Chapter 112 The Aftermath
Alex: POV
I stared at Daniel's hand, the imprint from my door frame creating an angry red mark across his pale skin.
Fuck. I hadn't meant to hurt him. Even after everything that happened, I'd never want to physically harm him.
"You're really that heartless, Alex?" His voice cut through my thoughts, pain seeping through his carefully controlled tone.
Memories flashed unbidden through my mind—Daniel in the desert, risking his life to find me in that haboob; Daniel fighting Trevor to protect me; Daniel's hands gently tending my injured leg in the cave. I owed him my life, literally. And here I was, slamming a door on his hand.
"Shit, I'm sorry," I muttered, releasing the door completely. "Come in. Let me get the first aid kit."
I turned quickly, not waiting to see his reaction as I headed for the bathroom. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I could practically hear it. What was I supposed to say to him? How could I possibly explain running away like that?
When I returned with the first aid supplies, Daniel had made himself comfortable on my couch, sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. Those same arms that had held me through the freezing desert night, that had wrapped around my body as we...
"Let me see your hand," I said, sitting on the coffee table across from him rather than next to him on the couch. I needed distance.
He extended his hand, and I carefully took it in mine. His skin was warm, the contact sending an unwelcome jolt through my system. The back of his hand was already swelling slightly, but the skin wasn't broken. I focused intently on opening the antiseptic bottle, avoiding his eyes.
"This might sting," I warned, gently pressing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to his reddened skin.
Daniel didn't flinch. "I've handled worse," he said quietly.
An awkward silence fell between us as I carefully cleaned his hand.
"You're good at this," Daniel observed, his voice deliberately casual. "Steady hands."
I shrugged. "Basic first aid."
"Your nails are clean now," he continued, a slight smile playing on his lips. "In the desert, they always had dirt under them."
My hands froze. His comment triggered memories of those same fingers tracing patterns on his skin, sliding inside him as he moaned my name. I felt heat rise to my face and quickly resumed bandaging his hand, wrapping the gauze with more force than necessary.
"I'll get some ice for the swelling," I said abruptly, standing up and practically fleeing to the kitchen.
I leaned against the refrigerator, taking deep breaths. Get it together, Hamilton. This is just Daniel. Your friend. Nothing more.
But that wasn't true anymore, was it? Not after that night in the tent. Not after I'd...
I grabbed an ice pack and headed back to the living room, my rehearsed speech running through my head. We were drunk. It was a mistake. We should forget it happened and move on as friends.
Daniel took the ice pack but set it aside without using it. "We need to talk, Alex."
"Yeah," I agreed, sitting as far away from him as possible on the other end of the sofa. "Look, about what happened in the desert... I'm sorry for leaving like that. It was cowardly."
"Why did you leave?" His eyes locked onto mine, intense and searching.
I swallowed hard. "I think we both know why. That night... it was a mistake. We were drunk. It didn't mean anything."
Daniel's jaw tightened. "A mistake," he repeated flatly. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"What else would you call it?" I shot back defensively. "We were both wasted. The wine, the desert, the atmosphere—it was a perfect storm of bad judgment."
"Bullshit." Daniel's voice was suddenly sharp. "You weren't that drunk, Alex. Neither was I. You knew exactly what you were doing."
My face burned as unwanted memories surged forward—the feel of his skin beneath my fingers, the sounds he made when I entered him, the way his body responded to my touch.
"I'm not gay, Daniel," I said firmly, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "I appreciate our friendship, and I'm grateful for everything you did for me in the desert, especially saving me from Trevor. But what happened that night... that's not me."
"Not you?" Daniel leaned forward, his eyes flashing. "Then who was it who flipped me over? Who was it who asked to be inside me? Who was it who came calling my name?"
Heat rushed to my face, the memories all too vivid. It had been me—all me—and I couldn't deny it.
"Daniel, please," I stood up, pacing my living room. "I value our friendship. I don't want to lose that. But that night can't happen again. I'm not... I can't..."
He rose suddenly, moving with surprising speed. Before I could react, his hands were on my shoulders as he loomed over me, his face inches from mine.
"What are you doing?" I gasped, my heart racing.
"I'm here for an explanation," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
His eyes had changed—the warm, friendly Daniel I knew had been replaced by someone darker, almost predatory. There was a dangerous edge to him I'd never seen before. "And not the bullshit you're trying to sell me."
I tried to push him away, but he caught my wrists, pinning them to the couch on either side of my head. "Get off me!"
"No," he said simply. "Not until you stop lying—to me and to yourself."
Then his mouth was on mine, hot and insistent. His kiss was nothing like that night in the desert—this was angry, demanding, almost punishing. For a shameful moment, my body betrayed me, responding to his touch, my lips parting slightly.
The realization of what was happening jolted me back to reality. I jerked my head aside and used all my strength to shove him off. He stumbled backward, nearly falling over my coffee table.
"What the fuck, Daniel?" I shouted, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "You can't just force yourself on me!"
"Force myself?" He let out a harsh laugh. "Your body just responded to me, Alex. You kissed me back. For a second, you wanted it as much as I did."
"That was... that was just..." I struggled to find an explanation.
"Just what? A reflex? Like how you reflexively fucked me in the desert?" His words were cruel, deliberate.
"We were drunk!" I shouted again.
"Not that drunk," he countered, his voice dropping dangerously low. "I remember every second of it. The way you touched me, the way you looked at me when you came."
I felt my face burning, partly from anger, partly from embarrassment, and partly from something else I refused to name.
"If you're really my friend," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "you'd respect my decision to move past this. To pretend it never happened."
Daniel's expression hardened. "Friend? You think that's what we are now? After I told you I've been in love with you for years? After we had sex? After you fucking ran away like a coward?"
"I didn't know what else to do!" I exploded. "I woke up naked next to you and panicked, okay? This isn't who I am! I date women. I've always dated women."
"Until me," Daniel said quietly. "Until that night when you begged me to let you inside me."
I closed my eyes, unable to bear the weight of his words. The silence between us stretched, heavy and suffocating.
"You can't just fuck me and walk away," Daniel finally said, his voice tired and raw. "You can't just use me to experiment with your sexuality and then pretend it didn't happen."
"I wasn't experimenting," I protested weakly.
"Then what would you call it?" he challenged.
I had no answer. What was I supposed to say? That I thought I'd had a dream where he turned into a woman, and I'd excitedly had sex with him? Something that absurd—would he even believe it?