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Dean’s eyes stung, and his throat felt too tight to say anything, so he simply nodded instead. He lay there, listening to Sloane’s breathing slowly deepen and become steady. Dean turned his head enough to see Sloane’s peaceful face as he slipped deeper into sleep and smiled.

For once, he thought he would sleep without a worry or a care in the world. Not so long as he was held in Sloane’s arms, where he knew he would always be safe.

SLOANE

Warmth and comfort filled his mind as it slowly shifted its way to consciousness. At ease, his mind sifted through the images and sounds, not focusing on any single image but instead taking in the whole sensation. He felt sated, content, and more at ease than he could remember. A weight pressed against his chest, shifting slightly against his arm.

The movement was enough to drag him out of his drifting haze of thought. Cracking his eyes open, Sloane looked around the familiar room that wasn’t his. Frowning, he tried to catch his bearings before realizing he was looking at Dean’s room. Posters of terrible action films hung in frames on the wall, with smaller picture frames alongside them. Sloane didn’t need to get up to know they were mostly pictures of the places Dean had seen during his time in the service. The pictures of Sloane and Dean were in the living room, with one hung beside the plush bed Dean had spent good money on.

His wandering mind snapped back to the present, as everything came crashing back to him. Sloane picked his head up, looking down at the weight against him. Dean slept peacefully, one arm wrapped around the arm Sloane had draped over him, his chest rising and falling slowly.

Sloane had been around Dean while the man slept several times, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing him so at peace. He realized Dean looked so much younger in the morning light, especially without the constant furrow that seemed to live on his brow since he’d returned from deployment.

Had Sloane really been the cause of that?

Sloane twisted carefully, looking at the clock. He’d woken a full half-hour before he was supposed to leave for his shift. Relaxing, he rolled back, giving Dean’s body a gentle squeeze so as not to wake him.

The night before should have been the strangest of Sloane’s life, and in some ways, it still felt a little odd. Sloane had never dreamt of being with a man before and had no interest in the male body. He could certainly understand someone finding a guy attractive and didn’t flinch away from admitting when a guy was hot, though he felt none of the attraction himself. Objectively, he had always known Dean was good-looking, well-built, with rugged yet somewhat softened features and brown eyes that were darker than most.

Yet, ever since the night they had drunkenly fallen together, with Dean’s lips wrapping around him and opening a door Sloane had never known existed, Sloane saw Dean differently. After that, he could see how much Dean’s eyes lit up, burning with emotion and smoldering with passion. He could see and feel the pleasure of just how dexterous Dean’s hands could be, and something deep in his gut churned to feel the man’s skin pressed against his.

And the night before had just been...something else.

Sloane pressed his nose to the back of Dean’s head, breathing deep as he kissed the man gently. It was odd how comforting Dean’s sleeping body felt against him. Dean’s touch had always been a source of comfort, but now, Sloane felt something farwarmer wash through him, mingling with a desire for Dean he’d never felt before.

“I’ll be back,” Sloane promised the sleeping man.

Careful not to wake Dean, Sloane extracted his arm from around Dean’s hips, letting his fingers drift over them. It was a chore not to wake Dean, to see the sleepy expression in his eyes as he came to and saw Sloane. But Sloane kept his hands to himself, making sure Dean was covered before setting his feet on the ground. It was the most peaceful sleep he’d ever seen Dean have, and Sloane couldn’t bear to interrupt it.

He was aware of what his absence would say to Dean, though. After carefully pulling his clothes on for his shift, Sloane searched for paper and a pen. Thankfully, Dean relied on old-fashioned handwriting, saying it helped him remember things. It took only a couple of minutes before Sloane found the supplies and jotted down a quick note.

Ripping the note from the pad, he folded it up and made to set it on the table beside Dean’s bed. Hesitating, he wrote a quick sentence on the front of the folded letter and began looking for Dean’s pants. Once he’d found them, he fished Dean’s phone out and plugged it into the charger behind the letter.

Smiling, he bent down to kiss Dean’s cheek. “Talk to you in a little bit.”

“You’re very quiet,”Simmons noted.

Sloane looked up with a smirk. “Not everyone needs to fill the silence by talking all the time.”

Simmons eyed him warily. “Yeah, but normally, you’re quick to tell me to shut the fuck up and quit bitching.”

“You haven’t been bitching,” Sloane pointed out.

Simmons blinked and then shrugged. “Guess I don’t have anything to bitch about.”

Sloane cocked his head. “That mean you’ve been thinking about what we talked about?”

“Is that what you’re calling it? Talking?”

Sloane chuckled. “Alright, I told you how it was, and you stared at me like I was the second coming, better?”

“It wasn’t...alright, maybe it was.”

Sloane waited. “Well?”

Simmons fiddled with the button on his jacket. “I’ve thought about it, yeah.”

Sloane raised a brow. “And?”