved back yet? Was he leaning closer? His chest brushed against mine and my skin tingled beneath the thin material of my t-shirt, my breath catching at that electric contact. Apparently, it didn't even need to be skin to skin for me to get zapped, and I wasn't sure really how I felt about that.

My brain was a little muddled at the moment.

His icy eyes, hooded and shadowed now, dipped down to my lips for a fraction of a second. Not even a fraction, more like a fraction of a fraction of a second. But it was long enough for me to realize that he was debating kissing me. Or was he? I couldn't really tell anymore and his close proximity was stealing all my thinking processes.

He leaned closer... closer...

My breathing quickened, my eyes shuttering, pressing closer...

And closer...

"Kieran! Ethan! Hurry your asses up!" Molly shouted.

Mood effectively ruined.

Our eyes met for just an instant, and I gasped, shocked to see his hadn't completely iced over. Quite the contrary. Those aquamarines burned bright and jewel-like, smoldering with a molten heat, before he quickly snuffed out the flames.

I watched him turn tail and flee, his head bowing, hand rising to massage the nape of his neck. My fingers clenched into fists, grinding my molars together. I shook my head, hanging it in shame, despondently stomping after them.