Psycho by Onley James
August found Lucas in his childhood bedroom, perusing his things like he was in a museum. He’d been quiet since they returned home. After they debriefed Thomas about their mission, Lucas had just sort of broken away from the herd with Noah, who seemed over the moon with Adam’s ugly four-legged present. Noah must have shown Lucas which bedroom belonged to August.
“You can touch if you want. If you have a deep need to dive down the rabbit hole of seven-year-old August’s brief love of fencing or my fascination with space.”
Lucas shook his head. “None of these things are you.”
August wrapped his arms around Lucas’s waist, relieved when Lucas relaxed against him. “How so?”
“You keep everything you care about with you. Your treasures. The important things are all lining the walls of your apartment or tucked away in boxes somewhere in your house. You don’t like the things you covet out of your sight.”
“Still putting that profiling brain to work, huh?”
Lucas gave a humorless laugh. “Is it over?”
“The twins took care of Kohn’s body. The fire at the junkyard is out, but it will take months for them to piece together what happened with what’s left. The rumor right now is meth lab.”
“Any word on Cricket?” Lucas asked.
“She’s already been released from the hospital. The other women were severely malnourished, and suffered some minor injuries, but none of them had made it to the main event. They are being held for fluids and observation. Atticus is still limping around like he went up against a great white and not a bulldog with sleep apnea.”
Lucas snorted, but any trace of humor quickly disappeared.
It made August uneasy. He didn’t know how to approach Lucas when he was in this strange mood.
“Are you alright, Lucas?” August asked.
Lucas craned his head around, expression pained. “Oof. I don’t like when you say my name.”
“What?” August asked, dumbfounded.
“When you say my name, it feels like you’re chastising me or something. Like…I don’t know. It’s just weird. You need to come up with some kind of term of endearment for me. Just not baby. It always sounds sleazy to me.”
August snickered. “That’s what Adam calls Noah when they’re having sex, so yeah. No thank you.”
“Your family is disturbingly close for a bunch of psychopaths,” Lucas mused.
August pulled his phone free, hooking his chin over Lucas’s shoulder so he could type in front of him.
“Did you just Google terms of endearment?” Lucas asked.
August scoffed. “Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to? What do we have on the list… Babe? Honey? Love? Sweetheart? Dove? Pet? Sugarplum?”
Lucas wrinkled his nose. “Ew. No. Too syrupy.”
August smiled. “Aren’t terms of endearment, by their very nature, supposed to be syrupy?”
Lucas pulled a face. “I suppose. But we’re not really syrupy people. We’re scientists. Professors,” Lucas reminded, as if that fact had escaped August.
August ran his nose along Lucas’s cheek. “Oh, I know. I very much like when you call me Professor. Just so you know.”
Lucas pressed his ass back against his now half-hard cock. “Good to know, Professor.”
August buried his face in his neck. “Don’t be a tease or I’m going to fuck you against the door of my childhood bedroom.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Lucas shot back.
August contented himself with placing open mouth kisses along the column of Lucas’s neck, then the shell of his ear. Lucas reached behind him to wrap his hands around the backs of August’s thighs, pulling him closer. “No. You will not distract me until we solve the problem at hand. What about umnishka?”
“Russian?” Lucas asked.
“Mm.”
“What does it mean?”
August grinned. “Technically, it means clever one, but it’s often described as a teacher being proud of his student. Like I’m saying, ‘that’s my boy.’”
Lucas hummed, turning to loop his arms around his neck. “You want me to be your clever boy? I think you might have a genuine student/teacher kink, Professor Mulvaney.”
“Are you still trying to head shrink me, Mr. Blackwell?”
“The head on your shoulders is not the one I’m interested in at the moment,” Lucas murmured against his lips.
“As much as I’d like to explore this further, you never answered my question. Are you okay?”
Lucas shrugged, pulling away enough to look up into August’s face. “No. I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and I want to stand under a hot shower for three days.”
“Is that all there is to it? You’re just exhausted and in need of food and a bath?”
“In a few hours, when the numbness wears off, there’s a very good chance I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. But for now, I just feel…nothing. Not nothing. I’m relieved. I’m relieved that Kohn is dead and so is his crew, but part of me worries the Russian will just find new lackeys.”
August kissed his nose. “The Russian is on borrowed time. Archer’s already on his way to take care of him.”
“That’s good,” Lucas said, sounding like it was no better or worse than before.
“Do you want to go home?” August asked.
“Whose home?” Lucas asked.
August frowned. “Our home. Like you said, I like to keep my most treasured things close to me.”
Lucas sucked in a surprised breath but recovered quickly. “Has it occurred to you that we’ve only known each other a week? A week, August. Seven days.”
“Ugh, yeah. I don’t like when you say my name either. It sounds like I’m in trouble.”
“See?” Lucas asked.
“We’re getting distracted. What does time have to do with how you feel about me?”
“I shouldn’t love you after seven days,” Lucas said.
“Shouldn’t or don’t?” August asked, holding his breath as Lucas seemed to struggle with the answer.
“Shouldn’t. I shouldn’t love you, but I think I do. I know I do. I love you but I shouldn’t,” Lucas said, miserable.
August shook his head. “You’re so hung up on time. It took me seven seconds to figure out you’re it for me. If the passage of time is so important to you, I’ll wait. Even if it takes you seven weeks or seven months or seven years, but don’t let time be the only reason to keep us from doing what we both want. We don’t have to explain ourselves to anybody.”
He could see Lucas’s resistance crumbling. “You know the rumor mill at work is already churning overtime.”
“Then let’s give them something to talk about,” August countered. “Move in with me. I want to wake up next to you every morning and go to bed with you every night.”
Lucas smirked. “You say that now. But you haven’t seen me watching Star Trek in my underwear with Cheetos dust on my fingers.”
A slow smile spread across August’s face. “You paint a vivid picture, umnishka. But I’m willing to risk it.”
Lucas pressed a long chaste kiss to August’s lips. “Then take me home. I want a shower. Oh, and that cheesecake you bought. It really was one of the best things I ever put in my mouth. Can we get that cheesecake on the way home? Please?”
“We should probably grab dinner, too.”
“No. I demand a shower, sex, and cheesecake, the order of which is to be determined when we get home.”
“Say it again.”
“Shower. Sex. Cheesecake?” Lucas asked.
“No, home,” August prompted.
Lucas smiled softly. “You are the world’s most sentimental psychopath. Now, take me home.”
