John whirled around, blindly pacing the room as he clenched his jaw, then turned and threw a punch at the wall.
Except he completely miscalculated, smashing his hand into the mirror over the sink instead. The thin glass shattered, raining down shards all across the counter.
“Fuck!” John shouted. He cradled his hand against his chest, eyeing the blood spilling over his knuckles.
“John?” Ward called. Footsteps crossed the office, and Ward knocked on the door. “You okay?”
“I'm fine,” John snapped, shaking out his hand. He cranked on the sink and ran his knuckles under the cold water, clenching his jaw when it stung. There didn't appear to be any glass in the wounds, so John snatched the hand towel down off the hook and wrapped it around his hand to stop the bleeding. He huffed out a breath, then yanked open the door. “Sorry,” he muttered, edging forward, waiting for Ward to get out of his way.
Ward eyed the glass and John's hand. “Can I help with anything?” he asked, finally catching on and stepping aside so John could get out of the room.
John hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Water heater quit. I'm gonna go shut off the main.” He trudged outside, found thebuilding's water main, and turned it off. “Damn it,” he muttered. This was just what he needed.
He turned around and leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh. John closed his eyes and fought for calm.
Except his entire body felt strung tight. The lack of sleep was one thing. The lack of sexual relief was only making it worse. He still couldn't bring himself to fuck Adam in the boy's bed—hell, it took everything he had just to kiss the boy anywhere in that apartment—so they'd lain beside one another, night after night, with John resolutely keeping his hands to himself despite the utter temptation of Adam's body.
And having Adam beg for it certainly wasn't helping matters. The poor boy was missing it just as badly as John was.
But every time John thought he might be on the verge of giving in, he'd spot that damned urn and immediately shut down, hearing Frank Barnes's voice, his memory playing that same line over and over.
“Touch my son again, and I'll kill you.”
John cursed and shook his head. Even knowing that Frank wasn't there, he couldn't shake the feeling of being judged for wanting the boy. Of betraying Frank somehow by daring to touch Adam at all after that ultimatum.
So John had resisted. He'd even forgone jerking off in the privacy of the shower. Since Adam still couldn't shower with him, it wasn't like he didn't have ample opportunity to find relief there.
Except, even alone behind that curtain, the specter of Frank Barnes haunted him. John had gone all week without an orgasm, and it was starting to make him go a little bit crazy.
The obvious solution was to drive all the way home before coming back into town. Or to shower there at work before heading to Adam's place for the night, giving himself privacy and a chance to get off, far away from ghostly eyes.
John glanced down at the water main and sighed.So much for that idea.
He pushed off the wall, his body weighed down with stress and exhaustion as he trudged back inside, escaping the heat. John found Ward in the bathroom, sweeping up the shards of glass, while a pile of towels covered the floor in front of the water heater.
“You didn't have to do that,” John muttered.
Ward shrugged. “Just thought I'd help.” He tipped the dustpan over the garbage bin. “I called the plumber. He said he can be out here tomorrow.”
John gave him a nod in acknowledgment.
“How's the hand?” Ward asked.
John shrugged. He couldn't stop staring at the floor. How he'd missed the water there—just inches from the toilet—was beyond him.
“John?”
“Huh?” John gave a start. He looked up to find Ward eyeing him with amusement.
“Go home,” Ward said.
John blinked. Ward's tone didn't sound remotely like a suggestion. It was a flat-out order. Full-on dom voice. John cocked an eyebrow at him.
“I mean it,” Ward said, not backing down in the slightest. “You look like you could sleep for a week, and it's almost quitting time, anyway. Go home. This will all be here tomorrow.”
John inwardly groaned. That was exactly what he was afraid of. He wanted some sense of completion or closure. His damned to-do list seemed to keep growing instead of shrinking, and then problems like the water heater kept cropping up, putting him even further behind. And despite Adam's cheerful progress on downsizing his belongings, there was still all that underlying tension. That desperate, clawingneedfor them both to let go ofsomething, yet every time they got two steps forward, it felt like they got dragged a step back.
Or maybe that was just all him. No matter how much time John spent in Adam's apartment—in Adam's bed—he couldn't shake the sense that every time he felt like he was making progress on letting go of his guilt, it would come slamming right back into him.
