“Send me your flight information and I’ll get Wade’s ticket. Hopefully there are seats available,” Sage said.
Wade ripped open his last packet of Pop-Tarts. “I could just fly there on my own. I have wings.”
“No,” everyone said in unison.
Jono went to fetch Sage’s Birkin and coat, carrying both over to her. He spoke quietly to her for a moment before straightening up and looking at Patrick. “Ready?”
“We’ll pick you up at your apartment in two hours, Wade,” Patrick said as he and Jono headed for the door.
Patrick snapped his fingers, disengaging the silence ward. A chorus of goodbyes followed them out of the apartment.
“I hate separating like this,” Jono said when they were finally in the Mustang and driving back home.
“Can’t be helped,” Patrick replied, typing on his phone while Jono drove. He shot off an email to Sage with his flight details. “You know how my job is.”
“I know how the gods are.”
“Yeah, well. I’d tell them to fuck off if I could.”
Jono hummed a wordless response. Patrick sighed and reached over to settle his hand on Jono’s thigh. The heater was running in the car because it was a gray, dreary day outside. Jono was warm to the touch, body heat seeping through his jeans and into Patrick’s chilled fingers.
“You’ll need to be careful with the Chicago god pack. They aren’t one Estelle and Youssef have an alliance with,” Jono said.
“Isn’t that a good thing? Means we can try to get them on our side.”
“Alliances take time to form. A couple of days isn’t going to be long enough.”
“Somehow I doubt I’ll be in Chicago for only a couple of days.”
Jono sighed heavily. “Yeah.”
They drove the rest of the way home in silence, with Jono managing to find a parking spot one block over from their apartment. Patrick shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, the heat charms embedded in it keeping most of him warm in the face of a cold winter wind.
Gray slush was all that remained of the last snowfall, shoved to the edge of the sidewalk and roads. Puddles that hadn’t quite iced over littered the cement as they walked to their apartment building.
After climbing five flights of stairs, Patrick let them inside and immediately found himself pushed up against the front door. He tipped his head back, staring up into Jono’s eyes. Jono lifted his hand and wrapped it loosely around Patrick’s throat. Patrick swallowed, feeling Jono’s fingers move with the motion. His cock twitched with interest, and despite needing to pack for his flight, Patrick had no intention of moving unless Jono wanted him to.
“Be careful in Chicago,” Jono said, his voice coming out low.
“Would you believe me if I said I was always careful?”
Jono pressed his thumb against the edge of Patrick’s jaw, tilting his head back farther. “You’re a bloody liar.”
“Good poker face though.”
“I’d like your face”—Jono’s other hand slipped between his legs—“and your cock, and all the rest of you, to come back in one piece.”
Patrick licked his lips, canting his hips into Jono’s touch. “Asking for a miracle.”
“Pat.”
“I’ll do my best. Now shut up and kiss me.”
Jono obliged in the best way, stealing the breath from Patrick’s lungs, caging him in against the door. Jono kept Patrick there with a hand around his throat that had broken bones in dozens of fights but would never break his. Jono’s preternatural strength was a turn-on for Patrick and always would be. There was something about finding safety in a man who could pick up a car and throw it when the need arose, then turn around and touch Patrick with a gentleness he’d rarely been given in his life.
Patrick tangled his fingers in Jono’s shirt, pulling him closer. Jono moved his hand against Patrick’s throat until he could press his wrist against the pulse point there. Patrick couldn’t smell the scent that lived in Jono’s skin and which he knew was seeping into his. The pack scent was something Jono pressed into his skin every day, and this moment was no different.
“Need to pack my suitcase,” Patrick muttered against Jono’s mouth.
Jono nipped at Patrick’s bottom lip before sinking to his knees. The smile that curved his mouth was positively filthy. “So go pack.”
Patrick banged his head against the door and swore. “Like I’m going anywhere when you’re looking at me like that. What kind of willpower do you think I have?”
“You’re the most stubborn bloke I know.”
“Not when it comes to you.”
Which was true in a way that would’ve made Patrick panic even six months ago. Now, it left him feeling like he didn’t want to be anywhere else but here. He reached out and ran his fingers through Jono’s black hair, pushing it out of his eyes. Jono’s smile shifted into a teasing smirk before he undid Patrick’s belt and pulled down the zipper on his jeans.
Patrick spread his legs, his dagger and service pistol weighing down the right side of his clothes, but the thigh straps ensured they wouldn’t slide down. Jono made no move to get him completely undressed. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth over Patrick’s quickly dampening underwear. Jono sucked at his cock through the thin material, the scrape of spit-soaked cotton a tease against sensitive skin that made Patrick’s nerves buzz with want.
Jono mouthed his cock through his underwear for another minute or so until he finally got tired of the flimsy barrier. Jono pulled down his underwear to free his half-hard cock, tucking the elastic band under his balls. He licked roughly at the head of Patrick’s cock. Patrick sucked in a breath that
