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Holly left on a Saturday morning in February.
She stood in the kitchen doorway with her carpetbag in one hand and her hat in the other, looking between the two of them with an expression that was equal parts amusement and exasperation.
"I'll be back tomorrow after church." she said. "Mrs. Alvarez is expecting me for supper tonight, and breakfast, and then we're going to mass together."
"That's fine." said March. He was at the table with his coffee, trying very hard to look casual. "That's good. You should spend time with your friends."
"I know I should. That's why I'm doing it." Holly put her hat on and tied the ribbon under her chin. "There's stew on the stove. There's bread in the box. There's coffee for the morning." She looked at Healy, who was standing by the window with his own cup, looking out at the yard. "Make sure he eats."
"I will."
"Make sure he doesn't lift anything heavy with his left arm."
"Holly." said March.
"I'm serious. He thinks it's all better, but Abernathy said six months before it's full strength, and it's only been five."
"I'll watch him." said Healy.
Holly looked at them both for a long moment. Then she smiled, that small crooked smile that was so much like her father's, and picked up her bag.
"Have a good night." she said, and went out the door.
They heard her footsteps on the porch. They heard the creak of the wagon seat as she climbed up. They heard the jingle of the harness and the clop of Beans's hooves on the hard-packed road, fading away toward town.
And then there was silence.
March sat at the table with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, not drinking. Healy stood at the window, not moving. The house was very quiet around them. The morning light came in through the new glass and lay in squares on the floorboards.
"Well." said March finally.
Healy turned his head and looked at him.
March set his coffee cup down. He stood up, slowly, and came around the table. He stopped in front of Healy, close enough that he had to tip his head back slightly to meet his eyes, and close enough that Healy could see the pulse beating in his throat.
"We're alone." March said.
"We are."
"For the first time since..." March paused. "Since the porch. Since the rain."
"Yeah."
March swallowed. His hands came up and rested on Healy's chest, very lightly, the way they had that night in the burned parlor. The left one was still thinner than the right, still weak, but the scars on the right had faded to pale pink lines across the palm and fingers.
"Jackson." he said quietly. "I want... I'd like..." He stopped and huffed out a breath. "Christ. I'm no good at this."
"You're doing fine."
"I'm not. I'm talking in circles." March looked up at him. His eyes were very blue in the morning light, and very clear, and very nervous. "I want you to take me to bed."
Healy's heart kicked hard against his ribs.
"You sure?" he said.
"I'm sure. I've been sure since October. I've been sure since the porch, and the rain, and your hand in mine." March's fingers curled into Healy's shirt. "I'm sober. It's daylight. Holly's gone. There's no reason to wait anymore, unless you don't want-"
Healy kissed him.
He covered March's mouth with his own, and March made a small startled sound and then opened for him, and Healy tasted coffee and morning and the particular flavor of March's mouth that he had been thinking about for four months. March's hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him closer, and Healy put one arm around his waist and felt how thin he still was, how light, how breakable. His other hand came up to cup the back of March's head, and he kissed him deeper, harder, his tongue sliding into March's mouth, claiming him.
March made a low desperate sound and pressed himself against Healy's body, and Healy could feel every line of him, the sharp jut of his hipbones, the lean muscle of his chest, the way his cock was already hardening against Healy's thigh. Healy's own cock thickened in response, and he knew March could feel it, the heavy weight of it pressing into his belly.
When they broke apart, March was breathing hard, his lips red and swollen.
"Bedroom." he said. "Now. Please."
"Yeah."
Healy took March's hand, the scarred right one, and led him through the kitchen, down the short hallway to the back of the house. The bedroom door stood open, and the morning light was pouring through the east-facing window, making everything gold. The bed Healy had built himself stood against the far wall, the quilt pulled tight, the pillows straight.
Healy closed the door behind them and shot the bolt. The sound of it sliding home was loud in the quiet room, final and private.
March stood in the middle of the floor and looked at him. His hands were shaking slightly. He reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt, and Healy watched him do it, watched the long scarred fingers work the buttons one by one, watched the shirt come open over his chest.
March was still too thin. The fever and the fire had taken weight off him that he had not entirely put back on, and his ribs showed, and his collarbones, and the hollow of his throat. But there was muscle there too, wiry and strong, and the scars from the window glass ran down his right forearm like white rivers, and there were smaller burns on his hands and wrists, pink and puckered, and he was the most beautiful thing Healy had ever seen.
March shrugged the shirt off and let it fall. Then he reached for his belt.
"Wait." said Healy.
March stopped. He looked up, and for a moment there was something uncertain in his face, something that might have been fear.
"Let me." Healy said.
The uncertainty smoothed out. March's mouth curved, just slightly.
"All right."
Healy crossed the room. He was aware, suddenly and acutely, of how much bigger he was. How much heavier. March was taller by a few inches, but Healy outweighed him by a hundred and fifty pounds or more, not just muscle, but the thick solid weight of a big man, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with heavy arms and a soft belly and hips and thighs like a draft horse. He was built to break things and move them and hold them down.
Healy worked the buckle open slowly. He unbuttoned March's trousers and pushed them down over his narrow hips, and March stepped out of them, and then he was standing there in nothing but his drawers and his socks, and Healy could see the shape of him through the thin cotton, half-hard already, and his own cock thickened in response.
"Your turn." said March. His voice was rough.
Healy pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. He was not built like March. He was broad and thick and heavy, with a barrel chest that strained his shirts and a soft belly that hung over his belt and arms like fence posts. There was gray in the dark hair on his chest and belly. There were scars, too, old ones, from fights and falls and a knife in Abilene ten years ago. He unbuckled his own belt and pushed his trousers down and stepped out of them, and when he straightened up, March was staring.
"Jesus." March said, and his voice had gone hoarse. "Look at you."
Healy looked down. His cock was hard, tenting his drawers, and it was obvious even through the fabric how big he was, thick and heavy, straining against the cotton. He had always been big. It had been a problem, sometimes, with women who did not want to be hurt. He did not know if it would be a problem now.
"If it's too much-" he started.
"It's not too much." March's eyes came up to his face, and there was something in them that was part nerves and part hunger and part something else, something raw and wanting. "It's just- I've never-" He stopped and swallowed. "Amy was the only one. Before. I don't know what I'm doing. With a man. With you."
Healy's chest went tight. He reached out and cupped March's face in one big hand, his palm covered March's cheek and jaw completely, his fingers curling around to the back of his skull, cradling his head, and his thumb brushed over the sharp line of his cheekbone.
"I'll show you." he said. "Anything you want to know. Anything you want to try. We'll go slow."
"I don't want slow." March said. His hand came up and covered Healy's where it rested against his face, and his fingers could barely span half of Healy's thick wrist. "I want you. However you want me. I just- I might need you to tell me. What to do. How to-" He broke off and looked away, and his ears went red.
"Hey." Healy said, and waited until March looked back at him. "You tell me what feels good. I'll tell you what I want. That's all there is to it."
March nodded. Then he reached out and put his hand on Healy's chest, over his heart, and stepped closer. His other hand came up and traced the line of Healy's shoulder, down his arm, feeling the muscle and the weight there, the sheer size of him.
"You're so big." March said quietly. "I've been thinking about it. About this. About you." His hand moved lower, over Healy's ribs, his soft belly, feeling the give of it, the warmth. "About what it would feel like. To have you on top of me. All of it."
Healy's cock jerked hard in his drawers.
"Come here." he said.
They came together in the middle of the room, skin to skin for the first time, and it was like putting a match to kindling. March made a low sound in his throat and pressed against him, and Healy wrapped his arms around him and felt how warm he was, how alive, how his heart was racing under his ribs. He slid his hands down March's back and over his ass and pulled him closer, and March gasped and rolled his hips, and their cocks rubbed together through two layers of cotton, and it was not enough.
Healy's hands spanned March's waist easily, his thick fingers nearly meeting at the small of his back. He could feel every bone, every rib, the sharp jut of March's hipbones against his own softer belly. March was so light in his arms, so breakable, and the knowledge of it made something fierce and protective rise up in Healy's chest.
"Bed." Healy said against March's mouth.
"Yes. God, yes."
Healy bent and got his hands under March's thighs, one hand covered the whole back of March's thigh, fingers digging into the lean muscle, and lifted him. March made a startled sound and grabbed at his shoulders, and then his legs came up around Healy's waist and he was holding on, and Healy carried him the three steps to the bed like he weighed nothing at all.
"Jesus." March breathed against his neck. "You just- you just picked me up like I was-"
"Like you were mine." Healy said, and laid him down on the bed.
The ropes creaked under March's weight. He lay there looking up at Healy with his chest heaving and his hair mussed and his mouth red from kissing, and his legs were still spread where Healy had been standing between them, and Healy stood over him and looked down at him and thought that he had never wanted anything in his life the way he wanted this.
"Take them off." March said, and nodded at Healy's drawers. "I want to see you."
Healy pushed them down and kicked them off. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy and flushed dark, curving up toward his belly, and March's eyes went wide.
"Christ." he breathed. "That's- you're-" He swallowed hard. "I want to touch you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Healy climbed onto the bed and knelt beside him. The bed frame groaned under his weight, the ropes sagging deep, and March's eyes tracked the movement, the way the whole structure shifted and creaked under Healy's bulk. March pushed himself up on one elbow and reached out with his right hand, and wrapped his fingers around Healy's cock.
His hand did not fit all the way around. Not even close.
Healy hissed. March's hand was warm and careful, and he stroked once, root to tip, exploring, and Healy's hips jerked forward into the touch. March's thumb swept over the head, spreading the wetness there, and then he stroked again, firmer, and Healy groaned.
"You're so big." March said, and his voice was rough with want. "I don't know if- I want to try. I want you inside me. I want to feel this. I want to know what it's like."
Healy had to reach down and catch his wrist, his fingers wrapped all the way around March's wrist with room to spare, to stop him or he would spend right there in March's hand.
"Enough." he said roughly. "Your turn."
He pushed March back down onto the bed and hooked his fingers in the waistband of his drawers and pulled them down. March lifted his hips to help, and then he was naked, and Healy could see all of him. His cock was hard and flushed and leaking against his belly, and Healy wrapped his hand around it, his hand covered it completely, dwarfed it, his thick fingers engulfing March's cock entirely, and stroked, and March cried out and bucked up into his hand.
"God." March gasped. "Jackson. Please."
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop. Please-" He broke off with a moan as Healy stroked him again, slow and firm, his big hand working March's cock with steady pressure.
Healy bent his head and took March's cock into his mouth.
March shouted. His hips came up off the bed, and Healy had to put a hand on his belly to hold him down, his hand covered March's whole stomach, fingers splayed wide from ribs to hip, and he sucked him deep, taking him all the way to the root. March was sobbing now, his hands fisted in the quilt, and Healy worked him with his mouth and his tongue, tasting salt and skin and the particular flavor of March's body.
"Jackson. God. I can't- I'm going to-"
Healy pulled off with a wet sound. March's cock was slick with spit, flushed dark, and he was shaking all over, right on the edge.
"Not yet." Healy said.
"I can't help it. It's been so long. And you- your mouth- I've never-"
"I know." Healy kissed the inside of his thigh, just above the knee, and then higher, and March spread his legs wider. "I got you. Just breathe."
He reached for the bedside table and pulled open the drawer. The bottle of oil was there, where he had put it a week ago, and he poured some into his palm and warmed it between his hands.
March was watching him with wide eyes, his chest heaving.
"What do I do?" he said.
"Nothing. Just lie there and let me open you up."
"Open me-" March's breath caught. "Oh."
Healy slid his hand down between March's legs. March jerked when Healy's fingers brushed over his hole, and Healy gentled him with his other hand on his hip, his hand covered March's whole hip, his thick fingers spanning from hipbone to the top of his thigh, his thumb reaching nearly to his navel.
"Easy." he said. "I got you."
He circled the rim with one fingertip, gently, feeling the give of it, the heat. March was tight, so tight, and Healy took his time, pressing in slowly until the first finger slid inside.
March made a choked sound. His whole body went rigid.
"Breathe." Healy said. "Just breathe. How's it feel?"
"Strange. Full. I don't-" March stopped and breathed and forced himself to relax. "Keep going."
Healy worked the finger deeper, slowly, and then pulled it out and pushed back in, and March's breath hitched. He added more oil and a second finger, and March cried out and clenched around him.
"Breathe." Healy said again. "You're doing good. You're taking it so good."
March breathed. He was making small helpless sounds now, and his hips were moving restlessly, and his cock was dripping onto his belly. Healy crooked his fingers, searching, and when he found the spot inside that made March's whole body jerk and his cock jump, he pressed there, firmly, March nearly came off the bed.
Healy added a third finger, and March cried out and bore down on them. He was opening up now, his body learning what Healy was teaching it, and Healy worked him carefully, stretching him, scissoring his fingers, getting him ready. March was so tight around him, so hot, and Healy's cock was aching, leaking onto the quilt.
"Jackson." March gasped. "I need- I need you inside me. Please. I'm ready."
"Not yet. You're not ready for me yet."
"I am. I can take it. I want it. I want you." March's hand came down and grabbed Healy's wrist, holding him there. "Please. I want to feel you. I want to feel how big you are. I want you to fill me up. I want you to stretch me. I want to know what it feels like."
Healy groaned. He worked his fingers deeper, harder, and March was sobbing now, his hole clenching around Healy's fingers, and when Healy added a fourth finger, March cried out and his whole body shook.
"That's it." Healy said. "That's it. You're opening up for me. You're going to take me so good."
"Yes." March sobbed. "Yes. Please. Now. I need you now. I need to feel you. All of you."
Healy looked at him. At his flushed face and his wild eyes and his mouth, open and gasping. At the way his cock was leaking and his hole was clenching around Healy's fingers, stretched wide.
"All right." he said. "But you tell me if it's too much. You hear me?"
"I will. I promise. Please, Jackson."
He pulled his fingers out, and March made a protesting sound at the loss. Healy poured more oil into his palm and slicked his cock, hissing at the sensation, and then he moved up over March and settled between his legs.
The bed groaned under Healy's weight, the ropes sagging deep. March's eyes went wide, and his hands came up to Healy's chest, feeling the bulk of him, the solid mass, the soft give of his belly.
Healy braced himself on his hands and looked down at March beneath him. March looked small under him, fragile, his body pale against the quilt, and Healy could see the way his chest was heaving, the way his cock was hard and leaking against his belly.
"Look at me." Healy said.
March looked at him.
"If it's too much, you tell me." Healy said. "You hear? You tell me and I stop."
"I will."
"Promise."
"I promise." March reached up and cupped Healy's face with his scarred right hand. "I trust you. I want this. I want you. I want all of you."
Healy lined himself up and began to push in. The head of his cock breached the rim, and March's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Healy held still, letting him adjust, and then pushed in another inch.
March made a sound like he'd been punched.
"Talk to me." Healy said.
"It's- it's so much. You're so big. I don't know if- God, Jackson, you're splitting me open. You're so thick. I can feel every inch."
"You can take it. Just breathe. You're doing so good."
March breathed. He forced himself to relax, and Healy pushed in further, slowly, watching his face. March's eyes were screwed shut now, and his hands were fisted in the quilt, and Healy could see the tendons standing out in his neck.
"That's it." Healy said. "That's good. You're doing so good. You're taking me so good."
He pushed in another inch, and another, and March was shaking all over now, his breath coming in short hard gasps. Healy was halfway in, and the heat and the tightness were almost unbearable, and he had to stop and hold still or he would spend right then.
"More." March said through gritted teeth. "Give me more. I want to feel it. I want to feel how deep you can go."
"You sure?"
"Yes. All of it. I want all of it. I want to feel you. I want to feel how big you are. I want you to fill me up completely."
Healy pulled back slightly and then thrust in, hard, and buried himself to the hilt.
March cried out, it was a raw, broken sound, and Healy froze, but March's legs came up around his waist and locked there, holding him in place, and his hands came up and grabbed at Healy's shoulders, his back, trying to pull him closer.
"Don't stop." March gasped. "Don't you dare stop. Don't move yet. Just- let me feel it. Let me feel you."
Healy held still, buried deep, and March was shaking under him, his breath coming in sobs.
"Does it hurt?" Healy said.
"Yes. No. I don't know. It's- God, Jackson, you're so deep. I can feel you everywhere. I can feel you in my throat. I can feel you in my chest. You're so big. You're filling me up. You're stretching me so wide. I can't- I can't breathe."
Healy looked down at where they were joined. His cock was buried in March's body, and March's hole was stretched obscenely wide around him, the rim pulled taut, and the sight of it made something primal and possessive rise up in Healy's chest.
"You're mine." he said, and he did not know where the words came from, but they felt true.
"Yes." March said. "Yes. I'm yours. I'm yours. Now move. Please move. I need you to move."
Healy moved, he pulled out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrust back in, and March moaned. He did it again, and again, finding a rhythm, slow and deep and steady. March wrapped his arms around Healy's neck and held on, and Healy braced himself on his hands and drove into him, and the bed creaked under them, and the ropes groaned, and the room filled with the sound of skin on skin and March's broken gasps and Healy's own harsh breathing.
"Harder." March said. "I can take it. Harder. Please. I want to feel it tomorrow. I want to feel you for days."
Healy gave it to him harder. He pulled March's hips up with both hands, his hands covered March's hipbones completely, his thick fingers digging into the lean muscle of his ass, holding him in place, and thrust in deep, and March cried out again, and his whole body went rigid.
Healy aimed for that spot inside, over and over, and March was sobbing now, incoherent, his cock leaking between them. Healy could feel his own climax building, but he held it back, wanting to make this last, wanting to give March everything.
He shifted his weight, lowering himself down onto March, and March cried out at the sensation, Healy drove into him harder, deeper, and the bed was groaning now, the frame creaking, the ropes protesting, and March was pinned beneath him, held down by Healy's bulk, by the sheer mass of him, and he was sobbing with it, his hands scrabbling at Healy's back, his sides, feeling the weight and the give of him.
"Touch yourself." Healy said, his voice rough. March's right hand came down between them, shaking, and wrapped around his own cock. He stroked himself once, twice, and his hole clenched around Healy's cock, and Healy groaned.
"That's it." he said. "Let me see you. Let me feel you."
March stroked himself faster, and his breath was coming in sobs now, and Healy could feel him getting close, could feel the way his body was tightening, and he thrust harder, deeper, and March cried out.
"I'm going to- Jackson, I'm going to-"
"Do it." Healy said. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
March came with a broken cry, and his hole clenched rhythmically around Healy's cock, tight and hot and perfect, and the sensation was so intense that Healy could not hold back anymore. He thrust in one more time, as deep as he could go, and came inside him.
The pleasure was overwhelming. He could feel himself pulsing, emptying, filling March, and March was still shaking under him, still clenching around him, and it felt like it would never end. Healy's arms shook, and he lowered himself down onto March completely, covering him, his full weight pressing March into the mattress, and March made a sound that was half sob, half moan, and wrapped his arms and legs around Healy and held on.
They lay like that for a long moment, both of them gasping, both of them shaking. Healy could feel his seed leaking out around his cock, could feel the way March's body was still fluttering around him, and he did not want to move, did not want to leave the heat and the tightness and the perfect feeling of being inside March's body.
But he was heavy, and March was small beneath him, and after a moment he started to push himself up.
"No." March said, and his arms tightened around Healy's back. "Not yet. Stay. Please. I want to feel you. All of it. Just for a minute."
Healy lowered himself back down, carefully, and March sighed and turned his face into Healy's neck.
"You're so big." March whispered. "I can't move. And it's- God, Jackson, it's perfect. I've never felt anything like this. I didn't know I could feel like this. I didn't know I could want to feel this."
Healy turned his head and kissed March's temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He brought one hand up and cradled the back of March's head, his palm covering March's skull, his fingers threading into his hair.
"You all right?" he said quietly.
"I'm better than all right. I'm- I don't have words for what I am."
After a moment, Healy shifted his weight to one side, and March made a protesting sound, as he slid out as he moved, and March gasped and then whimpered at the loss.
"Sorry." Healy said.
"Don't be. I just- I liked having you inside me. I liked feeling full. I liked feeling you."
They lay there for a moment, both of them gasping, both of them covered in sweat and come. Healy could feel his come leaking out of March's body, could see it on the inside of his thighs, thick and white against his skin, and the sight of it made something possessive and satisfied settle in his chest.
March was staring at him with wide, dazed eyes.
"Jesus Christ." he whispered.
"You all right?" Healy said again. "Really. Tell me true."
March laughed. It was a breathless, helpless sound.
"I can't feel my legs." he said. "I think you broke me. I think you ruined me for anyone else. Not that there's going to be anyone else. Not that I want anyone else."
"I told you I might."
"You did. You were right." March reached out with his scarred hand and touched Healy's face, very gently. His fingers traced the line of Healy's jaw, his cheekbone, his mouth. "That was- I didn't know it could be like that. With Amy, it was good, it was sweet, but it wasn't-" He stopped and swallowed. "I've never felt anything like that in my life. I've never felt so- so taken. So possessed. So completely yours."
Healy caught his hand and kissed the palm, right over the scars.
"Good." he said. "Because you are mine. And I'm yours."
March's eyes filled, and he smiled, and it was crooked and tired and happy.
"I want to do it again." he said.
"Now?"
"No. God, no. I don't think I could survive it right now. But later. Tonight. Tomorrow. As often as you'll have me. I want you to take me every way you can think of. I want to feel you on top of me, and behind me, and- God, Jackson, I want you to pick me up and hold me against the wall and-"
Healy groaned and pulled March closer, carefully, and March came willingly, tucking himself against Healy's chest with his head on his shoulder. Healy wrapped his arms around him, and March was so small in his embrace, so light, and Healy could feel his heart beating against his own chest.
"We should clean up." Healy said after a moment. "You're going to be sore. Need to take care of you."
"In a minute."
"You're leaking all over the sheets."
"I don't care about the sheets." March pressed his face into Healy's neck. "I like it. I like feeling it. I like knowing you're inside me. That you marked me. That I'm yours."
Healy tightened his arms around him and held him. The room was warm and quiet around them. Outside the window, the desert stretched away toward the mountains, empty and clean and bright. Somewhere in the distance, a dove was calling.
After a while, March stirred.
"All right." he said. "I suppose we should make ourselves decent. Or at least less indecent."
Healy got up carefully, the bed creaked as his weight left it, and went to the washstand in the corner. There was a basin there, and a pitcher of water, and he poured some into the basin and brought it back to the bed with a cloth.
March was lying on his back with his legs spread, and Healy could see the mess they had made. March's belly and chest were covered in his own spend, drying now, and between his legs was wet and red and swollen, and Healy's seed was leaking out of him, thick and white against his skin. The sight of it made Healy's spent cock twitch with interest.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, the ropes groaned under his weight, and dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out.
"Let me." he said.
March nodded. He was watching Healy with something soft and vulnerable in his eyes.
Healy cleaned him carefully. He wiped the spend from his belly and chest, and then, very gently, between his legs. March winced when the cloth touched his hole, and Healy gentled him with a hand on his hip, his hand covered March's hip completely, warm and steady.
"Sorry." he said. "You're going to be sore. Real sore. Might be hard to sit tomorrow."
"I know. I don't care." March reached down and caught Healy's wrist. "I want to be sore. I want to feel it tomorrow. I want to remember this every time I move. Every time I sit down. Every time I walk. I want to feel you."
Healy looked at him for a long moment, and then he bent down and kissed him, slow and deep and thorough. When he pulled back, March was smiling.
"I mean it." March said quietly. "I want to remember. I want to carry this with me."
"You will." Healy said. He rinsed the cloth and cleaned March again, more gently this time, and March hissed but did not pull away. "I'll take care of you. Tomorrow, when you're sore, I'll take care of you."
"I know you will."
When March was clean, Healy cleaned himself, and then he carried the basin back to the washstand and emptied it out the window. When he turned back, March had pulled the quilt up over himself and was lying on his side, watching him.
"Come back to bed." March said.
Healy came back to bed. He climbed in beside March, the bed groaned and settled under his weight, and pulled him close, and March settled against his chest with a sigh. Healy wrapped his arms around him, and March fit perfectly there, tucked against his body, small and warm and safe.
"Jackson." March said after a moment.
"Yeah."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being careful. For teaching me. For-" March paused. "For making me feel like that. For making me feel wanted. And safe. And- and loved."
Healy's chest went tight. He tightened his arms around March and pressed his face into his hair, his hand coming up to cradle the back of March's head, holding him close.
"You are loved." he said quietly. "You are. I love you, Holland."
March made a small broken sound and turned in Healy's arms and buried his face in his chest. His shoulders were shaking, and Healy realized he was crying.
"Hey." Healy said. "Hey. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." March said, his voice muffled against Healy's chest. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just- I'm happy. I'm so happy. And I didn't think I'd ever be happy again. After Amy. After everything. I thought I was done. And then you- you came back. You stayed. You-" He broke off and sobbed once, and then laughed. "God. I'm a mess."
"You're my mess." Healy said, and kissed the top of his head.
They lay together in the warm room, tangled in the sheets, and listened to the dove calling, and the wind in the cottonwoods, and the silence of the house around them. After a while March's breathing slowed and deepened, and he slept.
Healy did not sleep. He lay with March in his arms and looked at the ceiling and thought about the road from Kerrville, and the bench in front of the Silver Garter, and a man on fire in an alley, and all the ways a life could break and then be mended.
He thought about the weight of March in his arms, and the way he had felt inside him, and the way March had looked up at him with trust and want and love in his eyes.
He thought about the future. About waking up like this every morning. About building a life together, here in this house at the end of Ocotillo Road. About cases and clients and Holly growing up and the desert stretching away toward the mountains.
Outside, the sun climbed higher. The shadows shortened. The day went on.
And in the house at the end of Ocotillo Road, two men lay together in the quiet, and rested, and were home.