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Eoin was lying on his cot when it happened.
He was flat on his back with a book in his hands. Boots kicked off, legs out long. Stripped down in a well-worn undershirt and khaki shorts to combat the heat.
There was sweat up by his hairline. Curls fallen loose across his forehead. Sand between his fingers and some more between the pages.
It was one of those rare nights where Eoin had turned down the invitation to go get drinks in Cairo. Said, “Not tonight, lads,” and laughed when the words were met with a chorus of disappointed sounds.
He could only laugh, because he didn’t have an excuse.
The day hadn’t been particularly difficult. A spot of rare morning rain kept the temperature relatively cool. They hadn’t seen any proper action in weeks and the hardest he worked day-to-day was at cooking whatever catch Paddy brought back in with him from the dunes.
He didn’t have an excuse to stay back, let alone a good one.
That’s why it didn’t surprise him too much when he looked over towards the side of the group and saw that Paddy was already looking back at him. Lips turned down at the corners, brow pinched tight enough to put a crease between his eyes.
A look that asked more than one question. That felt as much like ‘Are you alright?’ as it did ‘Do you need me here?’
It was sweet. The concern. The way it was written all over Paddy’s face. That fact that Eoin knew all he had to do was tip his head a certain way and Paddy would drop everything to stay with him.
Eoin just smiled.
Just sent them on their way with a wave. Went back to his and Paddy’s tent to pass the rest of the night in the quiet, lying on his cot reading a well-worn copy of Dorian Gray to the tune of the cicadas.
He lost track of time like that. Didn’t move except to turn from his back to his stomach, then over to his side, and then over to the other when the moon replaced the sun and brought the stars along for company. Made it so Eoin had to flip over and turn on the lamp and keep his book in the path of the light in order to see the words.
It got harder as it got darker. Harder to see, harder to focus, harder to ignore the way his eyes had started to burn.
It wasn’t much past one in the morning, but it was late enough that Eoin yawned at the end of every chapter, wondered how much longer Paddy was going to be at the end of every even page and whether or not he should keep waiting up for him at the end of every odd.
He was lying on his back again, thinking about how he should probably go to sleep at the end of this chapter when the fabric of the tent began to rustle. A familiar sound that meant calloused hands were pulling at the flap, that meant Eoin had about three good seconds before it would be opening.
Three good seconds. For Eoin’s lips to pull into a smile, for butterflies to spread low in his stomach. For his heart to beat a steady thump, thump, thump that crashed against his ribcage and sent shockwaves to echo up and down his bones.
His eyes left the page when the light changed.
He already had a quip on his tongue. An easy, ‘There’s the stray come home,’ waiting back behind his teeth when he looked up and locked eyes with –
Eoin’s smile faltered, a fall that crushed and killed the words dead in his throat.
Heart halfway to the pit of his stomach because he looked up and locked eyes with one of the new recruits. Who was standing at the edge of the tent with an apologetic look on his face. Brow pulled high, a sheepish smile playing at his lips.
A laugh in his voice as he said, “Could use a little help, mate,” and gestured with a tip of his head somewhere back behind him. Where Eoin could only assume the trucks were waiting.
“How bad?” he asked, and held his breath while he waited for the answer.
Watched that new recruit shift his weight from one foot to the other. Watched him hesitate.
“Well-”
“Is he bleeding?” No point in beating around the bush.
The new recruit was quick to shake his head.
“No,” he said, but the relief didn’t have long to warm Eoin’s insides because he didn’t stop there. Kept going before Eoin could think to ask any other questions. “He’s not bleeding, but uh.” And there it was again. The hesitation. But this time, there was a laugh lurking somewhere under his breath. A twinkle in his eye that could only mean trouble. “Well. You’ll see.”
Whatever the fuck that could mean.
Eoin dogeared the page he was on, put his book down on the crate he and Paddy kept between their cots, and followed the new recruit out towards the trucks.
Paddy’s voice hit his ears the moment he opened the tent flap.
Mid-verse. Off-key. Loud and uncaring and terrible enough that all Eoin could do was smile.
“-but give me enough of the rare old stuff that’s made near Galway Bay,” Paddy sang, for God and Eoin and anyone else within a thirty-mile radius to hear.
They didn’t have to go far to find him. They’d only parked the trucks at the edge of the tents, and Paddy, it seemed, was in no rush to get out anytime soon.
Eoin saw his boots before he saw the rest of them. Recognized the lazy cross of his ankles up over the side of the open window. Swaying back and forth in time with the melody.
Cute.
Or something Eoin might have called cute if it weren’t becoming abundantly clear that Paddy’d had too much to drink.
Eoin tipped his head back towards the tents to let the new recruit know he could take it from here. Returned the salute thrown his way with a half-hearted flick of his wrist and continued over to the truck by himself.
Followed the call of the world’s worst siren song with his cheek caught between his teeth and a laugh at the corners of his lips.
“Come gougers all from Donegal, Sligo and Leitrim, too.”
Eoin was careful not to knock into Paddy’s boots when he leaned over to look in through the window. Wanted to get a good look at him before Paddy knew he was there.
Paddy, who was laid out long across the back seat of the truck with one hand wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle and his other arm thrown over his eyes. One part damsel in distress, two parts drunken mess.
His shirt was still tucked in, but it was unbuttoned all the way down. Gave way to smooth, tanned skin and a bead of sweat that rolled from his neck down over his chest and settled on his stomach.
Not that Eoin noticed. Not that Eoin’s mouth was watering.
Eoin brought his eyes back up to Paddy’s face, to the twist and curl of his mouth around the next line of the song.
“We'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip of the rare old mountain dew.”
Eoin spoke before he could do something stupid. Like stand there and stare at Paddy any longer. Like open the door, climb on top of him, and lick the sweat from his skin.
“Just between you and me, lad, I’m not sure you need another sip of anything.”
Paddy didn’t miss a beat.
“Aye, the drinks did flow, and flow well, they did,” he said, and took his arm from his face so that his eyes could find Eoin’s. “Nevertheless,” he lifted his other hand and angled the bottle in Eoin’s direction, “the thirst persists.”
And with that, he tipped his head back, brought the bottle up to his lips, and drank it all down.
A seven or eight second count where all Eoin could do was watch, from the fan of Paddy’s eyelashes to the purse of his lips to the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed.
All he could do was watch as Paddy sucked in a hard breath and tossed the now-empty bottle onto the floor, as Paddy scooted across the back seat and moved forward while Eoin took a step back. To put a safe foot or so of space between them.
Paddy crossed his arms over the edge of the open window and rested his chin on his forearm. Looked up at Eoin with a tip of his head toward one side. Puppy-like and boyish, with an easy smile pulling at his lips and crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
Unbearably handsome, and soft, and warm.
“Eoin,” he said. How he always managed to make it sound less like a name and more like a secret, Eoin would never understand.
He would never question it, either.
“Paddy,” he replied, and tilted his head down to look at him straight on.
Took in the rosy flush of Paddy’s cheeks, the rumpled, wrinkled mess of his uniform, the strand of hair that was beginning to come loose from where he’d tried to tuck it behind his ear.
Expression bright and open, shoulders relaxed. Eyes light with something Eoin couldn’t name.
“Hello.” Soft, slow.
“Hi.” Just as soft, and just as slow. But only for a moment. “Were you planning on coming back to the tent anytime soon, or did you have your heart set on sleeping in there?”
“I’m not in the habit of setting my heart on anything,” Paddy said. Kept going before Eoin could call him on what a blatant lie that was. “Was just waiting for you t’come find me, is all.”
“You seem awfully sure that I would.”
“And it also seems that I was right,” Paddy shot back. Smug, playful. “What have you to say about that?”
Eoin didn’t scoff, but it was a near thing.
“Get to fuck is what I have to say about that.”
And before Paddy could even think to respond, Eoin reached and pulled the door out from under him. Sent Paddy stumbling out of the truck with his eyes wide and his legs clumsy beneath him. Only just caught himself from falling ass over teakettle into the sand.
“Fucker,” he mumbled, his hands braced on his knees and his bleary eyes narrowed as tight as he could get them. Which. Wasn’t very tight at all.
“First and foremost.” Eoin shut the door with an easy push and stepped closer, put his hand on Paddy’s shoulder. Let it linger. Just long enough for it to warm his palm. “C’mon. Before the mosquitos remember how much they like ya.”
Paddy followed him back to the tent with a nod. With his elbow pressed to Eoin’s and a slight sway in his step.
And what Eoin expected was for the rest of the night to go as it always did whenever Paddy had too much to drink. He expected Paddy to sit down, throw his boots across the tent, and fill him in on whatever nonsense he’d missed in the city until finally sleep called and dragged them both under.
He did not and could not have imagined that Paddy would walk across to the wrong side of the tent and flop face-first down onto his cot.
Eoin’s cot.
Yet here Eoin was. Stuck in place with very little air left in his lungs and Paddy on his stomach, sprawled across Eoin’s cot with his legs out long and his cheek pressed into Eoin’s pillow.
Like he didn’t even need to think about it. Like it was something he did every day.
Eoin could only stare, dumbfounded, jaw halfway to the ground as he watched Paddy settle in deeper. As Paddy shifted his weight and hiked one leg up and let out a sigh. A soft sound. Suspiciously close to a moan.
Close enough to make Eoin’s eyes widen, to send heat up the line of his neck. A warm flush that started at his cheeks and disappeared down into his collar.
But as quickly as Eoin’s brain short-circuited, it started again. Reminded him that Paddy was drunker than hell and told him it didn’t mean anything.
Paddy had made a mistake, was all. He hadn’t done it on purpose.
He was just drunk.
Eoin could just ignore it.
Just swallowed around the lump in his throat and let a smile lighten his voice.
“You comfortable there?” he teased, if only to break the silence.
“Mmm,” Paddy hummed. Nodded. An easy up and down of a movement, a scratch of his beard against Eoin’s pillow. “S’very nice.”
Eoin’s brow raised, amused, but he didn’t push it. He didn’t remind Paddy that there were a million more cots just like it, or wonder what it was about Eoin’s that made it so special.
Because Paddy didn’t mean anything by it. He was just drunk.
Eoin just did what he did best, and tried to brush it off with a joke.
Walked over towards Paddy and said, “You should probably take your muddy boots off before you go and dirty it, then,” and flicked Paddy on the ear.
Wasn’t quick enough to dodge it when Paddy grabbed at his wrist, when Paddy rolled from his stomach to his back and used the momentum to drag Eoin down next to him, so that Eoin was sitting at his side.
Surprise heavy in his chest, a soft, “Oof,” in the back of his throat.
Only just stopped himself from falling over, from crashing into Paddy’s lap when he put his hand down on the cot next to Paddy’s hip. Arm bent and stretched over Paddy’s waist. All of his weight caught there for a careful, breathless second before Eoin shifted his shoulders to help distribute his bodyweight more evenly.
Beyond that, though, he didn’t really move. He didn’t pull his arm back into his side, didn’t lift his hand from the cot. Didn’t stop his thumb from touching the worn fabric at Paddy’s hip.
Paddy didn’t let go of Eoin, either. He only just loosened his grip, adjusted his hand. Thumb out long down Eoin’s forearm and his fingertips pressed into the warm skin on the inside of Eoin’s wrist.
Like Eoin was a tether. The last thing on Earth keeping Paddy from going fuzzy and floating away.
Paddy was smiling now. Small, but proud. His mouth stained red with wine, so dark it was almost burgundy.
Eoin wanted to lean down and taste it. He wanted to reach a hand up and smear the color across Paddy’s lips with his thumb and make it a part of his fingerprint, his DNA.
He didn’t. Wouldn’t. Wasn’t allowed to want that on a good day and even less so while Paddy was like this.
Was going to drown in it if Paddy kept smiling at him like that.
“There’s no reason for you to be looking so pleased with yourself,” Eoin said, and watched as Paddy’s wine-stained smile pulled sideways. Higher at the left side of his mouth than the right.
“Is there not?” Low and slow. Suggestive.
Eoin didn’t know what to say to that without giving himself away, so he didn’t. Say anything to it. Dodged it.
Redirected.
“I take it you had a good night, then.”
Paddy nodded. “There was music, and fine French wine.”
“Fine French wine,” Eoin echoed. Felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he asked, “Is that a compliment I hear?”
“Not a fuckin’ chance,” Paddy bit back, but there was no heat in it. No real irritation. An easy thing that told Eoin he saw the joke for what it was. “All fine things exist in spite of the French. Wine is by no means an exception.”
“And? How much of it did you have?”
“Oh, y’know. Just about-” Paddy stopped and let the sentence die there, as he took a long second to think about it. As he raised his free hand, held his pointer finger and his thumb about an inch and a half apart and said, “That much.”
Eoin was torn between laughing and rolling his eyes so hard it would hurt.
He settled on nothing more than his name.
“Paddy.”
The cheeky bastard only moved his fingers farther apart, until the gap between them was as wide as his hand would allow.
“So much.”
“Okay.”
Paddy laughed as he let his free hand fall to his chest. Tucked his back three fingers beneath the open buttons of his shirt in a fluid, thoughtless movement that made Eoin’s mouth go dry.
Made Eoin forget where he was and what he was doing and why it was such a bad idea for him to drag his eyes down from the hard plane of Paddy’s chest to the tanned skin of his stomach.
Brought them back up again as quickly as he’d let them fall when Paddy’s laugh gave way to his voice.
“You asked,” Paddy said, his tone bright with amusement, and his fingertips moving gently. The ones still resting on the inside of Eoin’s wrist. Trailing across Eoin’s skin in a slow, easy path he followed back and forth, and back and forth. “Should’ve come along if you wanted a say in how much I had.”
“As if I could’ve stopped you.” Simple. Matter-of-fact.
“No,” Paddy agreed. “But I like when you try.”
Eoin could only shake his head, could only laugh. Could only wonder, distantly, if Paddy felt the way his heart was racing beneath his fingertips.
“Don’t be daft.”
“M’not.”
It wasn’t the lack of hesitation that made Eoin’s breath catch, or the certainty with which Paddy said it.
It was the way he sat up. The way Paddy pushed up with his elbow and braced his free hand back behind him. The way he slid his hand up from Eoin’s wrist and held onto his bicep and put them nose to nose, chest to chest, with his eyes locked on Eoin’s and only a few short inches of space left between them.
So close, Eoin could feel the heat of him across his front, could smell the wine on his breath.
Could almost taste the words on his tongue when Paddy kept going and said, “I like most everything you do.”
But that was too much. Too soft. Too close to the burning, aching thing that lived in Eoin’s bones and flared whenever Paddy so much as breathed.
Because really, Eoin knew better. He knew better than to believe that any of this was real. He knew better than to think that Paddy meant it, or that Paddy would ever say anything like that out loud if he were sober.
Paddy was just drunk.
Eoin just laughed again as he twisted his fingers in the sheets at Paddy’s hip. Squeezed so tight it hurt his hand.
“Alright now. That’s enough of that.”
“Enough of what?” Paddy asked. “Surely you already knew that?” His brow had pinched, put a crease between them that Eoin wanted to wipe away with his thumb, or the press of his mouth.
But Eoin didn’t move, didn’t falter. Was careful to keep his voice even when he said, “The only thing I know at the moment is that you’re drunk,” and watched Paddy’s expression smooth back out at the words.
“That I am,” Paddy said, and paused for a breath, a swipe of his thumb across the inside of Eoin’s bicep. “Want t’know something else?”
Eoin wasn’t sure if he did, but he said, “Go on,” anyway.
The words barely off the tip of his tongue and out into the air between them before Paddy was moving again. Before Paddy was taking his hand off Eoin’s arm and reaching up to touch the backs of his knuckles to Eoin’s cheek.
“You’re blushing,” Paddy said, and made it so Eoin couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but look at him.
But watch Paddy’s eyes leave his and fall lower, half-lidded, his pupils blown wide while he followed the movement of his hand, followed the slow drag of his scabbed knuckles across the warm pink of Eoin’s cheek.
Warm like his wine-stained smile, the heat in his eyes.
The ache in Eoin’s chest.
“Paddy-”
“And I think it’s lovely.” Soft.
Even softer, how he angled his hand, opened it, cradled Eoin’s jaw in his palm like he was something fragile, something precious.
Said, “So there. Now it seems you know three things,” as he swept his thumb across Eoin’s cheek and trailed his eyes farther down Eoin’s face.
For a careless, thoughtless second, Eoin let his own do the same. Let his eyes fall down the slope of Paddy’s nose to find the red of his wine-stained mouth.
Let himself think, not for the first time in his life, that it would be easy. It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss him. Or to stay perfectly still and let Paddy be the one to lean in close and make that choice.
It would be so easy. Paddy was less than a breath away, closer than he’d ever been, and it was quiet. It was warm. It was late, and they were alone. More than likely the only two people still awake in the whole camp. Maybe even the whole world.
And Paddy, it seemed, was doing the unthinkable.
Because Paddy was. He was moving. He was tipping his chin, tilting his head, leaning in closer.
All Eoin needed to do was stay still.
It would be so easy, and it would be everything Eoin had ever wanted.
But he didn’t want it like this.
Eoin turned his head to the side the moment he felt Paddy’s nose brush against his. Less of a touch and more of a shock to his whole system. A bucket of freezing cold water that reminded him that Paddy was drunk. That Paddy wouldn’t be doing this if he were sober.
He was just drunk and he was probably just lonely and Eoin was just. There. Because he was always there.
Always reminding Paddy who he was whenever he lost his way.
Eoin turned his head to the side and sat up straighter, used all of his strength and even more of his willpower to push up from the cot.
“Y’know, I think I will come along next time,” he said, and kept speaking instead of thinking about how much he missed the warmth of Paddy’s palm on his cheek. “Need to be sure nobody gives you any more of that French shite ever again.”
Paddy didn’t let him get far, though. The hand that had been on Eoin’s cheek found his wrist.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his mouth a flat line. His eyes wide, and round, and open.
Made him look young. More than a little vulnerable.
Maybe even a little hurt.
Eoin covered Paddy’s hand with his own, patted it once, twice, and pushed it off. Took a step backwards before Paddy could reach for him again.
“To go get ready for bed. From the rubbish you’re talkin’, it sounds like it’d be a good idea if you did, too.”
Eoin had already turned around by the time Paddy mumbled, “Not rubbish,” under his breath, and he chose to leave it there, to ignore it as he kept true to his word and got ready for bed. Kept his back to Paddy as he stripped down to his underwear and left his clothes in a puddle on the ground between their cots.
He only listened as Paddy did the same. Heard the creak of the cot beneath him and the rustle of fabric, the dull thud with which Paddy’s clothes hit the sand.
He turned back around a few seconds later with every intention of saying goodnight. He was going to say goodnight like a good person who had been raised with good manners, go to sleep, and give Paddy the grace of forgetting any of this had ever happened.
But the word caught in his throat when he turned back around and saw that Paddy wasn’t in the middle of the cot anymore.
He wasn’t in the middle of the cot, but all the way over on the far side, facing in towards the middle. With his arms tucked tight to his bare chest and the whole other side of the cot, the one closest to Eoin, wide open.
Almost like he was. Like he was offering it up. Like he was waiting for Eoin to come back over at some point and climb in next to him.
It was as good of an invitation as Eoin had ever seen, and Eoin let himself think, not for the first time in his life or even tonight, that it would be easy.
It would be so easy to lie down next to him and wrap his arms around him. To bury his nose in Paddy’s neck and breathe in deep and fall asleep with his head on Paddy’s shoulder, or his arm, or his chest.
It would be so easy, but Eoin didn’t. Couldn’t.
Couldn’t even bring himself to say goodnight when he put out the lamp and climbed into Paddy’s cot, alone, and settled on his side, facing away from the rest of the tent.
But even that – the smart choice, the safe choice – felt like a mistake.
The moment his head hit the pillow, he got hit with a wave of Paddy’s scent, so strong it made his head spin. A mix of clean sweat and regulation shampoo, of the spicy aftershave Paddy liked and the cologne he kept and saved for very, very special occasions.
Eoin was so busy trying not to turn his face in towards it, trying not to pull the blankets up to his nose that he almost missed it when Paddy sighed.
A slow, frustrated exhale and a whisper of, “Fuck’s sake, lad,” as the cot creaked beneath his weight and gave away the fact that he was moving.
Eoin had barely processed the words, the sound of the cot creaking and the sand scratching beneath his feet before Paddy was pushing at his shoulder. Before Paddy was lifting the edge of the blanket and climbing in behind him.
Eoin was helpless to it, to the pressure of Paddy’s hand and the heat of his palm. He moved over, tried to make room for him without a word, but there was barely enough room for the two of them to share, let alone for them to each have their own space.
Not that it seemed to bother Paddy in the slightest.
Paddy didn’t hesitate to settle in close, his bare skin pressed to Eoin’s. His chest flush with Eoin’s back, his knees tucked into the bend of Eoin’s legs, the tips of his toes nudging at Eoin’s heels.
He draped his arm over Eoin’s waist, too. Rested his hand on Eoin’s stomach, low, just above his waistband. Low enough that Eoin had to work hard at ignoring the heat that sparked white-hot beneath Paddy’s touch.
Had to work even harder at finding the words and letting them go.
“You’re supposed to be going to sleep,” Eoin said, trying his very best to keep cool despite the way his whole body wanted to melt back into Paddy’s arms.
“I said no such thing.” Featherlight, how Paddy’s voice tickled at the back of his neck. Gentle, and familiar, and bright. “Even if I had, I should like to spend the rest of the night lying in my own cot, don’t you think?” Teasing.
Did absolutely nothing to help the heat licking at Eoin’s insides and only made it worse, made it harder to ignore when Paddy curled his fingertips in slightly, dragged his nails, scratched at the hair just below Eoin’s bellybutton and dumped kerosene on the fire that raged in Eoin’s veins.
Eoin swallowed, pushed down the gasp that was threatening to crawl its way up from his lungs and out past his lips.
Said, “Seemed content with where you were before, is all,” and covered Paddy’s hand with his own, half to ground himself, half to keep it from wandering anywhere else.
“I was that, when you were near,” he agreed, and paused for a moment, a breath, a beat of Eoin’s heart. “And then you went away, and the feeling followed you close behind.” Like it was really that simple.
Like it was the easiest thing in the world for Paddy to adjust his hand under Eoin’s and lace their fingers together. His scabbed knuckles pressed tight to Eoin’s palm.
Eoin spoke instead of bringing their hands higher up.
Said, “Was only over here,” instead of holding Paddy’s hand to his heart or to his mouth, so he could press a kiss to the heel of his palm.
“Aye, dead right. Much too far.” Without an ounce of hesitation or sarcasm.
Almost like it was still sort of true. Paddy squeezed Eoin’s hand with his own, tugged his arm back. Whispered, “C’mere,” into the soft skin just behind his ear and pulled at his hip and helped him turn over.
Before Eoin could think any better of it. Before he could remind himself that Paddy was just drunk and that this was probably a bad idea.
Maybe one of the worst he’d ever had.
Eoin turned over and made it so that they were facing each other. Sharing the same pillow, the same air, the same space.
It was instinctive, how he put his hand on Paddy’s waist. Necessary, he told himself, given the proximity and the lack of any other comfortable option.
Paddy’s hand seemed to find the side of his neck the same way. Instinctive, thoughtless. Threaded his fingertips in the curls at the nape of his neck and let his thumb go long, rested it on the corner of his jaw.
Eoin could smell the wine on Paddy’s breath this close. He could smell the sweat that had gathered and darkened the hair up by his temple. Long hair that fell loose and messy across his forehead and tickled at Eoin’s skin.
His stormy blue eyes locked on Eoin’s and a smile pulling at his lips, crooked and handsome and pleased.
“There you are,” he whispered. Voice thick with the promise of sleep and something Eoin recognized, something Eoin saw looking back at him every time he looked in a mirror but didn’t dare to give a name.
Something tender, and fond. That made Eoin’s head spin and his stomach bottom out like he was falling.
It only got worse when Paddy’s thumb drifted from his jaw to find the corner of his mouth. When Paddy’s eyes left his and came back up again with a quick flutter of his eyelashes.
“What are you doing?” Eoin asked, careful not to brush his lips against Paddy’s finger as he spoke.
“Looking at you,” he said, and it was that familiar shade of burgundy that colored his tone, that crept into the flush that still sat high on his cheeks. “Thinking.”
The smart part of Eoin knew that he shouldn’t ask. It knew that asking would only make things worse, and it told him that he should close his eyes and go to sleep before either of them could push this any further than they already had.
The smart part of Eoin told him to keep his mouth shut.
The silly part of him just wanted to hear Paddy’s voice.
It was the silly part, the one he’d spent the majority of the night trying desperately to ignore, that made him wonder, “About what?”
“Yeats,” he said, slow enough for Eoin to understand that it was less of a name and more of a confession. A secret hidden in the spaces between the letters and the rise and fall of his chest.
Made Eoin wait while he lowered his eyes again, while he dragged his thumb from one corner of his mouth to the other, a path he followed across Eoin’s lower lip in one direction and back over again before he let Eoin in on the secret, too.
“Wine comes in at the mouth and love comes in at the eye,” he started, the words smooth and clean. Almost suspiciously well-practiced in their ease. “That’s all we shall know for truth before we grow old and die.”
He brought his eyes back up to Eoin’s in the pause between breaths, between lines.
“I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh.”
It sounded so simple, when he put it like that. Too simple, for the way it made Eoin’s breath hitch. The way it made his hands tremble. A shake that started somewhere in his chest, just slightly left of center, and worked its way down to his fingertips.
Eoin just looked at him. He didn’t speak, he could barely even breathe, but he kept his eyes in Paddy’s, and he looked.
And looked, and looked, and looked.
For a laugh, maybe. For the lie he was terrified would be waiting for him somewhere in the stormy blue of Paddy’s eyes. Anything that would break the tension and tell him that Paddy didn’t mean it. That Paddy wasn’t talking about him or them and that he was just drunk. Just reciting poetry for the fun of it.
Eoin couldn’t find any of that, though.
All Eoin could see when he looked in Paddy’s eyes was that tender, fond thing he always saw. The same one Eoin saw looking back at him every time he looked in a mirror, and didn’t dare to give a name.
He could hear it in Paddy’s voice, too.
The low, slow way he whispered, “Eoin?” and waited patiently while the smart part of Eoin and the silly part went to war again over whether or not he should answer. Over what he should say.
He landed somewhere in the middle. Somewhere in the space between silly and smart and something closer to curious when he said, “Yeah?” and lost eye contact. Let his eyes drift down.
Was too busy looking at Paddy’s lips to realize that Paddy was looking at his again, too.
“If I tried to kiss you again, would you let me?”
And it was only because Eoin watched the words leave Paddy’s mouth that he could believe his ears.
He might have thought that his mind was playing tricks on him, that his brain had finally caught up to how late it was and how tired he was if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
But he had seen it, and Paddy had asked.
And Eoin let himself think, not for the first time in his life or the first or even the second time tonight, that it would be easy.
It would be so easy to let Paddy kiss him. To let Paddy lean in and press their lips together and pull him in closer.
He wanted to feel Paddy’s bare chest pressed to his. He wanted to feel the muscles in Paddy’s back move and strain beneath his hands. He wanted to work a knee between Paddy’s thighs and push and put just the right amount of pressure to make Paddy gasp against his neck.
Eoin wanted, and it would be so easy.
All he had to do was say yes.
He didn’t say yes. He’d done his best not to say yes all night, and he wasn’t about to ruin that now because he still didn’t want it like this. Not when Paddy was still just drunk. Not when Eoin couldn’t tell whether Paddy was going to forget all of this once he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
So, he didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either.
He didn’t say anything at all, for another long second. While the smart, silly, and curious parts of him thought of how best to put it.
While he moved his hand from Paddy’s waist to the small of his back, and remembered how to be brave.
“In the morning, I will,” he said, and brought his eyes back up. Pressed his fingertips into the dimples at the base of Paddy’s spine so that Paddy would bring his up again, too. So that Paddy could see in his eyes that it wasn’t a yes or a no, but a promise. Something Paddy could keep. “If you can remember.”
Paddy saw the answer for what it was. The way he nodded told Eoin that. A quick, clumsy thing that brushed their noses together.
He didn’t push it. He didn’t ask Eoin why or wonder what difference a few hours would make.
All he said was, “Okay,” like a promise back. “Okay, I will,” and cuddled in closer.
Closed the distance between them until his entire body was flush with Eoin’s and his head was tucked into Eoin’s chest. His hand no longer on Eoin’s neck but on his back, spread wide in the space between his shoulder blades. One knee threaded comfortably between Eoin’s and his hair tickling at Eoin’s chin. His nose pressed into the warm skin of Eoin’s throat.
Like he didn’t even need to think about it. Like it was something he did every day.
And Eoin didn’t fight it. He didn’t push Paddy away or tell him that it was too warm or that one of them should go over into the other cot.
Eoin let himself have this, for once. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the top of Paddy’s head. Let his fingertips wander across Paddy’s lower back and listened to the way it made him hum. A soft, contented sound that Eoin had never heard him make before.
That Eoin wanted to catch in a jar and put on a shelf and save for rainy days.
He fell asleep like that. On his side, with Paddy tucked tight to his chest and the promise of tomorrow hanging quietly in the air.
He woke up on his back, with Paddy’s arm thrown across his chest and Paddy’s leg thrown across his hips. He had one arm out to the side, pinned down by Paddy’s weight and curled loosely around his shoulders.
Head tipped in just the right way for a beam of sunlight to travel in through a tear in the tent and hit him directly in the eyes.
He scrunched his face up to try and block it out, turned his head to the side when that didn’t work and buried his face in Paddy’s hair to hide from it as best as he could.
Paddy’s voice rumbled softly against his neck.
“Alright?” he asked, and gave away in a single word that Eoin hadn’t jostled him awake.
No, his voice was too clear to have just woken up. Too smooth. Had already lost most of the gravel, the texture that came with sleep and only still wore the lingering effects of the wine.
“Yeah,” Eoin said, slightly muffled by the strands of Paddy’s hair. Voice groggy in comparison to Paddy’s. “S’just bright.”
Paddy hummed, but he didn’t say anything more than that. Ran his hand up and down Eoin’s side instead of agreeing out loud.
Eoin let his body relax again under it, let his mind go quiet. Under the calming path of Paddy’s hand, the warm blanket of his weight. Breathed in the familiar smell of Paddy’s shampoo and felt the tension in his shoulders melt away with every inhale, felt his muscles go loose and lax with every exhale.
How long they spent there like that, he wasn’t quite sure. Whether it was seconds or minutes or hours or maybe even days.
Eoin had no idea. Lost track of time. Floated in the state between sleep and consciousness and forgot about everything that wasn’t Paddy or his hand or the soft puff of his breath against Eoin’s neck.
Little by little, though, Paddy began to shift. So slowly that Eoin didn’t really notice it at first.
Eoin didn’t think much of it when Paddy’s hand drifted higher up his chest. Stopped somewhere in the space between his heart and his shoulder while he rested his thumb in the hollow of his throat, let his middle two fingers trace their way back and forth, and back and forth, and back again across his collarbone.
It became more obvious when Paddy’s hand went still a few minutes later, when Paddy turned his face in towards him, the short hair of his beard scratching gently at Eoin’s neck. His eyelashes tickling at Eoin’s cheek. Made Eoin’s mouth twitch with the ghost of a smile he wouldn’t let come to life and put goosebumps on the backs of his arms.
Became something Eoin couldn’t ignore when Paddy tipped his head back, and pressed his lips to the underside of his jaw. Light, the first time. Something Eoin could have tried to write off as an accident, maybe, or a mistake.
And then Paddy kissed the same spot again. Just the tiniest bit harder. More firm.
Too firm to be anything but deliberate.
Too calm to be anything but certain, as Paddy followed the line of Eoin’s jaw with his lips, stopped between every breath to press another kiss to Eoin’s skin, sleep-warm and sensitive, and another.
And another, and another, and another.
Eoin worked hard to keep himself from gasping, from moaning at the sensation. He didn’t let his lips part or his hands shake or his spine arch up into it, because he didn’t know what this was yet.
He was still half-asleep and still trying to get his wits about him. He didn’t know whether he was allowed to want this yet, or whether Paddy was still just drunk and feeling affectionate and giving it to Eoin because Eoin was still just there.
But he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t let his head loll back. If he said he didn’t try to make it easier, if he didn’t try to give Paddy better access and more space to kiss and nip and learn and touch.
Paddy had made it all the way to Eoin’s throat, had his mouth pressed to the curve of Eoin’s Adam’s apple when Eoin finally spoke and cut into the silence, the tension.
He had already let this go too far as it was, needed to say something before it got any worse. Before Paddy did something he wouldn’t be able to take back.
Eoin swallowed hard, felt his throat bob with it, felt Paddy’s mouth move in time and in tune with it.
“Paddy?” Eoin asked, breathless, overwhelmed by the attention. Decidedly more awake than he’d been a minute or two ago. “What are you doing?”
“Remembering,” he said, and dragged his lips with it, put the word on Eoin’s skin. A brand to Eoin’s pulse that knocked the air from his lungs and sent a shiver all the way up his spine.
It was all Eoin could do not to whine when Paddy took his mouth away from his neck, not to beg and ask for him to come back, but he didn’t have long to mourn the loss before he felt Paddy shift again.
Before Paddy moved away from his side and climbed on top of him. Straddled him. His knees snug on either side of Eoin’s hips and his hands on either side of Eoin’s head as he hovered above him. Caged him in. Surrounded him completely.
Eoin was silent as he stared up at him. His stomach in knots and his lips slightly parted with the shock of it. His heart racing like it wanted to break its way out past his ribs and fall out onto the floor and see Paddy for itself.
He put his hands on Paddy’s hips to hold him steady, to hold him still, as he looked up at him and paid careful attention to his face.
Let his eyes roam and looked for any sign that Paddy was still just drunk, that this was about to become another bad idea in what had already been a long night and now an early morning of very, very bad ideas.
But all Eoin saw, when he looked up and looked at Paddy’s face, was that tender, fond thing he always saw. More focused than it usually was. Paddy’s mouth a flat line, his brow smooth. His cheeks lit up with the soft pink of early morning sunlight and his eyes bright and open.
Long-awake and undeniably alert.
Sober.
Looking down at Eoin like the entire world was caught in the space between his palms. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than right here, right now.
Eoin couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty sure he was looking up at Paddy the exact same way.
He was tired of pushing it down and pretending otherwise. He was tired of pretending like he was the responsible one, like he didn’t want this just as badly as Paddy did.
Like there was anywhere else he’d rather be than right here, right now.
It was the morning and Paddy was sober and he was looking down at Eoin like he hung the sun and the moon and all of the stars up in the sky, and Eoin needed him closer.
Told him in the way he tightened his grip on Paddy’s hips, the way he pulled and felt the knots in his stomach curl tighter when Paddy followed, as he let Eoin’s hands guide him down and leaned in towards him.
Stopped just as their noses brushed. His weight braced on his hands. His hair falling down over his forehead and covering his eyes.
“Can I-” Paddy started, and cut himself off to swallow. To breathe. His voice quiet, as soft as Eoin had ever heard it. “Would it be alright if I kissed you now?” he asked. A question and a promise. Something he remembered. Something he was trying to keep.
And it was easy.
It was so easy to let Paddy kiss him. For Eoin to reach up and push the hair back from Paddy’s forehead and tuck it behind his ear. For Eoin to follow the motion through, smooth, and hold Paddy’s jaw in his hand.
For Eoin to nod, and let his eyes fall-half lidded, and say, “Please.”
It was so easy, and it was everything Eoin had ever wanted.
It was all Paddy needed, to close his eyes and kiss him.
Like he’d been waiting all his life to hear that word, like it would kill him if he had to wait another second.
It was slow at first, still. Just this easy press of lips, this easy tip of Paddy’s chin and then Eoin’s that helped him kiss back with equal pressure, that helped him give as good as he got.
Made it so all he could think about was how warm Paddy’s lips were against his. How soft. Softer than they had any right to be in the middle of the desert, smooth as he started to move. As Paddy brushed his lips against Eoin’s and let out the tiniest little moan that Eoin could touch and taste and feel and made stars dance back behind his eyelids.
Eoin went lightheaded with it, how natural it was, how good. Only got better when Paddy angled his head and deepened it. Couldn’t help but gasp when he felt Paddy’s tongue at the seam of his lips, and felt the world tip on its axis when Paddy licked into his mouth and moaned. Louder this time. A deep, full-bodied thing that Eoin could feel against his palm and his chest and the spaces between his ribs.
He could feel his pulse all the way in his fingertips. Had fire licking at his cheeks. Hooked his arms under Paddy’s shoulders and spread his hands wide so that he could feel every breath rise and fall and hitch and stutter, and used them to pull him in closer. A push, a gentle pressure that helped him say come here without having to break away.
Paddy leaned into it.
Dropped down and moved from his hands to his elbows and let his weight fall a little heaver across Eoin’s front. Pressed against him and put them chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip, skin bare all but for their briefs, and made it so Eoin could feel him everywhere, all the way up and all the way down.
From the pleasant burn of Paddy’s beard against his chin to the jut of Paddy’s elbows against his shoulders and the sweat-slick skin of his torso. To the fine hairs on Paddy’s legs that tickled at Eoin’s thighs and the easy roll of his hips, the way he ground down and gave away the fact that he was already half hard and oh, oh yeah Eoin was already just as hard, too.
Eoin didn’t care that it was fine French wine that got them here. He didn’t care that that, of all things, was the thing that pushed them over the edge.
He was grateful for the push, and he was grateful to fall. And fall, and fall, and fall.
When they broke apart a minute later, it was only because they’d run out of air.
Well. It was mostly because they’d run out of air.
Eoin figured out what the other reason was as soon as he looked at him. Was busy trying to catch his breath when he looked up and saw that same beam of sunlight traveling in through the tear in the tent, the beam much wider now that the sun had risen higher.
Realized that when Paddy had dropped down to his elbows, it put him directly in the path of the light and made it so that it was hitting him right across the eyes, just like it had done to Eoin a few minutes ago.
Except that Paddy’s whole face was screwed up. His cheeks pulled so high it crinkled the creases at the corners of his eyes, his brow pinched stiff and his eyes shut tight. His lips kiss-swollen and wine-stained, parted in pain.
Eoin didn’t have enough time to laugh before Paddy was leaning in and burying his face in the curve of his shoulder with a groan. Not exactly the good kind. Turned into a sigh when Eoin’s hand settled on the back of his head and held him there, when Eoin buried his fingers in his hair and scratched.
“Really is fuckin’ bright,” Paddy said. Eoin wondered if his brain was playing tricks on him when he thought that Paddy’s voice was rougher now than it had been a few minutes ago. “Feels like a wee fuckin’ machine gun.”
Eoin did laugh then. He tried his best to keep it quiet, wanted to keep the noise in Paddy’s head from getting any worse.
“Tends to feel like that after you’ve had your body weight in wine,” he said. He might have been embarrassed about how wrecked he sounded if Paddy didn’t sound just as bad.
Paddy, who picked his head back up again and rested their foreheads together. Squinted through the sunlight.
“Might’ve been a bit more than that, if I’m honest.” His smile was small. Sheepish. This faint, little thing that only just pulled at his cheeks. Like it hurt him to do it. “Can’t be too sure.”
“Eejit,” Eoin said, and curved his hand around Paddy’s eyes to block the light from hitting them. Watched Paddy’s face visibly soften at the gesture. His jagged edges gone smooth, his smile gone tender, and fond.
What else could Eoin do but kiss him again. But lean up and tilt his head and taste that tender, fond smile for himself.
Just a quick one, short and sweet. Separated their lips with a smack and felt his own smile widen when Paddy tried to chase him for another. When he turned his head to the side and Paddy nosed at his cheek, kissed him there softly.
Eoin used his shoulder to get him to move back, nudged him up. Kept his hand curved around his eyes and smoothed his thumb along Paddy’s brow and said, “Close your eyes a while, yeah? I’ll wake you when we need to be anywhere.”
Paddy nodded. Kissed him again instead of saying thank you. Lingered in it until they were both breathless, at which point he finally dropped the rest of his weight down onto Eoin and made himself comfortable.
He settled with his arms hooked under Eoin’s shoulders, his face hidden in Eoin’s neck, away from the sun and safe. Eoin’s arms looped around his waist, hands clasped loosely over his lower back and his head angled in such a way that he could still see his watch and keep an eye on the time.
They had a briefing in a few hours. It wasn’t anything important. Nothing they couldn’t walk into a half hour late.
And they were going to be late because they needed to stop at the mess before they went anywhere else. Eoin could already feel his stomach starting to growl and Paddy – God help him – was going to need water. Lots of it.
They were also going to be late because Eoin needed to kiss him again before they did anything else. He’d let Paddy keep his eyes closed for another hour at most, give him just enough time to let his head settle and get his bearings about him.
And then Eoin planned on flipping them over and rolling on top of him and kissing him for as long as time would allow. He planned on nipping at Paddy’s jaw and kissing his way over to his ear and whispering all of the things he didn’t let himself say last night.
He wanted to make Paddy blush the way Paddy had made him blush. He wanted to make Paddy gasp and shiver and moan, and he wanted Paddy to know that he read poetry and thought of him, too.
Eoin wanted to lift the glass to his mouth, and look at him, and sigh.
But that could wait ‘til later.
Right now, more than anything, Eoin just wanted to hold him. He just wanted to keep his arms around him and rest his cheek against Paddy’s head and let Paddy hide from the sun in his neck.
Eoin had all morning to get back at Paddy for last night.
He had the rest of his life to lift the glass to his mouth, and look at him, and sigh.
And sigh, and sigh, and sigh.