Page 149 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

Traveling during the holiday season was hell.

But not when it came to traveling. He was learning that quickly.

Oh sure, the airport was decorated heavily.

Fake trees dotted the place, complete with colorful lights and shining garlands.

Music pumped out of speakers, and everywhere he looked, there was the veneer of Christmas.

Joy littered around to the point that he wondered if he might ever see colors other than red and green again.

Yet, after an almost ninety-minute trip in an Uber to the airport when it should have taken thirty, he began to wonder if there was a reason many of the men on the base didn’t go home for the holidays.

By the time he’d waited another thirty minutes to check in his luggage and another hour and a half at security, he was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t made a mistake.

And now he’d lost Sloane.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, turning around, feeling like a complete idiot as he desperately tried to find his boyfriend.

The man was well over six feet and built like a tank. How Dean could have possibly lost sight of Sloane was beyond him. They needed to get to their gate soon, or they’d be left behind, and then Dean would be grumpy.

After a few minutes of desperate searching, he finally spotted him leaning on one of the pillars against the terminal wall.

Sloane was slumped forward, staring at his phone and frowning.

For a moment, Dean was at war with himself.

As always, just the sight of Sloane was enough to ease the tension in Dean’s chest and bring a small smile to his face.

And yet he was annoyed to find the man staring at his phone again.

Sighing heavily, Dean marched over to him.

In all their years of friendship, Dean had never seen Sloane so attached to his phone as he had been for the past few weeks.

The only people his boyfriend talked to were his family, and they wouldn’t bother either of them since Dean and Sloane were supposed to be boarding a plane soon to visit them.

His boyfriend looked up when Dean got within five feet.

Sloane was an impressive specimen of a man, in Dean’s unbiased opinion.

As one of Sloane’s fellow guards at the base had said, Sloane was six-plus feet of pure muscle, tattoos, and growly barking man.

While it wasn’t the most poetic way to put it, Dean had to agree.

Sloane was tall and strong, and his entire left arm was covered in black ink tattoos.

And he was most certainly prone to growling when he spoke and tended to bark orders rather than speak them, especially when irritated, which Sloane was with most people.

Yet, at the sight of Dean, Sloane’s dour expression melted into a smile of pure warmth.

It was enough to make Dean forget every annoyance and frustration.

Sloane was a grumpy asshole, but he was Dean’s grumpy asshole, and even when they’d been just friends, Sloane had always made Dean feel special and wanted.

“I lost you,” Dean informed him.

“How did you lose me?” Sloane asked, looking around the crowd in confusion, all shorter than him.

“Because I hate the holidays. I hate airports. I hate crowds. And I lost you,” Dean grumbled.

“You like Christmas,” Sloane pointed out.

Dean flopped his arms at his side, the only expression of frustration he could muster. “Yes, Christmas, not this over the top, fake as hell, corporate shit they have going on here. And I especially don’t like crowds of assholes who don’t know the meaning of Christmas or its spirit.”

Sloane tucked his phone away, with Dean’s eyes trailing the device.

He really wanted to know who Sloane had been talking to so much over the past few weeks.

Sloane had even been taking a few calls out of earshot from Dean on purpose.

That Sloane kept skating around the topic with all the grace and subtlety of a drunken elephant wasn’t helping.

“Dean,” Sloane said softly, taking hold of his wrist and pulling him closer. “We’re gonna make the plane. And we’re going to land, my family will be there waiting for us, and we’ll have a real Christmas experience.”

Dean sighed, nodding his head. He was stressing, which was normal when he was out of his element.

It was the first Christmas he and Sloane were going to have together as a couple, and he wanted it to be a good one.

It was the entire reason he had fought so hard for him and Sloane to get leave at the same time.

“I know,” Dean groaned. “I’m just...anxious.”

“Why? This is normal for traveling at this time of year.”

“Because it stresses me out.”

“Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes, looking at the floor. “I don’t want to miss the flight. I don’t want to screw things up when we get there. It’s our first Christmas together. I want it perfect.”

“We’ve had Christmases together before.”

“Right. As friends.”

When Dean had been secretly nursing a crush on Sloane, and then after he’d inevitably fallen in love with him.

He didn’t want to focus too hard on what it had been like to endure the holiday season while secretly in love with his straight best friend.

Christmas had always been the toughest holiday to endure.

Something about the air of joy, family, and togetherness made his longing ten times harder.

He didn’t have to say that, though. He could see from the softening in Sloane’s eyes. The man pulled Dean closer until they were pressed front to front, and Dean had to look up into his face. Sloane took hold of his chin, smiling down at him.

“This Christmas is going to be great. We won’t miss our flight. My family already loves you to pieces. And us being together for Christmas is more than enough to make me happy. I’ll have my mother and my sisters, and I’ll have you. I don’t need things to be perfect because they already will be.”

Dean wasn’t sure if it was his words or the fact that Sloane, without hesitation or a glance at the crowd behind them, kissed him.

He was also sure it didn’t matter as he allowed himself to melt against him.

For all the years of painful longing, the past six months of their newfound relationship were everything he could have asked for and so much more.

He had spent years dreaming of what a relationship with Sloane would be like and was delighted to find the reality was at least ten times better.

And then the moment was ruined by the ugliest clearing of throats Dean had ever heard.

He stiffened and felt Sloane’s body go taut.

Dean refused to look over his shoulder, knowing damn well he was going to find someone giving them a filthy look, and it might provoke them into saying something stupid.

Dean didn’t want to lose his temper on some jackass in the middle of an airport terminal.

“Got a fucking problem?” Sloane growled, straightening to his full height and glaring over Dean’s head with hard, glinting eyes.

Dean finally turned around, if only to witness the show. What he found was a balding man in glasses and what was probably originally a ruddy complexion. Instead, the man’s face had paled to curdled milk, shrinking away, only scowling when he turned to melt back into the crowd.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean called after him with a laugh.

“Glad you think it’s so funny,” Sloane growled.

“The guy looked like he was going to piss himself,” Dean chuckled. “Of course, it’s funny.”

“Asshole,” Sloane grumbled.

If there was one benefit to dating a man like Sloane, it was that people rarely wanted to contend with him.

While Dean knew Sloane was a well-trained soldier who was more than capable of causing harm in a fight, he couldn’t recall the last time Sloane had come to blows with someone.

His sheer size and aura of menace were more than enough to dissuade anyone from tangling with him.

Dean turned back to Sloane, grinning. “I could have never got away with that, you know. People like that take one look at me and think they can run their mouths. You though? Ah, that was brilliant.”

Sloane frowned down at him. “Who the hell’s been giving you trouble?”

Dean shook his head. “No one, Sloane.”

No one Sloane could help him with anyway.

They were long gone from his life or had just been in passing.

Dean barely managed the low end of average height for a man, and his build was, at best, stocky.

There was not one thing intimidating about him, except perhaps his temper, though that was according to other people, Dean wasn’t so sure.

Dean hummed thoughtfully, running a hand down Sloane’s chest. “And have I mentioned how much I love hearing you get growly.”

“You might have, a few times,” Sloane said, anger slowly draining from his face.

“I mean, really like it,” Dean said, keeping his voice low for emphasis.

“Then you must get horny just hearing me talk since, apparently, all I do is growl,” Sloane said, raising a brow.

“Well, maybe not every time you talk, but…” Dean trailed off with a meaningful look.

Sloane laughed, kissing him again. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He might want to call Dean ridiculous, but Dean was still pressed against the man.

He could clearly feel that Sloane thought Dean was anything but ridiculous.

Well, if the sudden presence of something exceptionally long and intimidatingly thick pressing against his stomach was any indication, that was.

Sloane saw the look in Dean’s eyes and frowned a warning. “Don’t even think about it, Dean.”

Dean widened his eyes and tried for innocence. “What did I do?”

Sloane gave him a knowing look. “It’s not what you did. It’s what you’re thinking of doing.”

“Me?” Dean asked. “I wasn’t thinking of anything.”

“You are not molesting me in an airport terminal with hundreds of people,” Sloane told him quietly.

“I would never dream of doing anything of the sort,” Dean swore, lying through his teeth as Sloane knew full well.

One of the greatest delights he’d experienced in the first few months of their relationship was showing Sloane a whole new side of his personality.

Dean had always been tight-lipped about his sex life, even with Sloane, or perhaps especially with Sloane.

His best friend had known only that Dean did have sex and enjoyed himself, and that was about it.

Yet, in the past six months of their relationship, Dean had flung that particular door wide open and invited Sloane in.

Through that door was the reality of just how horny Dean could be.

Though Dean swore up and down, it wasn’t his fault.

It was Sloane’s, for looking so damned good all the time.

Sloane never quite seemed to believe that, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was because he thought Dean was just a closet horndog through and through or he wasn’t willing to admit he might be an incredibly sexy man.

Either way, those six months had also gone a long way to teaching Dean that he wasn’t the only one with a healthy sex drive.

While Sloane had been amazed at what Dean had kept to himself all those years, he certainly wasn’t put off by it.

In fact, most of the time, Dean’s advances were met with equal enthusiasm, and Dean wasn’t the only initiator.

Dean had lost count of how many times Sloane had caught Dean off-guard, pouncing on him or dragging him to the nearest surface.

Though he did have a point. Even Dean wasn’t interested in screwing around with hundreds of witnesses nearby.

“I can’t exactly step away and leave that thing on display,” Dean said, nodding toward Sloane’s crotch. “Someone gets a look at that, and they’ll either try to steal you from me or accuse you of smuggling a weapon.”

“You are the worst,” Sloane said, shaking his head.

“And you love me for it.”

“I love you in general. You being an ass is just part of the package.”

It was said so casually, but Dean beamed all the same.

He’d always known Sloane loved him. That had just been part and parcel of being his best friend.

But with the change in their relationship came a whole new meaning to that phrase.

Dean never got tired of hearing it, and deep down, he knew he never would.

Sloane drew his heavy coat around him, zipping it up at the bottom. “That’ll have to do.”

Dean chuckled, stepping back, but not before he felt a buzz inside Sloane’s pocket. Sloane glanced down but, thankfully, didn’t reach for the device. Dean was proud of himself for keeping a troubled expression off his face, once again wondering who the hell his boyfriend was talking to.

He didn’t want to think about it too hard.

Letting his mind run wild was a ticket to all sorts of mess and assumptions.

Yet six months was not enough to wipe away the fact that Sloane, for all intents and purposes, was straight.

Sloane himself had admitted that viewing or thinking of sex involving other men did nothing for him and that Dean alone managed to create those feelings.

While that was certainly a comforting thought, and it normally warmed Dean more than he could express, it also opened up a few nagging doubts.

Would Sloane ever grow tired of being with him?

That, he supposed, was a common enough fear for anyone in a new relationship.

But it was exacerbated by who Sloane was, what he was.

Would Sloane grow tired of being with a man?

Would he miss being with a woman? Would he one day find that Dean’s touch no longer excited him, finding instead that what he’d had with Dean was nothing more than impulse, a phase that finally burned itself out?

These things crept up on him in the dead of night when all was quiet. And when he saw Sloane spending so much time devoutly talking on his phone.

Sloane’s hand slipped into his, squeezing. “We should probably get to our gate. If we miss the flight, my mom will skin me alive, and then she’ll be forced to adopt you.”

Dean laughed. “She’s already threatened to do that.”

Sloane pulled him into the crowd. “Well, let’s not give her the opportunity.”

Dean followed him, hand in hand. With Sloane’s fingers, strong and a little calloused, clasped around his, all his dark thoughts faded to the back of his mind, silent. In their place, warmth flushed through him, and a smile took root on his face.

He even began humming along to the music coming from the speakers.