It was one thing for the major addition to his cabin to not be wearing a shirt, but somehow Killian also found himself questioning the quality of his own clothes. Since when had the fabric become so terribly thin that he might as well not have been wearing anything at all?
Who should he talk to for this concern and how should he even begin to explain how he noticed the problem?!
Every place where bare skin met fabric—or worse, bare skin—felt as though it had suddenly caught fire.
That unruly strip of exposed skin along his lower back, where his shirt had ridden up after being rolled over like one of Luca’s snacks, felt as though it were fighting for its very survival. Any more friction, and he was certain he’d end up jerking away like he’d been burned.
The struggling Killian definitely hadn’t anticipated this tonight of all nights, when he’d assumed everyone would simply get some rest and worry about tomorrow when it came.
But now that the proverbial bridge had been crossed, he couldn’t even invent a dozen perfectly logical excuses to fool himself for a few more minutes. Every last one of them inevitably fell apart the moment he remembered that the man currently wrapped around him was the very same person he’d very publicly claimed with a kiss.
Sure, the people who’d witnessed it had thankfully been far too busy salvaging their own situations to dwell on his scandalous act, but that didn’t change the fact that what they’d seen hadn’t been some fleeting peck.
It had been lips to lips, fueled by a whole lot of momentary bravado.
So if he were being completely honest with himself, he was really being a hypocrite... and an inconsiderate ass. Had this happened back in the earlier days of human civilization, he would have needed to marry the man after marking him like that.
And yet, earlier, he’d had the audacity to tell Jax that the redhead owed him an explanation for that prolonged staring contest with Cyrion.
Meanwhile, he couldn’t even bring himself to explain his own reaction despite clearly owing Jax one.
That was hardly fair.
He was only fortunate the redhead wasn’t grilling him over it and was instead unknowingly setting him on fire simply by existing.
At that point, with his heartbeat refusing to settle and his composure hanging by a thread, Killian came to one unavoidable conclusion.
He needed to make a tactical retreat to the bathroom before he passed out right there in his own bed.
Then he could splash some water on his face, gather his thoughts, own up to what had admittedly been a rather excessive move earlier, and finally start talking about how they were supposed to move forward with... whatever exactly this unlabeled thing between them had become.
Right.
That sounded like a perfectly reasonable strategy.
If he could just make it to the bathroom first, he might actually get his shit together.
Resolved, Killian quietly shifted his weight and tried to sit up.
But the hopeful cabin owner barely managed to move an inch. Because who was he to have such an easy way out?
__
Apparently, not someone powerful enough to have the very person he’d called over give way, as a large, strong palm caught him by the abdomen.
Killian’s heart skipped about three beats in sudden shock.
Well.
That was certainly one way to die.
Unfortunately, what he assumed would be a quick and peaceful journey to the afterlife came with an unexpected revival, because the same broad palm pressed more firmly against his stomach, almost cupping it as Jax pulled him securely against his chest.
The warmth behind him bordered on sizzling, and he felt like hissing against it.
Then came the quiet breath brushing near his ear.
"Killian?"
The owner of that name immediately panicked.
His mind had already prepared an answer for the question he was certain was coming.
"Where do you think you’re going?"
He was one pulse away from blurting out, "Bathroom," and the mere thought of saying it aloud while being held like this was enough to make him lightheaded.

Real smooth.

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