Ned peeked at the steaming water filling the wooden tub as if it contained testicle-eating fish, but then took off the buckskin jacket to reveal the red union suit underneath. His fingers remained cold as ice, and almost as stiff, shivering as he attempted to open the front of his underwear, though Cole suspected the sudden change in his drinking habits didn’t help the steadiness of Ned’s hands either.
Cole hesitated, but the longer he watched those thick fingers fumble with just one button, the clearer it was that this would not do, and he ended up pushing Ned’s hands away.
“Tell me if you feel sick, because I don’t want any vomit in the water. Is that clear?” he asked, masking his unease with a harsh tone, because while Ned now smelled of sweat rather than rosemary, the act of undressing him felt achingly familiar.
“I think something bad is inside me…” Ned muttered and held on to the side of the tub when his eyelids fluttered, as if his head were spinning.
Every inch of uncovered skin was giving Cole goosebumps, and every dark hair on the powerful chest made him remember what he wanted to forget. As he dealt with the buttons, Ned pushed off the suspenders, and his pants fell to the floor.
“Something bad?” Cole asked, trying to focus on Ned’s words rather than the scars the past seven years had etched in Ned’s skin.
He was like an old wolf cut off from its pack. Its mind had been twisted by sickness but it still had enough fire in him to bite. Even Ned’s matted hair reminded Cole of fur, and while some of the unfamiliar scars were cuts, others resembled marks of predator teeth. But none stood out as much as a badly healed round scar on Ned’s left shoulder.
The mess of hair growing out of Ned’s face in every direction couldn’t hide the extent of the misery he had to be feeling. “Like bile, but worse. Like… liquid death.”
Cole’s attention wouldn’t stray from the scar though. After everything had gone to shit with the giant lizard Ned had thought was a treasure, hours had been a blur until Cole had woken at the doctor’s, but he did remember Ned’s presence. Despite betraying Cole and the people he held dear, Ned had made sure Cole got help, and now his arm was completely healed. But Ned had been alone, and his scar looked so mangled it might have never been seen by a physician.
“When did that happen?” he asked and gestured for Ned to undress altogether.
Ned lost balance again when taking off his boots, but managed to stay up, holding the edge of the tub. He glanced to where Cole pointed with a blank expression until something lit in his eyes.
“One of the agents shot me. When I was running away. But… there’s something about it. You were shot on the same arm.” He poked Cole’s shoulder with a trembling finger, and his lips quirked into a weak smile. “Every time it hurts, I imagine it hurts you at the same time. Like an invisible connection we share. Sometimes… I squeeze it, hoping you’d feel me.”
Cole stilled, staring back into the tired gaze that still held so much hope, despite the constant discomfort and threats. “Mine healed a long time ago. See?” he asked and moved the left arm, trying to dull the pain in the middle of his chest. Maybe there was a method to Ned’s madness, even if the ache Cole experienced was located somewhere else in his body.
Ned’s face fell. “Oh. I guess it’s just mine that never did.” He pushed his underwear to the floor, and turned around, but then froze, staring into the water with wide eyes.
The bright yellow glow illuminated the freckles on his shoulders, and made him somehow more real, yet Cole couldn’t help feeling that he was in the presence of a ghost. Because the Ned O’Leary he’d found after his fruitless seven-year-long search wasn’t the smug, ruthless man he’d expected. He didn’t have a wife or children. He lived alone, with only a dog for company, and he’d hurt himself in vain hope to make a man who hated him remember his existence. It was so unbearably pathetic Cole struggled to come up with a mean thing to say and stayed still instead, staring at Ned’s privates, which had just been revealed.
He shouldn’t have. But he still did.
A cock was a cock. Bigger, smaller, most were shapely and arousing in one way or another, but the man this particular prick was attached to made something in Cole pulse and ache. The first cock he’d sucked. The first cock apart from his own he got to stroke.
“No!” Ned exclaimed all of a sudden and backed away from the tub. “You’re not boiling me!”
Cole blinked and once more looked around before uncovering his forearm to dunk it in the water, which was very hot, yet not scalding. “Just get in there. Look, it’s safe.”
Ned hugged himself and kept stepping in place, as if he were attempting to warm up while also shrinking as much as he could. “You will not end me this way.”
This was beyond ridiculous. Seven years of hunting for Ned O’Leary with intentions of murder, and now Cole found himself trying to convince the bastard to get into a bathtub he’d wanted to use himself and had chosen to give up for Ned’s sake. Cole wasn’t sure which one of them was more insane.
“Get in. You stink,” he said and grabbed Ned’s thick forearm.
Ned gave a cry as if he were being roasted alive, but didn’t attempt to use his size against Cole and followed his lead like a child. It took a bit more coaxing, but eventually, with Cole’s help for balance, Ned got into the water.
His breath quickened, and he curled his shoulders in an attempt to submerge fully, but with the size of the tub, it was a lost battle.
Cole exhaled in relief, even though Ned still trembled, and his gaze remained wary, following movement only he could see. “Isn’t that better?” Cole asked, rolling up his other sleeve.
He stalled halfway through when it occurred to him he could avoid touching Ned by convincing him to use the soap himself, but the wretch shouldn’t be trusted with such things, considering the state he’d brought himself and the house to.
Or Cole was just being a pathetic lecher, but no one needed to know that.
Ned looked up at him, and for once the green eyes seemed more lucid. “I’m still cold, but a glass of gin might help. I have a real good bottle in the kitchen. How about we share? For old time’s sake?”
Any warm feelings Cole might have harbored in that moment were gone. “I’m not giving you any liquor, you damned drunk.”
“Come on, Coley-pie… I won’t tell Lars.”
White flashed in front of Cole’s eyes, and he slapped Ned’s face. “Shut up,” he mumbled and grabbed his own soap from the mantelpiece, since they hadn’t found any around the homestead. Figured.
Ned grumbled and the sweet begging in his eyes turned into a glare. “Never got any of your pie.”
Cole’s fist flew before he could have thought about it, knocking the back of Ned’s head against the edge of the tub, but this was yet another reminder of that one night in a hotel tub, when Ned hadn’t yet revealed himself as a heartless monster and held Cole in his arms, whispering gentle things into his ear.
Many times, he’d wondered why he hadn’t chosen to let Ned have him that night, when he’d trusted him with shameful secrets and had felt so safe in his arms. Would that have been an experience to treasure or another thing to be ashamed of? It was for the better that he’d never find out.