Chapter Seven
Anthony berated himself in the bathroom supply closet. He’d first become distracted by Elliot’s competence with Cicero’s internal computer system, and then by Elliot’s quick analysis of the laboratories and why they weren’t properly labeled. Visiting them as Elliot wanted would have been a time-consuming and irresponsible idea, of course, but Elliot’s determination was stunning. His eyes had flashed and his shoulders had straightened, and for a tiny moment, Anthony had forgotten his resolve not to get emotionally attached.
And then the security guard had nearly caught them, which would have absolutely resulted in Elliot’s impending death.
The shock of it was probably why he’d allowed Elliot to drag him into the supply closet with him. Of course, he could have easily remained outside the safety of the supply closet and eliminated the threat of the security guard... but alerting security to their presence wasn’t exactly high on Anthony’s to-do list.
Far worse would have been putting Elliot in unnecessary danger.
He’s still not suited for field work, thought Anthony as he tried to find a comfortable crouching position next to Elliot, one where he wasn’t straddling a mop handle or about to pull down an entire shelf of cleaning supplies. I could have already taken out that guard if he hadn’t pulled me in here. He’s put us both in danger by trying to...
Well. By trying to keep me safe.
Dammit. That’s not how this is supposed to work!
Anthony couldn’t see Elliot—but he felt the man trembling next to him. Elliot’s breaths were quick and shallow, and Anthony hoped he wasn’t about to have another panic attack.
Or he’s just scared out of his wits.
Anthony reached over and grabbed Elliot’s hand. Elliot’s grip in response was strong, and his hands weren’t shaking nearly as much as Anthony had imagined.
Maybe not so scared, after all.
Anthony listened hard, mentally following the guard as he moved around the lounge, turning off the TV, opening the fridge, dragging a few chairs from one table to the next. Anthony heard the guard mutter to himself, though he couldn’t quite make out the words. At least he wasn’t inclined to come into the restroom.
No, it sounded like the guy was... sitting... maybe...
Dammit. He was eating their snacks.
Anthony sighed and drummed his fingers against his knee. It was too dark in the closet to see anything, even Elliot’s face. A tiny thread of light shone under the door, too faint to show anything.
Not that Anthony needed light to feel Elliot’s warm fingers curled around his hand. Elliot didn’t shake anymore, but his breath was still shallow, still quick.
There was a faint sound, as if Elliot was licking his lips, opening his mouth to speak...
Anthony knew plenty of ways to keep someone quiet in a dire situation. One particular method was well-suited for dark corners and handsome men trapped in them. Anthony imagined leaning into Elliot, finding Elliot’s lips already parted for him. The soft noise in the back of Elliot’s throat, quickly muffled as Elliot deepened the kiss. Anthony’s chest lurched at the thought of Elliot’s forwardness, even as his thoughts plunged forward.
Elliot’s fingers would tighten around Anthony’s hand. Maybe his glasses would slip from his face – no, that wouldn’t be right. But Anthony would cradle Elliot’s face in his free hand, and his fingers would knock against the glasses, skewing them just slightly. It’d been a long time since Anthony had kissed someone wearing glasses, he could be forgiven for the misstep, surely. Especially when he tugged on Elliot’s hair, just to hear Elliot’s breath quicken.
Maybe Elliot would take the hint and tug on Anthony’s hair in response. Or maybe he’d slip his hand under Anthony’s shirt to touch his skin.
Anthony shifted, his suit trousers suddenly very uncomfortable, and the holster strapped below his suit coat reminded him why Elliot wouldn’t be undressing him in a supply closet anytime soon.
And anyway, Elliot had shied away from him on the sled. He’d resisted sitting back against him, he’d gone stiff when Anthony had pulled him close. Any attempt to kiss Elliot would be likely met with a swift kick to his head, cramped supply closet or not.
The guard opened the outer door to the bathroom and came in.
Fuck.
Anthony quickly covered Elliot’s mouth with his hand, careful to leave enough of an air pocket to give Elliot a chance to breathe. It was probably rude and presumptuous to assume Elliot would automatically cry out—but Elliot grabbed hold of Anthony’s hand and wrist and held on, breathing into his hand with warm, damp air.
Not particularly good if the guard inspected the supply closet, and Anthony needed his hand to fight. But Elliot’s fingers were gentle and cool on Anthony’s wrist, and the way he held on made Anthony feel impossibly brave and capable.
Anthony waited, tense.
The security guard whistled as he went into a stall. There was the sound of a zipper unzipping, a rustle of cloth, and then...
Anthony winced and tried to pretend he wasn’t listening.
Ugh. This was terribly embarrassing. Anthony spent the next few excruciating minutes determining how to phrase their predicament in his final report to Bea.
Especially considering the smell. And the groaning that accompanied it.
Good gravy, what had that security guard eaten? Surely the man needed medical intervention.
Elliot shook even harder now, and his fingers dug into Anthony’s wrist. The muscles on Elliot’s face contracted and twisted under Anthony’s hand into completely illogical shapes. Anthony hoped Elliot didn’t become unwell when faced with unpleasant smells. Anthony only had the one outfit and many standards.
The toilet flushed, the stall door banged, and then the guard resumed whistling as he washed his hands. Elliot still shook, his cheeks bulging strangely. Anthony winced and prepared to be covered in vomit.
The lights switched off, the bathroom door opened and closed. After a moment, Anthony heard the security guard leave the lounge, too. He breathed a sigh of relief and removed his hand from Elliot’s mouth. It was spit-damp and warm from Elliot’s breath—but Elliot didn’t let go of his wrist.
Not right away.
Elliot pressed up against him, still shaking as the fear overtook him, now that the real danger was past. That happened sometimes, Anthony knew. (Not to him, of course. He’d read about it, though.)
“I believe we’re safe now,” whispered Anthony.
“Yeah, I think so,” said Elliot, also in a whisper, close enough that his breath tickled Anthony’s cheek. There was a tightness to Elliot’s voice that Anthony couldn’t place, but he didn’t sound like someone who was about to vomit all over a very expensive, bespoke suit.
Elliot still held Anthony’s hand. He hadn’t moved away.
It felt very much like Elliot was waiting for something. But Anthony had already given him the all-clear. He’d moved his hand away from Elliot’s mouth.
Elliot read all of Anthony’s field reports. He’d know what happened in dark supply closets when the possibility of discovery loomed.
Perhaps...
Anthony leaned closer to Elliot. The idea of kissing him was not the least bit reprehensible. In fact, Anthony found himself almost looking forward to it.